XII. She could not figure forth a happy fate, Eveu for this lite from heaven so

newly come ; The earth must needs be doubly desom

late To him scarce parted from a fairer

home : Such boding heavier on her bosom sate One night, as, standing in the iwia

light gloam, She strained her eyes beyond that dizzy

verge At whose foot faintly breaks the future's surge.

XIII. Poor little spirit! naught but shame

and woe Nurse the sick heart whose lifeblood

nurses thine : Yet not those only; love hath tri

umphed so, As for thy sake makes sorrow more

divine : And yet, though thou be pure, the world

is foe To purity, if born in such a shrine : And, having trampled it for struggling

thence, Smiles to itself, and calls it Providence.

X. And so, though altered Mordred came

less oft, And winter frowned where spring

had laughed before, In his strange eyes, yet half her sad

ness doffed, And in her silent patience loved him

more : Sorrow had made her soft heart yet

more soft, And a new life within her own she

bore Which made her tenderer, as she felt

it move Beneath her breast, a refuge for her

love.

XI. This babe, she thought, would surely

bring him back, And be a bond forever them between ; Before its eyes the sullen tempest-rack Would fade, and leave the face of

heaven serene ; And love's return doth more than fill

the lack, Which in his absence withered the

heart's green ; And yet a dim foreboding still would

fit Between her and her hope to darken it.

And hush itself, as who with shud

dering guess Harks through the gloom and dreads

e'en now to feel Through his hot breast the icy slide of steel.

XV. But, at that heart-beat, while in dread In the low wind the honeysuckles

gleam,

she was,

XVIII. The apathy, ere a erime resolved is

done, Is scarce less dreadful than remorse

for crime ;

XXI. Day wore at last: the evening star

arose, And throbbing in the sky grew red

and set ; Then with a guilty, wavering step he

goes To the hid nook where they so on

XXIV. His heart went out within him like a

spark Dropt in the sea ; wherever he made

bold Toturn hiseyes, he saw, all stiffandstark, Pale Margaret lying dead ; the lavish

gold Of her loose hair seemed in the cloudy

dark To spread a glory, and a thousand

fold

XXVII. Now, on the second day there was to be A festival in church: from far and

near Came flocking in the sunburnt peas.

antry, And knights and dames with stately

antique cheer, Blazing with pomp, as if all faërie

Had emptied her quaint halls, or, as

it were,

The illuminated marge of some old book, While we were gazing, life and motion It grew up like a darkness everywhere, Filling the vast cathedral; - sud

denly, From the dense mass a boy's clear

treble broke Like lightning, and the full-toned choir

awoke.

XXVIII. When all were entered, and the roving

eyes Of all were stayed, some upon faces

bright, Someon the priests, some on the traceries That decked the slumber of a marble

knight, And all the rustlings over that arise

From reccgnizing tokens of delight, When friendly glances meet,

then silent ease Spread o'er the multitude by slow degrees.

XXIX. Then swelled the organ: up through

choir and nave The music trembled with an inward

thrill Of bliss at its own grandeur: wave on

wave Its flood of mellow thunder rose, until The hushed air shivered with the throb

it gave, Then, poising for a moment, it stood

still, And sankand roseagain, to burstinspray That wandered into silence far away.

XXXII. Through gorgeous windows shone the

sun aslant, Brimming the church with gold and

purple mist, Meet atmosphere to bosom that rich

chant, Where fifty voices in one strand did

twist, Their varicoloredtones, and left no want To the delighted soul, which sank

abyssed In the warm music cloud, while, far

below, The organ heaved its

surges to and fro.

its song,

XXX. Like to a mighty heart the music seemed, That yearns with melodies it cannot

speak, Until, in grand despair of what it

dreamed, In the agony of effort it doth break, Yet triumphs breaking; on it rushed

and streamed And wantoned in its might, as when

a lake, Long pent among the mountains, bursts

its walls And in one crowding gush leaps forth

and falls.

XXXIII. As if a lark should suddenly drop dead

While the blue air yet trembled with So snapped at once that music's golden

thread, Struck by a nameless fear that leapt

along From heart to heart, and like a shadow

spread With instantaneous shiver through

the throng, So that some glanced behind, as half

aware A hideous shape of dread were stand

ing there.

XXXI. Deeper and deeper shudders shook the

air, As the huge bass kept gathering

heavily, Like thunder when it rouses in its lair, And with its hoarse growl shakes the

low-hung sky,

XXXVII. Nothing they saw, but a low voice was

heard Threading the oninous silence of

that fear, Gentle and terrorless as if a bird, Wakened by some volcano's giare,

should cheer The murk air with his song; yet every

word In the cathedral's farthest arch seemed

near, As if it spoke to every one apart, Like the clear voice of conscience in

XL. “This little spirit with imploring, eyes Wanders alone the dreary wild of

space; The shadow of his pain forever lies Upon my soul in this new dwelling

place; His loneliness makes me in Paradise More lonely, and, unless I see his

face, Even here for grief could I lie down

and die, Save for my curse of immortality.

XLI.

" World after world he sees around him

swim Crowded with happy souls, that take