67 HAUNTED HOUSES. There are more guests at table, than the hosts Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts, The stranger at my fireside cannot see We have no title-deeds to house or lands; The spirit-world around this world of sense Our little lives are kept in equipoise These perturbations, this perpetual jar And as the moon from some dark gate of cloud So from the world of spirits there descends IN THE CHURCHYARD AT CAMBRIDGE. N the village churchyard she lies, IN Dust is in her beautiful eyes, No more she breathes, nor feels, nor stirs ; Lies a slave to attend the dead, But their dust is white as hers. Was she a lady of high degree, So much in love with the vanity And foolish pomp of this world of ours? And lowliness and humility, The richest and rarest of all dowers? Who shall tell us? No one speaks; At the rude question we have asked ; By those who are sleeping at her side. Hereafter? And do you think to look To find her failings, faults, and errors? T THE TWO ANGELS. WO angels, one of Life and one of Death, The dawn was on their faces, and beneath, The sombre houses hearsed with plumes of smoke. THE TWO ANGELS. Their attitude and aspect were the same, Alike their features and their robes of white; I saw them pause on their celestial way; Then said I, with deep fear and doubt oppressed, And he who wore the crown of asphodels, The waters sink before an earthquake's shock. 69 I recognized the nameless agony, The terror and the tremor and the pain, That oft before had filled or haunted me, And now returned with threefold strength again. The door I opened to my heavenly guest, And listened, for I thought I heard God's voice; And, knowing whatsoe'er he sent was best, Dared neither to lament nor to rejoice. Then with a smile, that filled the house with light, My errand is not Death, but Life," he said; And ere I answered, passing out of sight, On his celestial embassy he sped. 'T was at thy door, O friend! and not at mine, The angel with the amaranthine wreath, Pausing, descended, and with voice divine, Whispered a word that had a sound like Death. Then fell upon the house a sudden gloom, All is of God! If he but wave his hand, Angels of Life and Death alike are his; Without his leave they pass no threshold o'er; Who, then, would wish or dare, believing this, Against his messengers to shut the door? |