And once when Mary was downćast, And gazed upon her, and at first Then harder, till her grasp at length Made happy by compulsion! ~ And once her both arms suddenly She felt them coming, but no power So gentle Ellen now no more Could make this sad house cheery; And Mary's melancholy ways Drove Edward wild and weary. Lingering he raised his latch at eve, One evening he took up a book, And nothing in it read; Then flung it down, and groaning cried, "Oh! Heaven! that I were dead." Mary looked up into his face, And nothing to him said; And he burst into tears, and fell Upon his knees in prayer: "Her heart is broke! O God! my grief, It is too great to bear!" 'Twas such a foggy time as makes Old sextons, Sir! like me, Rest on their spades to cough; the spring Was late uncommonly. And then the hot days, all at once, It happened then ('twas in the bower Perhaps you know the place, and yet No path leads thither, 'tis not nigh But clustered near the chattering brook, Those hollies of themselves a shape As of an arbor took, A close, round arbor; and it stands Within this arbor, which was still Were these three friends, one Sunday morn 'Tis sweet to hear a brook, 'tis sweet To hear the Sabbath-bell, 'Tis sweet to hear them both at once, Deep in a woody dell. His limbs along the moss, his head Upon a mossy heap, With shut-up senses, Edward lay: And he had passed a restless night, "The sun peeps through the close thick leaves, See, dearest Ellen! see! 'Tis in the leaves, a little sun, No bigger than your ee; "A tiny sun, and it has got A perfect glory too; Ten thousand threads and hairs of light, Make up a glory, gay and bright, Round that small orb, so blue." And then they argued of those rays, Says this," they're mostly green;" says that, They're amber-like to me.' So they sat chatting, while bad thoughts But soon they heard his hard quick pants, "A mother too!" these self-same words His face was drawn back on itself, Both groaned at once, for both knew well He sat upright; and ere the dream "O God, forgive me! (he exclaimed) I have torn out her heart." Then Ellen shrieked, and forthwith burst Into ungentle laughter; And Mary shivered, where she sat, And never she smiled after. Carmen reliquum in futurum tempus relegatum. To-morrow! and To morrow! and To-morrow! ODES AND MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. DEJECTION: AN ODE. Late, late yestreen I saw the new Moon, And I fear, I fear, my Master dear! We shall have a deadly storm. BALLAD OF SIR PATRICK SPENCE I. WELL! If the Bard was weather-wise, who made For lo the New-moon winter-bright! The coming on of rain and squally blast. And oh that even now the gust were swelling, And the slant night-shower driving loud and fast! Those sounds which oft have raised me, whilst they awed, And sent my soul abroad, Might now, perhaps, their wonted impulse give, Might startle this dull pain, and make it move and live! II. A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear, A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief, |