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I hated him with the hate of hell, | A huge crag-platform, smooth as burBut I loved his beauty passing well.

nish'd brass () the Earl was fair to see!

I chose. The ranged ramparts bright

From level meadow-bases of deep grass I rose up in the silent night :

Suddenly scaled the light. I made my dagger sharp and bright.

The wind is raring in turret and tree. Thereon I built it firm. Of ledge or shell As half-asleep his breath he drew,

The rock rose clear, or winding stair. Three times I stabb'd hii thro' and thro'. | My soul would live alone unto herself O the Earl was fair to see !

In her high palace there. 12 and comhd his comely head. Land - while the world runs round and He look'd so grand when he was leail.

round," I said, The wind is blowing in turret and tree. “Reign thou apart, a quiet king, I wrapt his body in the sheet,

Still as, while Saturn whirls, his stedfasi And laid him at his mother's feet.

shade O the Earl was fair to see!

Sleeps on his luminous ring."


To which my soul made answer realily :

“Trust me, in bliss I shall abide In this great nansion, that is built for me,

So royal-rich and wide."


I SEND you here a sort of allegory,
(For you will understand it) of a soul,
A sinful soul possessıl of many gifts,
A spacious garien full of flowering weels,
A glorious Devil, largp in heart and brain,
That did love Beauty only, (Beauty seen Four courts I made, East, West and
In all varieties of mould and mind)

South and North,
Jul Knowledge forits beauty; or if Gooil,

In each a squared lawn, wherefrom Gooll only for its beauty, seeing not The gollen gorge of dragons spouted forth That Beauty, Good, and knowledge, are

A flood of fountain-foam. three sisters That doat upon cach other, friends to And round the cool green courts there man,

ran a row Living together under the same roof, Of cloisters, branch'd like mighty And never can be sunder'd without tears.

woods, And he that shuts Love out, in turn shall

Echoing all night to that sonorous flow be

Of spouted fountain-floods. Shut out from Love, and on her thresholellie

| And round the roofs a gilded gallery Howling in outer larkness. Not for this. That lent broad verge to distant lands, Wis common clay ta’en from the cominon Far as the wild swan wings, to where the earth.

sky Moulded by God, and ternper'd with the Dipt down to sea and sands.

tears Os angels to the perfect shape of man. From those four jets four currents in one

swell Across the mountain stream'd below

In misty folds, that floating as they fell THE PALACE OF ART.

Lit up a torrent-bow.

| Built my soul a lordly pleasure-house, And high on every peak a statue seem'd

Wherein at ease for aye to dwell. I To hang on tiptoe, tossing up I said, “O Soul, make merry and carouse, ' A cloud of incense of all odor steam l Dear soul, for all is well.”

From out a golden cup.

So that she thought, “And who shall | And one, the reapers at their sultry gaze upon

toil. My palace with unblinded eyes, In front they bound the sheaves. Be. While this great bow will waverinthesun, hind And that sweet incense rise ?”. Were realms of upland, prodigal in oil,

And hoary to the wind. For that sweet incense rose and never fail'd,

And one, a foreground black with stones And, while day sank or mounted and slags, higher

Beyond, a line of heights, and higher The light aërial gallery, golden-rail'd, al barr'd with long white cloud the Burnt like a fringe of fire.

scornful crags,

And highest, snow and fire. Likewise the deep-set windows, staind and traced,

And one, an English home - gray twi. Would seem slow-flaming crimson fires

light pourd From shadow'd grots of arches interlaced,

On dewy pastures, dewy trees, And tipt with frost-like spires.

Softer than sleep) --- all things in order

A haunt of ancient Peace.


Nor these alone, but every landscape fair,

As fit for every mood of mind,

Or gay, or grave, or sweet, or stern, was Full of long-sounding corridors it was,

there That over-vaulted grateful gloom,

Not less than truth design'd. Thro' which the livelong day my soul (lid

pass, Well-pleased, from room to room. Full of great rooms and small the palace

stood, All various, each a perfect whole From living Nature, fit for every mood | Or the maid-mother by a crucifix,

In tracts of pasture sunny-warm, And change of my still soul.

| Beneath branch-work of costly sardonyx For some were hung with arras green and Sat smiling, babe in arm. Showing a gaudy summer-morn,

Or in a clear-wall’d city on the sea, Where with pull” cheek the belted Near gilded organ-pipes, her hair hunter blew

Wound with white roses, slept St. Cecily; His wreathed bugle-horn.

An angel look'd at her. One seem'd all dark and red — a tract of Or thronging all one porch of Paradise sand,

A group of Houris bow'l to see
And some one pacing there alone, | The dying Islamite, with hands and eyes
Who paced for ever in a glimmering land, That said, We wait for thee.

Lit with a low large moon.
One show'd an iron coast andangry waves.

Or mythic Uther's deeply-wounded son You seem'd to hear them climb and fall,

j fajl In some fair space of sloping greens And roar rock-thwarted under belowing Lay, dozing in the vale of Avalon, caves,

And watch'd by weeping queens. Beneath the windy wall.

Or hollowing one hand against his car, And one, a full-fed river winding slow To list a foot-fall, ere he saw

By herds upon an endless plain, The wood-nymph, stay'd the Ausonian The ragged rims of thunder brooding low, king to hear With shadow-streaks of raią.

Of wisdom and of law.


Or over hills with peaky tops engrail'd, Here play'd, a tiger, rolling to and fro

And many a tract of palm and rice, The heads and crowns of kings; The throne of Indian Cama slowly sail'd A summer fann'd with spice.

Here rose, an athlete, strong to break o:

bind Or sweet Europa's mantle blew unclasp'd, All force in bonds that might endure,

Froin off her shoulder backward borne: And here once more like some sick man From one hand droop'd a crocus: one declined, hand grasp'd

And trusted any cure.
The mild bull's golden horn.

But over these she trod : and those great Or else flushed Ganymede, his rosy thigh

bells Half-buried in the Eagle's down,

| Began to chime. She took her throne : Sole as a flying star shot thro' the sky

She sat betwixt the shining Oriels,
Above the pillar'd town.

To sing her songs alone.
Nor these alone : but every legend fair

And thro’the topmost Oriels' colored flame Which the supreme Caucasian mind

1 Two godlike faces gazed below; Carved out of Nature for itself, was there,

Plato the wise, and large-brow'd Verulam,
Not less than life, design'd.

The first of those who know.
And all those names, that in their motion

| Full-welling fountain-heads of change,

Betwixt the slender shafts were blazon'd Chen in the towers I placed great bells

In diverse raiment strange : that swung, Mov'd of themselves, with silver sound; Thro' which the lights, rose, amber, And with choice paintings of wise men I

emerald, blue, hung

Flush'd in her temples and her eyes, The royal dais round.

And from her lips, as morn from Mem

non, drew For there was Milton like a seraph strong,

Rivers of melodies. Beside him Shakespeare bland and mild;

No nightingale delighteth to prolong And there the world-worn Dante grasp'd |

Her low preamble all alone, his song,

More than my soul to hear her echo'd song And somewhat grimly smiled.

Throb thro' the ribbed stone; And there the Ionian father of the rest ; Singing and murmuring in her feastful A million wrinkles carved his skin ;

mirth, A hundred winterssnow'd upon his breast, Joying to feel herself alive, From cheek and throat and chin. Lord over Nature, Lord of the visible

earth, Above, the fair hall-ceiling stately-set Lord of the senses five;

Many an arch high up did lift, Ind angels rising and descending met Communing with herself: “All these With interchange of gift.

are mine,

And let the world have peace or wars, Below was all mosaic choicely plann'd l’T is one to me.” She -- when young With cycles of the human tale

night divine Of this wide world, the times of every land Crown'd dying day with stars, So wrought, they will not fail.

Making sweet close of his lelicious toils The people here, a beast of burden slow, Lit light in wreaths and anadems, Toil'd onward, prick'd with goads and And pure quintessences of precious oils stings ;

In hollow'd moons of gems,

To mimic heaven; and clapt her hands, Wrote “Mene, mene," and divided quite and cried,

The kingdom of her thought. “I marvel if my still delight In this great house so royal-rich, and wide, Deep dread and loathing of her solitude Be flatter'd to the height.

Fell on her, from which mood was born

Scorn of herself; again, from out that mood “O all things fair to sate my various eyes ! Laughter at her self-scorn.

O shapes and hues that please me well! O silent faces of the Great and Wise, “What! is not this my placeofstrength," My Gods, with whom I dwell !

she said,

“My spacious mansion built for me, "O God-like isolation which art mine, / Whereof the strong foundation-stones I can but count thee perfect gain,

were laid What time I watch the darkening droves I Since my first memory?"

of swine That range on yonder plain. But in dark corners of her palace stood

Uncertain shapes ; and unawares “In filthy sloughs they roll a prurient | On white-eyed phantasms weeping tears skin,

of blood, They graze and wallow, breed and sleep; And horrible nightmares, And oft some brainless devil enters in, And drives them to the deep.” And hollow shades enclosing hearts of

flame, Then of the moralinstinct would she prate! And, with dim fretted foreheads all, And of the rising from the dead,

On corpses three-months-old at noon she Ashers by right of full-accomplish'd Fate;

came, And at the last she said :

That stood against the wall. “I take possession of man's mind and A spot of dull stagnation, without light deed.

Or power of movement, seem'd my soul,
I care not what the sects may brawl. 'Mid onward-sloping motions infinite
I sit as God holding no form of creed,

Making for one sure goal.
But contemplating all.”

A still salt pool, lock'd in with bars of

sand; Left on the shore ; that hears all night | The plunging seas draw backward from

the land Pull oft the riddle of the painful earth Their moon-led waters white.

Flash'd thro' her as she sat alone, Yet not the less held she hersolemn mirth. / A star that with the choral starry dance And intellectual throne.

| Join't not, but stood, and standing saw

| The hollow orb of moving Circumstance And so she throve and prosper'd: so three Roll'd round by one tix'd law.

year's She prosperid: on the fourth she fell, | Back on herself her serpent pride had Like Herol, when the shout was in his

curl'd. ears,

“No voice,” she shriek'd in that lone Struck thro' with pangs of hell.


“No voice breaks thro' the stillness of Lest she should fail and perish utterly,

this world : God, before whom ever lie bare

One deep, deep silence all !”.
The abysmal deeps of Personality,
Plagued her with sore despair.

She, mouldering with the dull earth's

• mouldering sod, When she would think, where'er she Inwrapt tenfold in slothful shame, turn'd her sight

| Lay there exiled from eternal God, The airy hand confusion wrought, I Lost to her place and name ;

And death and life she hated equally, A simple maiden in her flower

And nothing saw, for her despair, Is worth a hundre I coats-of-arms. But dreadful time, dreadful eternity, No comfort anywhere ;

Lady Clara Vere de Vere,

Some meeker pupil you must find, Remaining utterly confused with fears, For were you queen of all that is,

And ever worse with growing time, I coudt not stoop to such a inind. And ever unrelieved by disinal tears, | You sought to prove how I could love, And all alone in crime :

And my disdain is my reply. Shutupasin a crumblingtomb, girt round

| The lion on your old stone gates With blackness as a solid wall,

Is not more cold to you than I.
Far off she seem'd to hear the dully sound Lady Clara Vere de Vere,
Of human footsteps fall.

You put strange memories in my head. As in strange lands a traveller walking

Not thrice your branching limes have

blown slow, In doubt and great perplexity,

Since I beheld young Laurence dead. A little before moon-rise hears the low

| 0, your sweet eyes, your low replies : Moan of an unknown sea ;

A great enchantress you may be ;

But there was that across his throat And knows not if it be thunder or a sound which you had hardly cared to see.

Of rocks thrown down, or one deep cry Of great wild beasts; then thinketli, "1 Lady Clara Vere de Vere, have found

When thus he met his mother's view, A new land, but I die."

She had the passions of her kind,

She spake some certain truths of you. She howl'd aloud, “I am on fire within.

· | Indeed I heard one bitter word There comes no murmur of reply.

| That scarce is fit for you to hear; What is it that will take away my sin, Her manners had not that repose And save me lest I die?"

Which stamps the caste of Verede Vere. So when four years were wholly finished, She threw her royal robes away.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere, “Make me a cottage in the vale,” she said, There stands a spectre in your hall : “Where I may mourn and pray.

The guilt of blood is at your door :

You changed a wholesome heart togall. “Yet pull not down my palace towers, You held your course without remorse, that are

To make him trust his modest worth, So lightly, beautifully built :

And, last, you fix'd a vacant stare, Perchance I may return with others there

And slew him with your noble birth. When I have purged my guilt.'

Trust me, Clara Vere de Vere,

From yon blue heavens above us bent LADY CLARA VERE DE VERE.

The gardener Adam and his wife Lady Clara Vere de Vere,

Smile at the claims of long descent. Of me you shall not win renown :

Howe'er it be, it seems to me, You thought to break a country heart

'T is only noble to be good. For pastime, ere you went to town.

Kind hearts are more than coronets, At me you smiled, but unbeguiled

And simple faith than Norman blood. I saw the snare, and I retired :

I know you, Clara Vere de Vere,
The daughter of a hundred Earls,
You are not one to be desired.

You pine among your halls and towers :

The languid light of your proud eyes Lauly Clara Vere de Vere,

Is wearied of the rolling hours. I know you proud to bear your name, In glowing health, with boundless wealth, Your pride is yet no mate for mine, But sickening of a vagne disease,

Too proud to care froin whence I came. You know so ill to deal with time, Nor would I break for your sweet sake 1 You needs must play such pranks as A heart that doats on truer charms. I


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