Ah, then I knew the world's dire face again!
And, as a captive that has broke his chain,
And flees with stealthy speed, full surely deeming
Even the last perilous moment well nigh past,
Till on the very verge of freedom's seeming,
Strong hands are on him, and to straiter bonds,
A durance with more hopeless anguish fraught,
Drag him again,—thus felt I newly bound,
And from the very light methinks I wound
Within a labyrinth of grievous thought,
Exiled unto the chill and dreary stronds
That own the petty tyranny of care,

To linger through these years so hard to bear.
Thus, while in the dim depths of sleep I lay,
My soul had basked in wondrous inward day,
And from my boyhood was caught back a dawn,
One of those fleeted morns wherein, ere now,

Like to a winged creature I had drawn

Breath, taintless still from Heaven; and in the dark

Meseemed I was a playmate of the lark,

And that his early voice, so far on high,

Was but an echo from my heart below.
Thus was I then despoiled of my brief joy;

And well I wot it was a deep unbliss

To wake from such a dream, in such a world as this.

THE TALE,

OR

END OF TROY DIVINE.

WITH SIDE-NOTES BY THE PRINTER'S DEVIL.

O Muse, I wish to be amusing,

An aeronaut in Fancy's regions,

So aid me, Goddess, when I do sing

Of all that fell out at a siege once,- (quarrelled?)

Just help me to a wing—no more,—

My sale will prove me a good sailor

And though too sore afraid I'll soar :

A goose's pinion helps a taler.

(tailor?)

Dame Helen was a naughty dame

Who caused in one young spark a flame

That burned a city down,

Which cost the people for the same

A sovereign,-while his losses came,

(King Priam's) to a crown.

(58. ?)

Though low men ne'er won her applause,

She soon escaped from Hymen's claws, (high men's?) Like other noted fraus

A lawless dame was she-because

She loved not Men-e-laus.

And when, according to the song,

She left her husband quite,

He said, because she had done wrong,

(many laws?)

That she did never right!

In fact she neither wrote nor sent,

But, like a lady gay,

When voyaging for Troy she went,

Took Paris on her way.

Duke Paris was an archer rare,

An arch duke was he too;

(write?)

And so, said he to Helen fair;

"Your husband must the willow wear,

"While I'm content with you."

Said she "You are my bowman bold,

"And, eke, my only beau."

(yew?)

This wrathful king, when he was seen

Upon the Trojan shore,

Looked like a lion, though his queen

Declared he was a bore!

U

(boar?)

The neighbouring knaves of royal mold

His navy soon increase,

And so-like tallow-merchants bold,

Away they sailed for Greece.

This king forsaken turned his face

Toward Ilion's walls, and said: "The horn-works of that wicked place "Would turn a body's head."

His temples ached, and well they might,
As when old Jove's brought forth to light
Miss Pallas armed to pose us.

He groaned and said, in piteous plight,

"Oh tempora! Oh Moses!"

As Homer has remarked, he then

Viewed Troy with a true painter's ken,

As also with a scer's,

And guessed King Priam's boorish men

Would occupy Teniers.

Ten years, in fact, those warriors great

Each other much annoyed;

(grease?)

(mores?)

(ten years?)