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And ah! let it never

Be foolishly said

That my room it is gloomy
And narrow my bed;
For man never slept

In a different bed,

And, to sleep, you must slumber
In just such a bed.、

My tantalized spirit
Here blandly reposes,
Forgetting, or never
Regretting, its roses, -
Its old agitations

Of myrtles and roses :

For now, while so quietly
Lying, it fancies

A holier odor

About it, of pansies,

A rosemary odor,

Commingled with pansies, With rue and the beautiful Puritan pansies.

And so it lies happily,

Bathing in many

A dream of the truth

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She tenderly kissed me,

She fondly caressed,

And then I fell gently

To sleep on her breast,

Deeply to sleep.

From the heaven of her breast.

When the light was extinguished,

She covered me warm,

And she prayed to the angels

To keep me from harm, To the queen of the angels

To shield me from harm.

And I lie so composedly
Now in my bed,
(Knowing her love,)

That you fancy me dead;
And I rest so contentedly
Now in my bed,

(With her love at my breast,)

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171

It glows with the light

Of the love of my Annie,

With the thought of the light

Of the eyes of my Annie.

EDGAR ALLAN POE.

THE FAIREST THING IN MORTAL EYES.

[Addressed to his deceased wife, who died in childbed at the age of twenty-two.]

To make my lady's obsequies

My love a minster wrought,

And, in the chantry, service there
Was sung by doleful thought;
The tapers were of burning sighs,
That light and odor gave;

And sorrows, painted o'er with tears,
Enluminéd her grave;

And round about, in quaintest guise,

Was carved: "Within this tomb there lies
The fairest thing in mortal eyes."

Above her lieth spread a tomb

Of gold and sapphires blue :
The gold doth show her blessedness,
The sapphires mark her true;
For blessedness and truth in her
Were livelily portrayed,

When gracious God with both his hands
Her goodly substance made.

He framed her in such wondrous wise,
She was, to speak without disguise,
The fairest thing in mortal eyes.

No more, no more! my heart doth faint
When I the life recall

Of her who lived so free from taint,
So virtuous deemed by all,

That in herself was so complete
I think that she was ta'en

By God to deck his paradise,

And with his saints to reign;

Whom while on earth each one did prize,
The fairest thing in mortal eyes.

But naught our tears avail, or cries;

All soon or late in death shall sleep;
Nor living wight long time may keep
The fairest thing in mortal eyes.

CHARLES, DUKE OF ORLEANS (French). Trans-
lation of HENRY FRANCIS CARY.

DIRGE FOR A YOUNG GIRL.

UNDERNEATH the sod low-lying,
Dark and drear,
Sleepeth one who left, in dying,
Sorrow here.

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FEAR no more the heat o' the sun,

Nor the furious winter's rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done,

Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages: Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

Fear no more the frown o' the great,

Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; Care no more to clothe, and eat;

To thee the reed is as the oak:
The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this, and come to dust.

Fear no more the lightning flash
Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;
Fear not slander, censure rash;

Thou hast finished joy and moan:
All lovers young, all lovers must,
Consign to thee, and come to dust.

SHAKESPEARE

ROCK ME TO SLEEP.

BACKWARD, turn backward, O Time, in your flight,

Make me a child again just for to-night!
Mother, come back from the echoless shore,
Take me again to your heart as of yore;
Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care,
Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair;
Over my slumbers your loving watch keep ; —
Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep!

Backward, flow backward, O tide of the years!
I am so weary of toil and of tears, -
Toil without recompense, tears all in vain,
Take them, and give me my childhood again!

-

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Man's doom, in death that we and ours
For aye remain?

O, can it be, that o'er the grave
The grass renewed should yearly wav 3,
Yet God forget our child to save?
Casa Wappy!

It cannot be; for were it so

Thus man could die,

Life were a mockery, thought were woe,
And truth a lie ;

Heaven were a coinage of the brain;
Religion frenzy, virtue vain,
And all our hopes to meet again,
Casa Wappy!

Then be to us, O dear, lost child!
With beam of love,

A star, death's uncongenial wild
Smiling above!

Soon, soon thy little feet have trod
The skyward path, the seraph's road,
That led thee back from man to God,
Casa Wappy!

Yet 't is sweet balm to our despair,
Fond, fairest boy,

That heaven is God's, and thou art there,
With him in joy;

There past are death and all its woes;
There beauty's stream forever flows;
And pleasure's day no sunset knows,
Casa Wappy!

Farewell, then, - for a while, farewell,

Pride of my heart!

It cannot be that long we dwell,

Thus torn apart.

Time's shadows like the shuttle flee; And dark howe'er life's night may be, Beyond the grave I'll meet with thee,

Casa Wappy!

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At first happy news came, in gay letters moiled With my kisses, of camp-life, and glory, and how They both loved me, and soon, coming home to be spoiled,

In return would fan off every fly from my brow With their green laurel-bough.

VIII.

[This was Laura Savio of Turin, a poetess and patriot, whose Then was triumph at Turin. "Ancona was free!"

sons were killed at Ancona and Gaeta.]

I.

DEAD! one of them shot by the sea in the east,

And one of them shot in the west by the sea.

And some one came out of the cheers in the street With a face pale as stone, to say something to me.

- My Guido was dead! I fell down at his feet, While they cheered in the street.

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IX.

I bore it ;-friends soothed me: my grief looked sublime

As the ransom of Italy. One boy remained To be leant on and walked with, recalling the time When the first grew immortal, while both of us strained

To the height he had gained.

X.

And letters still came, — shorter, sadder, more

strong,

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Writ now but in one hand. "I was not to faint. What then? Do not mock me. Ah, ring your

One loved me for two... would be with me erelong :
And ‘Viva Italia' he died for, our saint,

Who forbids our complaint."

XI.

My Nanni would add "he was safe, and aware
Of a presence that turned off the balls... was

imprest

bells low,

And burn your lights faintly! - My country

is there,

Above the star pricked by the last peak of snow,
My Italy's there, with my brave civic pair,
To disfranchise despair.

XIX.

It was Guido himself, who knew what I could bear, Forgive me. Some women bear children in And how 't was impossible, quite dispossessed,

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strength,

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