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“The high masts flicker'd as they lay | “We drank the Libyan Sun to sleep afloat;
and lit The crowds, the temples, waver'd, and Lamps which outburn'd Canopus. the shore ;
O my life The bright death quiver'd at the victim's In Egypt ! O the dalliance and the wit, throat;
The flattery and the strife,
“And the wild kiss, when fresh from Whereto the other with a downward brow:
war's alarms, “I would the white cold heavy
My Hercules, my Roman Antony,
My mailed Bacchus leapt into my arms, plunging foam, Whirld by the wind, had roll’d me deep
Contented there to die !
"And there he died : and when I heard Then when I left my home.”
Sigh'd forth with life I would not Her slow full words sank thro' the silence
brook my fear drear,
of the other: with a worm I balk'd his As thunder-drops fall on a sleeping
I on a sleeping fame. sea :
What else was left ? look here !" Sudden I heard a voice that cried, “Come here,
(With that she tore her robe apart, and That I may look on thee."
The polish'd argent of her breast to I turning saw, throned on a flowery rise, sight One sitting on a crimson scarf un- Laid bare. Thereto she pointed with a rollid;
laugh, A queen, with swarthy cheeks and bold Showing the aspick’s bite.) Brow-bound with burning gold.
| “I died a Queen. The Roman soldier
found She, flashing forth a haughty smile, Me lying dead, my crown about my began :
brows, “I govern'd men by change, and so A name for ever ! — lying robed and I sway'd
crown'd, All moods. "'Tis long since I have seen Worthy a Roman spouse." a man.
Her warbling voice, a lyre of widest range Once, like the moon, I made
Struck by all passion, did fall down “The ever-shifting currents of the blood
and glance According to my humorebband flow.
From tone to tone, and glided thro' all
change I have no men to govern in this wood :
Of liveliest utterance.
When she made pause I knew not for “Nay - yet it chafes me that I could
delight; not bend
Because with sudden motion from One will; nor tame and tutor with
the ground mine eye
She raised her piercing orbs, and fill'ii That dull cold blooded Cæsar. Prythee, with light friend,
The interval of sound. Where is Mark Antony?
Still with their fires Love tipt his keenest The man, my lover, with whom I rode darts; sublime
As once they drew into two burning On Fortune's neck : we sat as God rings by God;
| All beams of Love, melting the mighty The Nilüs would haverisen before his time hearts And flooded at our nod.
Of captains and of kings.
Slowly my sense undazzled. Then I heard | "My God, my land, my father -- these
A noise of some one coming thro' did move
Me from my bliss of life, that Nature And singing clearer than the crested | bird,
Lower'd softly with a threefold cord of love That claps his wings at dawn.
Down to a silent grave. “ The torrent brooks of hallow'd Israel - And I went mourning, ‘No fair Hebrew From craggy hollows pouring, late
boy and soon,
Shall smile away my maiden blame Sound all night long, in falling thro' the
The Hebrew mothers'-emptiedofalljoy, Far-heard beneath the moon.
Leaving the dance and song, “The balmy moon of blessed Israel Floods all the deep-blue gloom with
it.“ Leaving the olive-gardens far below, beams divine :
Leaving the promise of my bridalAll night the splinter'd crags that wall
The valleys of grape-loaded vines that the dell With spires of silver shine.”
Beneath the battled tower. As one that museth where broad sunshine laves
| “The light white cloud swam over us. The lawn by some cathedral, thro')
Anon the door
We heard the lion roaring from his Hearing the holy organ rolling waves
den; Of sound on roof and floor
We saw the large white stars rise one by
one, Within, and anthem sung, is charm’d| Or, from the darken'd glen,
and tied To where he stands, --so stood I, “Saw God divide the night with flying when that flow
flame, Of music left the lips of her that died And thumder on theeverlasting hills. To save her father's vow;
I hearl Him, for He spake, and grief
became The daughter of the warrior Gileadite, A solemn scorn of ills.
A maiden pure; as when she went
along From Mizpel's tower'd gate with wel.
“When the next moon was roll'd into
the sky, come light, With timbrel and with song.
Strength came to me that equall'd
How beautiful a thing it was to die
For God and for my sire !
"It comforts me in this one thought to “Not so, nor once alone ; a thousand
That I subdued me to my father's I would be born and die.
Because the kiss he gave me, ere I fell, " Single I grew, like some green plant, Sweetens the spirit still.
whose root Creeps to the garden water-pipes “Moreover it is written that my race beneath,
Hew'd Amnon, hip and thigh, from Feeding the flower ; but ere my flower to Aroer fruit
On Arnon unto Minneth.” Here her face Changed, I was ripe for death. I Glow'd, as I look'd at her.
She lock'd her lips : she left me where | Drew forth the poison with her balmy
atar, Thridding the sombre boskage of the wood, No memory labors longer from the deep Toward the morning-star.
Gold-mines of thought to list the
hidden ore Losing her carol I stood pensively, That glimpses, moving up, than I from
As one that from a casement leans sleep
To gather and tell o'er
Each little sound and sight. With what And the old year is dead.
Compass'd, how eagerly I sought to “Alas! alas !” a low voice, full of care, strike
Mumur'd beside me: “Turn and Into that wondrous track of dreams again! look on me :
But no two dreams are like. I am that Rosamond, whom men call fair,
As when a soul laments, which hath been If what I was I be.
Desiring what is mingled with past 6. Would I had been some maiden coarsen
In yearnings that can never be exprest and poor! O me, that I should ever see the
By signs or groans or tears ; light ! Those dragon eyes of anger'. Eleanor
Because all words, tho'cull’d with choicest
art, Do hunt me, day and night.”
Failing to give the bitter of the sweet,
| Wither beneath the palate, and the heart She ceased in tears, fallen from hope and Faints, faded by its heat.
O SWEET pale Margaret,
O rare pale Margaret, With that sharp sound the white dawn's What lit your eyes with tearful power, creeping beams,
Like moonlight on a falling shower ? Stol'n to my brain, dissolved the Who lent you, love, your mortal dlower mystery
Of pensive thought and aspect pale, Of folded sleep. The captain of my Your melancholy sweet and trail dreams
As perfume of the cuckoo-flower ? Ruled in the eastern sky.
From the westward-winding flood,
From the evening-lighted wood, Moru broaden'd on the borders of we From all things outward you have dark,
Between the rainbow and the sun.
That dimples your transparent check, A light of ancient France ;
Encircles all the heart, and feedeth
The senses with a still delight Orher, who knew that Lore can vanquish Of dainty sorrow without sound, Death,
Like the tender amber round, Who kneeling, with one arm about Which the moon about her spreadetli, her king,
Moving thro' a fleecy night.
THE BLACKBIRD. You love, remaining peacefully,
To hear the murmur of the strife. O BLACKBIRD! sing me something well : But enter not the toil of life.
While all the neighbors shoot thee Your spirit is the calmed sea,
round, Laid by the tumult of the fight.
I keep smooth plats of fruitful ground, You are the evening star, alway
Where thou may'st warble, eat and dwell. Remaining betwixt dark and bright: Lulld echoes of laborious day
The espaliers and the standards all Come to you, gleams of mellow light
Are thine; the range of lawn and park ; Float by you on the verge of night.
The unnetted black-hearts ripen dark,
All thine, against the garden wall.
Yet, tho' I spared thee all the spring, What can it matter, Margaret,
Thy sole delight is, sitting still, What songs below the waning stars
With that cold dagger of thy bill
To fret the summer jenneting.
A golden bill! the silver tongue,
Cold February loved, is dry :
Plenty corrupts the melody
That made thee famous once, when young:
And in the sultry garden-squares,
Now thy flute-notes are changed to IV.
coarse, A fairy shield your Genius made
I hear thee not at all, or hoarse And gave you on your natal day. As when a hawker hawks his wares. Your sorrow, only sorrow's shade, Keeps real sorrow far away.
Take warning! he that will not sing Yon move not in such solitudes,
While yon sun prospers in the blue, You are not less divine,
Shall sing for want, ere leaves are new, But more hunan in your moods,
Caught in the frozen palms of Spring.
Touch'd with a somewhat darkerhue,
THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR.
Full knee-deep lies the winter snow,
Toll ye the church-bell sad and slow,
And tread softly and speak low,
For the old year lies a-dying. Come down, come down, and hear me Old year, you must not die ; speak :
You came to us so readily,
You lived with us so steadily,
Old year, you shall not die.
And faint, rainy lights are seen, He lieth still : he doth not move :
Moving in the leavy beech. He will not see the dawn of day. Rise from the feast of sorrow, lady, He hath no other life above.
Where all day long you sit between He gave me a friend, and a true true love,
Joy and woe, and whisper each. And the New-year will take 'em away. Or only look across the lawn,
Old year, you must not go ; Look out below your bower-eaves,
So long as you have been with us, Look down, and let your blue eyes dawn Such joy as you have seen with us,
Upon me thro' the jasmine-leaves. Old year, you shall not go.
He froth'd his bumpers to the brim; 'T is strange that those we lean on most, A jollier year we shall not see.
Those in whose laps our limbs are But tho' his eyes are waxing dim,
Those we love first are taken first.
To ripeness, that on which it throve
Falls off, and love is left alone.
This is the curse of time. Alas!
In grief I am not all unlearn'l; His son and heir doth ride post-haste,
Once thro' mine own doors Death did But he'll be dead before.
pass; Every one for his own.
One went, who never hath return'd. The night is starry and cold, my u. friend,
He will not smile --- not speak to me And the New-year blithe and bold,
Once more. Two years his chair is my friend,
seen Comes up to take his own.
Empty before us. That was he
Without whose life I had not been. How hard he breathes ! over the snow
| Your loss is rarer ; for this star I heard just now the crowing cock.
Rose with you thro' a little arc The shadows flicker to and fro:
Of heaven, nor having wander'd far The cricket chirps : the light burns low :
Shot on the sudden into dark. 'T is nearly twelve o'clock. Shake hands, before you die.
I knew your brother : his mute dust
I honor and his living worth :
| A man more pure and bold and just Speak out before you die.
Was never born into the earth.
His face is growing sharp and thin. I have not look'd upon you nigh,
Since that dear soulhath fall’n asleep.
I will not tell you not to weep. That standeth there alone, And waiteth at the door.
And tho'mine own eyes fill with dew, There's a new foot on the floor, my Drawn from the spirit thro' the friend,
“Weep, weeping dulls the inwari
Let Grief be her own mistress still.
She loveth her own anguish deep
More than much pleasure. Let her will The wind, that beats the mountain, blows Be done - to weep or not to weep.
More softly round the open wold,
Of Death is blown in every wind ";
For that is not a common chance And me this knowledge bolder made, That takes away a noble mind.
Or else I had not dared to flow
Even with a verse your holy woe. In all our hearts, as mournful light