Dog him, waylay him, encompass him, stay him,

And make him surrender!"

My flower-beds splendid seem eyes blood-distended,
His eyes, ever flaring, and staring, and glaring!
I turn from them quickly, but phantoms more sickly
Drive me hither and thither.

I would forfeit most gladly wealth stolen so madly,
Quitting grandeur and revelry to fly from this devilry,
But whither-O whither?

Hence idle delusions! hence fears and confusions! Not a single friend's severance lessens men's reverence, No neighbour of rank quits my sumptuous banquets Without lauding their donor;

Throughout the wide county I'm famed for my bounty,

All hold me in honour.

Let the dotard and craven by fear be enslaven.

They have vanish'd! How fast fly these images ghastly, When in firm self-reliance,

You determine on treating the brain's sickly cheating,

With scorn and defiance!

Ha ha! I am fearless henceforward and tearless,
No coinage of fancy, no dream's necromancy

Shall sadden and darken-God help me!—hist-harken! 'Tis the shriek soul-appalling he utter'd when falling!

By day thus affrighted, 'tis worse when benighted;

With the clock's midnight boom, from the church on his tomb,

There comes a sharp screaming too fearful for dreaming;

Bone fingers unholy draw the foot curtains slowly, O God! how they stare at me, flare at me, glare at me, Those eyes of a Gorgon!

Beneath the clothes sinking with shuddering shrinking,

A mental orgasm and bodily spasm

Convulse every organ.

Nerves a thousand times stronger could bear it no longer. Grief, sickness, compunction, dismay in conjunction, Nights and days ghost-prolific, more grim and terrific Than judges and juries,

Make the heart writhe and falter more than gibbet and

halter.

Arrest me, secure me, seize, handcuff, immure me!
I own my transgression-will make full confession,

Quick-quick! Let me plunge in some dark-vaulted dun

geon,

Where, tho' tried and death-fated, I may not be baited

By devils and furies!

THE CONTRAST.

[Written under Windsor Terrace, the day after the Funeral of George the Third.]

I SAW him last on this Terrace proud,

Walking in health and gladness,

Begirt with his Court; and in all the crowd

Not a single look of sadness.

Bright was the sun, and the leaves were green,

Blithely the birds were singing,

The cymbal replied to the tambourine,

And the bells were merrily ringing.

I have stood with the crowd beside his bier,
When not a word was spoken;

But every eye was dim with a tear,

And the silence by sobs was broken.

I have heard the earth on his coffin pour

To the muffled drum's deep rolling,

While the minute-gun with its solemn roar,
Drown'd the death-bell's tolling.

The time since he walk'd in his glory thus,
To the grave till I saw him carried,
Was an age of the mightiest change to us,

But to him a night unvaried.

We have fought the fight;-from his lofty throne

The foe of our land we have tumbled;

And it gladden'd each eye, save his alone,

For whom that foe we humbled.

A daughter belov'd-a Queen-a son—
And a son's sole child have perish'd;
And sad was each heart, save the only one
By which they were fondest cherish'd.