Looked down and saw what I had done :
I dared not hide me, Rosaline !
I crouched; I feared thy corpse would cry
Against me to God's quiet sky,

thought I saw the blue lips try To utter something, Rosaline!

I waited with a maddened grin
To hear that voice all icy thin
Slide forth and tell my deadly sin
To hell and heaven, Rosaline!

But no voice came, and then it seemed,
That, if the very corpse had screamed,
The sound like sunshine glad had streamed
Through that dark stillness, Rosaline !

And then, amid the silent night,
I screamed with horrible delight,
And in my brain an awful light
Did seem to crackle, Rosaline !
It is my curse! sweet memories fall
From me like snow, and only all
Of that one night, like cold worms, crawl
My doomed heart over, Rosaline !

Why wilt thou haunt me with thine eyes,
Wherein such blessed memories,
Such pitying forgiveness lies,
Than hate more bitter, Rosaline!
Woe 's me! I know that love so high
As thine, true soul, could never die,
And with mean clay in churchyard lie,
Would it might be so, Rosaline !

A REQUIEM.

Ay, pale and silent maiden,
Cold as thou liest there,
Thine was the sunniest nature
That ever drew the air,
The wildest and most wayward,
And yet so gently kind,
Thou seemedst but to body
A breath of summer wind.

Into the eternal shadow

That girds our life around, Into the infinite silence

Wherewith Death's shore is bound, Thou hast gone forth, beloved!

And I were mean to weep,
That thou hast left Life's shallows,
And dost possess the Deep.

Thou liest low and silent,

Thy heart is cold and still,

But the tuft of moss before him

Opened while he waited yet, And, from out the rock's hard bosom, Sprang a tender violet.

"God! I thank thee," said the Prophet; "Hard of heart and blind was I, Looking to the holy mountain For the gift of prophecy.

"Still thou speakest with thy children Freely as in eld sublime; Humbleness, and love, and patience, Still give empire over time.

"Had I trusted in my nature,

And had faith in lowly things,

Thou thyself wouldst then have sought me,

And set free my spirit's wings.

"But I looked for signs and wonders,
That o'er men should give me sway;
Thirsting to be more than mortal,
I was even less than clay.

"Ere I entered on my journey, As I girt my loins to start, Ran to me my little daughter, The beloved of my heart;

"In her hand she held a flower,
Like to this as like may be,
Which, beside my very threshold,
She had plucked and brought to me."

SONG.

O MOONLIGHT deep and tender,
A year and more agone,
Your mist of golden splendor
Round my betrothal shone !

O elm-leaves dark and dewy,
The very same ye seem,
The low wind trembles through ye,
Ye murmur in my dream!

O river, dim with distance,
Flow thus forever by,
A part of my existence

Within your heart doth lie!

O stars, ye saw our meeting,
Two beings and one soul,
Two hearts so madly beating
To mingle and be whole!

O happy night, deliver

Her kisses back to me,
Or keep them all, and give her
A blissful dream of me!

V.

TO THE SPIRIT OF KEATS.

GREAT soul, thou sittest with me in my

room,

Uplifting me with thy vast, quiet eyes, On whose full orbs, with kindly lustre, lies The twilight warmth of ruddy embergloom:

Thy clear, strong tones will oft bring sudden bloom

Of hope secure, to him who lonely cries, Wrestling with the young poet's agonies, Neglect and scorn, which seem a certain doom:

Yes! the few words which, like great thunder-drops,

Thy large heart down to earth shook doubtfully,

Thrilled by the inward lightning of its might,

Serene and pure, like gushing joy of light, Shall track the eternal chords of Destiny, After the moon-led pulse of ocean stops.

TO M. W., ON HER BIRTHDAY.

MAIDEN, when such a soul as thine is born,

The morning-stars their ancient music make,

And, joyful, once again their song awake, Long silent now with melancholy scorn; And thou, not mindless of so blest a morn,

By no least deed its harmony shalt break,

there is

No backward step for those who feel the bliss

Of Faith as their most lofty yearnings high:

Love hath so purified my being's core, Meseems I scarcely should be startled,

even,

To find, some morn, that thou hadst gone before;

Since, with thy love, this knowledge too was given,

Which each calm day doth strengthen more and more,

That they who love are but one step from Heaven.

X.

I CANNOT think that thou shouldst pass away,

Whose life to mine is an eternal law,
A piece of nature that can have no flaw,
A new and certain sunrise every day;
But, if thou art to be another ray
About the Sun of Life, and art to live
The debt of Love I will more fully pay,
Free from all of thee that was fugitive,
Not downcast with the thought of thee
so high,

steps take,

Through life's most darksome passes un

forlorn;

Therefore from thy pure faith thou shalt not fall,

Therefore shalt thou be ever fair and free,

And in thine every motion musical
As summer air, majestic as the sea,
A mystery to those who creep and crawl
Through Time, and part it from Eternity.

IX.

My Love, I have no fear that thou shouldst die;

Albeit I ask no fairer life than this, Whose numbering-clock is still thy gentle kiss,

While Time and Peace with hands enlocked fly,

Yet care I not where in Eternity

scan

My life are lighted by a purer being, And ask meek, calm-browed deeds, with it agreeing.

XI.

THERE never yet was flower fair in vain, Let classic poets rhyme it as they will; The seasons toil that it may blow again, And summer's heart doth feel its every ill; Nor is a true soul ever born for naught; Wherever any such hath lived and died, There hath been something for true freedom wrought,

Some bulwark levelled on the evil side: Toil on, then, Greatness! thou art in the right,

However narrow souls may call thee wrong;

Be as thou wouldst be in thine own clear

sight,

XIV.

ON READING WORDSWORTH'S SONNETS IN DEFENCE OF CAPITAL PUNISHMENT.

As the broad ocean endlessly upheaveth, With the majestic beating of his heart, The mighty tides, whereof its rightful part

Each sea-wide bay and little weed receiveth,

So, through his soul who earnestly believeth,

Life from the universal Heart doth flow, Whereby some conquest of the eternal Woe,

By instinct of God's nature, he achieveth: A fuller pulse of this all-powerful beauty Into the poet's gulf-like heart doth tide, And he more keenly feels the glorious duty

Of serving Truth, despised and crucified,

Happy, unknowing sect or creed, to rest, And feel God flow forever through his breast.

XV.

THE SAME CONTINUED.

ONCE hardly in a cycle blossometh A flower-like soul ripe with the seeds of song,

A spirit foreordained to cope with wrong, Whose divine thoughts are natural as breath,

Who the old Darkness thickly scattereth With starry words, that shoot prevailing light

Into the deeps, and wither, with the blight Of serene Truth, the coward heart of Death:

Woe, if such spirit thwart its errand high, And mock with lies the longing soul of

man!

Yet one age longer must true Culture lie,
Soothing her bitter fetters as she can,
Until new messages of love outstart
At the next beating of the infinite Heart.

XVI.

THE SAME CONTINUED.

THE love of all things springs from love of one;

Wider the soul's horizon hourly grows,