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THE ANCIENT MARINER.
Which forced me to begin my tale;
a.rdanVon, Since then, at an uncertain hour,
him to trav-
I pass like night from land to land;
What loud uproar bursts from that door!
O wedding-guest! this soul hath been
O, sweeter than the marriage-feast,
To walk together to the kirk, — And all together pray, While each to his great Father bends, Old men, and babes, and loving friends, And youths and maidens gay!
Farewell, farewell! but this I tell iffCh°byhis
To thee, thou wedding-guest! $" ZT
He prayeth well who loveth well Si^aii
Both man, and bird, and beast. SKad?'
Fie prayeth oest who loveth best
The mariner, whose eye is bright,
He went like one that hath been stunned
MIRABEAU, — Sterling.
Not oft has peopled Earth sent up
So deep and wide a groan before,
"The life of Mirabeau is o'er!"
For well the startled sense divined
Than aught that now remained behind.
The scathed and haggard face of will, And look so strong with weaponed thought,
Had been to many million hearts The All between themselves and naught;
And so they stood aghast and pale,
As if to see the azure sky
For he, while all men trembling peered
Upon the Future's empty space,
The oracle unveil its face;
A thicker weight of darkness fell,
The wearied master of the spell.
A myriad hands like shadows weak,
Or stiff and sharp as bestial claws,
That bore his country's life and laws;
And quailed beneath the living grasp
Nor pleasure's cup can madly clasp.
France did not reck how fierce a storm
Of rending passion, blind and grim,
When death sank heavily on him;
Of toiling smoke and blasting flame,
Were summed for him as guilt and shame.
The wondrous life that flowed so long,
Had seemed for them in morning light
It rolled with mighty breadth and sound
Then sudden vanished into earth,
To them at first the world appeared
Aground, and lying shipwrecked there, And freedom's folded flag no more
With dazzling sun-burst filled the air; But't is in after years for men
A sadder and a greater thing, To muse upon the inward heart
Of him who lived the People's King.
O wasted strength! O light and calm
And better hopes so vainly given! Like rain upon the herbless sea
Poured down by too benignant Heaven. We see not stars unfixed by winds,
Or lost in aimless thunder-peals;
In guideless whirl how oft it reels!
The mountain hears the torrent dash,
But rocks will not in billows run; No eagle's talons rend away
Those eyes that joyous drink the sun: Yet man, by choice and purpose weak,
Upon his own devoted head Calls down the flash, as if its fires
A crown of peaceful glory shed.
Alas ! —Yet wh srefore mourn? The law
The godlike power bestowed on men
And noblest gifts, if basely used,
And grind with slavish pangs the slave
The lamp, that, 'mid the sacred cell,
On heavenly forms its glory sheds, Untended dies, and in the gloom
A poisonous vapor glimmering spreads It shines and flares, and reeling ghosts
Enormous through the twilight swell, Till o'er the withered world and heart
Rings loud and slow the dooming knelL
No more I hear a nation's shout
Around the hero's tread prevailing, No more I hear above his tomb
A nation's fierce, bewildered wailing 5 I stand amid the silent night,
And think of man and all his woe With fear and pity, grief and awe.
When I remember Mirabeau.