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But thou the while shalt bear
Thy founder's virtuous fame.
AT LYME REGIS.
ALM, azure, marble sea,
As a fair palace pavement largely spread,
Lean over languidly,
Peace is on all I view;
Ruffles along the blue,
In no profounder calm
Reared, or the first fair palm
Francis Turner Palgrave.
THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM.
WAS in the prime of summer time,
An evening calm and cool, And four-and-twenty happy boys
Came bounding out of school; There were some that ran and some that leapt
Like troutlets in a pool.
Away they sped with gamesome minds
And souls untouched by sin; To a level mead they came,
and there They drave the wickets in: Pleasantly shone the setting sun
Over the town of Lynn.
Like sportive deer they coursed about,
And shouted as they ran,
As only boyhood can;
A melancholy man!
His hat was off, his vest apart,
To catch heaven's blessed breeze;
And his bosom ill at ease;
So he leaned his head on his hands, and read
The book between his knees !
Leaf after leaf he turned it o'er,
Nor ever glanced aside;
In the golden eventide ;
And pale and leaden-eyed.
At last he shut the ponderous tome;
With a fast and fervent grasp
And fixed the brazen hasp:
And clasp it with a clasp !”
Some moody turns he took,
And past a shady nook,
That pored upon a book ! “My gentle lad, what is 't you read,
Romance or fairy fable ?
Of kings and crowns unstable ?"
“ It is The Death of Abel.' »
The usher took six hasty strides,
As smit with sudden pain, —
Six hasty strides beyond the place,
Then slowly back again;
And talked with him of Cain;
And, long since then, of bloody men,
Whose deeds tradition saves;
And hid in sudden graves;
And murders done in caves;
And how the sprites of injured men
Shriek upward from the sod;
To show the burial clod;
Are seen in dreams from God!
He told how murderers walk the earth
Beneath the curse of Cain,
And flames about their brain;
Its everlasting stain!
“And well,” quoth he, “I know, for truth,
Their pangs must be extreme, Woe, woe, unutterable woe,
Who spill life's sacred stream! For why? Methought, last night I wrought
A murder, in a dream!
« One that had never done me wrong,
A feeble man and old;
The moon shone clear and cold :
And I will have his gold!
“ Two sudden blows with a ragged stick,
And one with a heavy stone, One hurried gash with a hasty knife, —
And then the deed was done : There was nothing lying at my feet
But lifeless flesh and bone !
Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone,
That could not do me ill ;
For lying there so still:
That murder could not kill !
And, lo! the universal air
Seemed lit with glastly flame;
Were looking down in blame;
And called upon his name !
“O God! it made me quake to see
Such sense within the slain!