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Well, this cold clay clod

Was man's heart.
Crumble it - and what comes next?
Is it God 1


But day increased from heat to heat,

On stony drought and steaming salt; Till now at noon she slept again,

And seemed knee-deep in mountain grass,

And heard her native breezes pass, And runlets babbling down the glen.

She breathed in sleep a lower moan;

And murmuring, as at night and morn, She thought, “My spirit is here alone,

Walks forgotten, and is forlorn.”

Mariana in the South. With one black shadow at its feet,

The house through all the level shines, Close-latticed to the brooding heat,

And silent in its dusty vines;
A faint-blue ridge upon the right,

An empty river-bed before,

And shallows on a distant shore, In glaring sand and inlets bright.

But “ Ave Mary," made she moan,

And “ Ave Mary,” night and morn; And " Ah," she sang, “ to be all alone,

To live forgotten, and love forlorn."

Dreaming, she knew it was a dream;

She felt he was and was not there. She woke: the babble of the stream

Fell, and without the steady glare Shrank the sick olive sere and small.

The river-bed was dusty white;

And all the furnace of the light Struck up against the blinding wall.

She whispered, with a stifled moan

More inward than at night or morn, “Sweet mother, let me not here alone

Live forgotten, and die forlorn."

She, as her carol sadder grew,

From brow and bosom slowly down Through rosy taper fingers drew

Her streaming curls of deepest brown To left and right, and made appear,

Still lighted in a secret shrine,

Her melancholy eyes divine, The home of woe without a tear.

And “ Ave Mary," was her moan,

“Madonna, sad is night and morn;" And " Ah,” she sang, “to be all alone,

To live forgotten, and love forlorn.”

And, rising, from her bosom drew

Old letters, breathing of her worth ; For “ Love,” they said, “must needs be true,

To what is loveliest upon earth.” An image seemed to pass

the door, To look at her with slight, and say,

“ But now thy beauty flows away, So be alone for evermore.”

“O cruel heart,” she changed her tone,

“And cruel love, whose end is scorn, Is this the end — to be left alone,

To live forgotten, and die forlorn!”

Till all the crimson changed, and passed

Into deep orange o'er the sea, Low on her knees herself she cast,

Before Our Lady murmured she; Complaining, “ Mother, give me grace

To help me of my weary load!”

And on the liquid mirror glowed The clear perfection of her face. " Is this the form,” she made her moan,

That won his praises night and morn ?” And “Ah,” she said, “ but I wake alone,

I sleep forgotten, I wake forlorn.”


But sometimes in the falling day

An image seemed to pass the door, To look into her eyes and say,

• But thou shalt be alone no more.” And flaming downward over all,

From heat to heat the day decreased,

And slowly rounded to the east The one black shadow from the wall.

"The day to night,” she made her moan,

“ The day to night, the night to morn, And day and night I am left alone,

To live forgotten, and love forlorn."


Nor bird would sing, nor lamb would bleat,

Nor any cloud would cross the vault;

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They sat together, hand in hand,

The sunset flickered low; The fickle sea crept up the strand,

And caught the after-glow.

Locksley Hall, that in the distance overlooks the

sandy tracts, And the hollow ocean-ridges roaring into cata


Many a night from yonder ivied casement, ere I And she turned - her bosom shaken with a sudwent to rest,

den storm of sighs Did I look on great Orion sloping slowly to the All the spirit deeply dawning in the dark of hazel west.

eyes —

Many a night I saw the Pleiads, rising through the Saying, “I have hid my feelings, fearing they mellow shade,

should do me wrong;” Glitter like a swarm of fire-flies tangled in a silver Saying, “Dost thou love me, cousin ” weeping, braid.

“I have loved thee long."

Here about the beach I wandered, nourishing a Love took up the glass of time, and turned it in youth sublime

his glowing hands; With the fairy tales of science, and the long result Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden of time;


When the centuries behind me like a fruitful land Love took up the harp of life, and smote on all the reposed;

chords with might; When I clung to all the present for the promise Smote the chord of self, that, trembling, passed in that it closed;

music out of sight.

When I dipt into the future far as human eye Many a morning on the moorland did we hear the could see —

copses ring, Saw the vision of the world, and all the wonder And her whisper thronged my pulses with the fulthat would be.

ness of the spring.

In the spring a fuller crimson comes upon the Many an evening by the waters did we watch the robin's breast;

stately ships, In the spring the wanton lapwing gets himself And our spirits rushed together at the touching of another crest;

the lips.

In the spring a livelier iris changes on the bur- Oh my cousin, shallow-hearted ! Oh my Amy, nished dove;

mine no more! In the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to Oh the dreary, dreary moorland! Oh the barren, thoughts of love.

barren shore !

Then her cheek was pale and thinner than should Falser than all fancy fathoms, falser than all songs

be for one so young, And her eyes on all my motions with a mute ob- Puppet to a father's threat, and servile to a shrewservance hung.

ish tongue !

have sung

And I said, “My cousin Amy, speak, and speak the Is it well to wish thee happy 9 -- having known truth to me;

me; to decline Trust me, cousin, all the current of my being sets On a range of lower feelings and a narrower heart to thee."

than mine!

On her pallid cheek and forehead came a color and Yet it shall be: thou shalt lower to his level day by a light,

day, As I have seen the rosy red flushing in the north- What is fine within thee growing coarse to sympaern night.

thize with clay.

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As the husband is, the wife is; thou art mated with Never! though my mortal summers to such length a clown,

of years should come And the grossness of his nature will have weight to As the many-wintered crow that leads the clanging drag thee down.

rookery home.

He will hold thee, when his passion shall have Where is comfort ? in division of the records of the spent its novel force,

mind? Something better than his dog, a little dearer than Can I part her from herself, and love her, as I knew his horse.

her, kind?

What is this 1 his eyes are heavy-think not they I remember one that perished; sweetly did she are glazed with wine.

speak and move; Go to him; it is thy duty - kiss him; take his Such a one do I remember, whoni to look at was to hand in thine.


It may be my lord is


that his brain is over- Can I think of her as dead, and love her for the wrought

love she bore ? Soothe him with thy finer fancies, touch him with No— she never loved me truly; love is love for

thy lighter thought,


He will answer to the purpose, easy things to Comfort ? comfort scorned of devils ! this is truth understand

the poet sings, Better thou wert dead before me, though I slew That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering thee with


happier things.

Better thou and I were lying, hidden from the Drug thy memories, lest thou learn it, lest thy heart's disgrace,

heart be put to proof, Rolled in one another's arms, and silent in a last In the dead, unhappy night, and when the rain is embrace.

on the roof.

Cursed be the social wants that sin against the Like a dog, he hunts in dreams; and thou art starstrength of youth!

ing at the wall, Cursed be the social lies that warp us from the Where the dying night-lamp flickers, and the living truth!

shadows rise and fall.

Cursed be the sickly forms that err from honest Then a hand shall pass before thee, pointing to his nature's rule!

drunken sleep, Cursed be the gold that gilds the straitened fore- To thy widowed marriage-pillows, to the tears that

thou wilt weep. head of the fool!

Well — 'tis well that I should bluster!- Hadst Thou shalt hear the “Never, never," whispered by thou less unworthy proved,

the phantom years, Would to God — for I had loved thee more than And a song from out the distance in the ringing of ever wife was loved.

thine ears;

Am I mad, that I should cherish that which bears And an eye shall vex thee, looking ancient kindness but bitter fruit?

on thy pain. I will pluck it from my bosom, though my heart be Turn thee, turn thee on thy pillow; get thee to thy at the root.

rest again.

Nay, but nature brings thee solace ; for a tender Can I but relive in sadness ? I will turn that earlier voice will cry;

page. 'Tis a purer life than thine; a lip to drain thy Hide me from my deep emotion, 0 thou wondrous trouble dry.


Baby lips will laugh me down; my latest rival Make me feel the wild pulsation that I felt before brings thee rest

the strife, Baby fingers, waxen touches, press me from the When I heard my days before me, and the tumult mother's breast.

of my life;

Oh, the child, too, clothes the father with a dearness Yearning for the large excitement that the coming not his due;

years would yield — Half is thine, and half is his — it will be worthy of Eager-hearted as a boy when first he leaves his the two.

father's field,

Oh, I see thee, old and formal, fitted to thy petty And at night along the dusky highway near and part,

nearer drawn, With a little hoard of maxims preaching down Sees in heaven the light of London flaring like a daughter's heart:

a dreary dawn;


They were dangerous guides, the feelings — she And his spirit leaps within him to be gone before herself was not exempt –

him then, Truly, she herself had suffered.” Perish in thy Underneath the light he looks at, in among the . self-contempt!

throngs of men —

Overlive it — lower yet — be happy! wherefore Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping should I caret

something new : I myself must mix with action, lest I wither by That which they have done but earnest of the despair.

things that they shall do;


What is that which I should turn to, lighting upon For I dipt into the future, far as human eye could

days like these? Every door is barred with gold, and opens but to Saw the vision of the world, and all the wonder golden keys.

that would be

Every gate is thronged with suitors; all the Saw the heavens fill with commerce, argosies of markets overflow.

magic sails, I have but an angry fancy: what is that which Pilots of the purple twilight, dropping down with I should do

costly bales;

I had been content to perish, falling on the foeman's Heard the heavens fill with shouting, and there ground,

rained a ghastly dew When the ranks are rolled in vapor, and the winds From the nations'airy navies grappling in the cenare laid with sound.

tral blue;

But the jingling of the guinea helps the hurt that Far along the world-wide whisper of the southhonor feels,

wind rushing warm, And the nations do but murmur, snarling at each with the standards of the peoples plunging through other's heels.

the thunder-storm;

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