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Where the lamps quiver
So far in the river,

With many a light
From window and casement,
From garret to basement,
She stood, with amazement,

Houseless by night.
The bleak wind of March

Made her tremble and shiver ;
But not the dark arch,

Or the black flowing river :
Mad from life's history,
Glad to death's mystery

Swift to be hurl'd
Any where, any where

Out of the world ! In she plunged boldly, No matter how coldly

The rough river ran, Over the brink of it,Picture it, think of it,

Dissolute Man ! Lave in it, drink of it

Then, if you can ! Take her up tenderly,

Lift her with care ; Fashion'd so slenderly,

Young, and so fair
Ere her limbs frigidly
Stiffen too rigidly,

Decently, kindly,
Smooth and compose them ;
And her eyes, close them,

Staring so blindly !
Dreadfully staring

Thro' muddy impurity, As when with the daring Last look of despairing

Fix'd on futurity.




90 95

Perishing gloomily,
Spurr'd by contumely,
Cold inhumanity,
Burning insanity,

Into her rest.

Cross her hands humbly,
As if praying dumbly,

Over her breast !


Owning her weakness,

Her evil behaviour,
And leaving, with meekness,

105 Her sins to her Saviour !

T. Hood.



O snatch'd away in beauty's bloom !
On thee shall press no ponderous tomb ;

But on thy turf shall roses rear

Their leaves, the earliest of the year, And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom :


And oft by yon blue gushing stream

Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head,
And feed deep thought with many a dream,

And lingering pause and lightly tread ; Fond wretch ! as if her step disturb'd the dead !


Away! we know that tears are vain,

That Death nor heeds nor hears distress :
Will this unteach us to complain ?

Or make one mourner weep the less ?
And thou, who tell'st me to forget,
Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.




I a



When maidens such as Hester die,
Their place ye may not well supply,
Though ye among a thousand try

With vain endeavour.
A month or more hath she been dead,
Yet cannot I by force be led
To think upon the wormy bed

And her together.



A springy motion in her gait,
A rising step, did indicate
Of pride and joy no common rate

That flush'd her spirit :
I know not by what name beside
I shall it call : if 'twas not pride,
It was a joy to that allied

She did inherit.



Her parents held the Quaker rule,
Which doth the human feeling cool ;
But she was train’d in Nature's school,

Nature had blest her.
A waking eye, a prying mind,
A heart that stirs, is hard to bind ;
A hawk's keen sight ye cannot blind,

Ye could not Hester.


My sprightly neighbour ! gone before
To that unknown and silent shore,
Shall we not meet, as heretofore

Some summer morning-
When from thy cheerful eyes a ray
Hath struck a bliss upon the day,
A bliss that would not go away,
A sweet fore-warning?


30 234

He is gone on the mountain,

He is lost to the forest,
Like a summer-dried fountain,

When our need was the sorest.
The font reappearing

From the raindrops shall borrow,
But to us comes no cheering,

To Duncan no morrow !



The hand of the reaper

Takes the ears that are hoary,
But the voice of the weeper

Wails manhood in glory.
The autumn winds rushing

Waft the leaves that are serest,
But our flower was in flushing

When blighting was nearest.


Fleet foot on the correi,

Sage counsel in cumber,
Red hand in the foray,
How sound is thy slumber !

20 Like the dew on the mountain,

Like the foam on the river,
Like the bubble on the fountain,
Thou art gone, and for ever!



We watch'd her breathing thro’ the night,

Her breathing soft and low,
As in her breast the wave of life

Kept heaving to and fro.


But when the morn came dim and sad

And chill with early showers, Her quiet eyelids closedshe had Another morn than ours.

T. Hood.




ROSABELLE O listen, listen, ladies gay !

No haughty feat of arms I tell ; Soft is the note, and sad the lay

That mourns the lovely Rosabelle. • Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew !

And, gentle ladye, deign to stay ! Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch,

Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day. * The blackening wave is edged with white ;

To inch and rock the sea-mews fly ; The fishers have heard the Water-Sprite,

Whose screams forebode that wreck is nigh. * Last night the gifted Seer did view

A wet shroud swathed round ladye gay ; Then stay thee, Fair, in Ravensheuch;

Why cross the gloomy firth to-day ?' 'Tis not because Lord Lindesay's heir

To-night at Roslin leads the ball, But that my ladye-mother there

Sits lonely in her castle-hall. “ 'Tis not because the ring they ride,

And Lindesay at the ring rides well, But that my sire the wine will chide

If 'tis not fill'd by Rosabelle.' O’er Roslin all that dreary night

A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam ; 'Twas broader than the watch-fire's light,

And redder than the bright moonbeam.




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