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Climes which the sun, who sheds the Learn by a mortal yearning to ascend brightest day

Towards a higher object. -Love was given, Earth knows, is all unworthy to survey. Encouraged, sanctioned, chiefly for that

end: Yet there the soul shall enter which hath For this the passion to excess was drivenearned

That self might be annulled : her bondage That privilege by virtue.-"111," said he, prove " The end of man's existence I discerned, The fetters of a dream, opposed to love." Who from ignoble games and revelry Could draw, when we had parted, vain Aloud she shrieked! for Hermes re delight

(and night : appears ! While tears were thy best pastime, -day Round the dear shade she would have

clung-'tis vain. “And while my youthful peers, before my The hours are past-too brief had they eyes,

been years ; (Each hero following his peculiar bent) And him no mortal effort can detain: Prepared themselves for glorious enterprise Swift, toward the realms that know not By martial sports, -or, seated in the tent, earthly day, Chieftains and kings in council were de- He through the portal takes his silent way, tained ;

And on the palace floor a lifeless corse she What time the fleet at Aulis lay enchained. lay. **The wished-for wind was given :-I then By no weak pity might the gods be moved ; revolved

She who thus perished not without the The oracle, upon the silent sea ;

crime And, if no worthier led the way, resolved Of lovers that in reason's spite have loved, That, of a thousand vessels, mine should Was doomed to wander in a grosser clime, be

(strand, - Apart from happy ghosts-that gather The foremost prow in pressing to the

flowers Mine the first blood that tinged the Trojan Of blissful quiet 'mid unfading bowers. sand.

Yet tears to human suffering are due ; "Yet bitter, oft-times bitter, was the pang And mortal hopes defeated and o'erthrown When of thy loss I thought, beloved wife! Are mourned by man, and not by man On thee too fondly did my memory hang, alone, And on the joys we shared in mortal life, As fondly he believes.-Upon the side The paths which we had trod—these foun- of Hellespont (such faith was entertained) tains-flowers;

A knot of spiry trees for ages grew My Dew-planned cities, and unfinished From out the tomb of him for whom she towers.


And ever, when such stature they had gained "But should suspense permit the foe to That Ilium's walls were subject to their

(array, view, Behold, they tremble !-baughty their The trees' tall summits withered at the sight; Yet of their number no one dares to die !'- A constant interchange of growth and In soul I swept the indignity away:

blight ! * Old frailties' then recurred :—but lofty

thought, In act embodied, my deliverance wrought. The sun has burnt her coal-black hair ;

Her eyes are wild, her head is bare,
“And thou, though strong in love, art all Her eyebrows have a rusty stain,
too weak

And she came far from over the main.
In reason, in self-government too slow;
I counsel thee by fortitude to seek

* For the account of these long-lived trees, Our blest re-union in the shades below.

see Pliny's Natural History, lib. 16, cap. 44 ; and The invisible world with thee hath sympa- see the " Iphigenia in Aulis " of Euripides. -Vir,

for the features in the character of Protesilaus thized;

gil places the shade of Laodamia in a mournful Be thy affections raised and solemnized.

region, among unhappy lovers.


She has a baby on her arm,
Or else she were alone ;
And underneath the hay-stack warm,
And on the green-wood stone,
She talked and sung the woods among,
And it was in the English tongue.
"Sweet babe! they say that I am mad,
But nay, my heart is far too glad;
And I am happy when I sing
Full many a sad and doleful thing :
Then, lovely baby, do not fear!
I pray thee have no fear of me,
But, safe as in a cradle, here,
My lovely baby! thou shalt be:
To thee I know too much I owe;
I cannot work thee any woe.

And, if from me thou wilt not go,
But still be true till I am dead,
My pretty thing! then thou shalt sing
As merry as the birds in spring.

· Thy father cares not for my breast, 'Tis thine, sweet baby, there to rest ; "Tis all thine own !-and, if its hue Be changed, that was so fair to view, "Tis fair enough for thee, my dove ! My beauty, little child, is flown ; But thou wilt live with me in love, And what if my poor cheek be brown? 'Tis well for me, thou canst not see How pale and wan it else would be.

A fire was once within my brain ,
And in my head a dull, dull pain ;
And fiendish faces, one, two, three,
Hung at my breast, and pulled at me.
But then there came a sight of joy :
It came at once to do me good;
I waked, and saw my little boy,
My little boy of flesh and blood;
Oh, joy for me that sight to see!
For he was here, and only he.

"Dread not their taunts, my little life;
I am thy father's wedded wife ;
And underneath the spreading tree
We two will live in honesty.
If his sweet boy he could forsake,
With me he never would have stayed :
From him no harm my babe can take,
But he, poor man ! is wretched made ;
And every day we two will pray
For him that's gone and far away

“Suck, little babe, oh, suck again !
It cools my blood; it cools my brain :
Thy lips l seel them, baby! they
Draw from my heart the pain away.
Oh ! press me with thy little hand;
It loosens something at my chest ;
About that tight and deadly band
I feel thy little fingers prest.
The breeze I see is in the tree :
It comes to cool my babe and me.

"I'll teach my boy the sweetest things
I'll teach him how the owlet sings.
My little babe! thy lips are still,
And thou hast almost sucked thy fill.
Where art thou gone, my own dear child !
What wicked looks are those 1 sce?
Alas! alas ! that look so wild,
It never, never came from me:
If thou art mad, my pretty lad,
Then I must be for ever sad.
"Oh, smile on me, my little lamb!
For I thy own dear mother am.
My love for thee has well been tried :
I've sought thy father far and wide.
I know the poisons of the shade,
I know the earth-nuts fit for food ;
Then, pretty dear, be not afraid;
We'll find thy father in the wood.
Now laugh and be gay, to the woods away!
And there, my babe, we'll live for aye."

"Oh! love me, love me, little boy !
Thou art thy mother's only joy ;
And do not dread the waves below,
When o'er the sea-rock's edge we go;
The high crag cannot work me harm,
Nor leaping torrents when they howl ;
The babe I carry on my arm,
He saves for me my precious soul :
Then happy lie, for blest am I;
Without me my sweet babe would die.

"Then do not fear, my boy! for thee
Bold as a lion I will be ;
And I will always be thy guide,
Through hollow snows and rivers wide.
I'll build an Indian bower; I know
The leaves that make the softest bed :


PENDENCE. There was a roaring in the wind all night; The rain came heavily and fell in floods ; But now the sun is rising calm and bright; The birds are singing in the distant woods :

Over his own sweet voice the stock-dove Following his plough, along the mountainbroods ;

[ters; side : The jay makes answer as the magpie chat- By our own spirits are we deified : And all the air is filled with pleasant noise We poets in our youth begin in gladness ; of waters.

But thereof comes in the end despondency

and madness. All things that love the sun are out of doors : The sky rejoices in the morning's birth; Now, whether it were by peculiar grace, The grass is bright with rain-drops ;-on A leading from above, a something given, the moors

Yet it befel, that, in this lonely place, The hare is running races in her mirth ; When I with these untoward thoughts had And with her feet she from the plashy earth striven, Raises a mist; that, glittering in the sun, Beside a pool bare to the eye of heaven Runs with her all the way, wherever she I saw a man before me unawares : doth run.

The oldest man he seemed that ever wore

gray hairs. I was a traveller then upon the moor; I saw the hare that raced about with joy; As a huge stone is sometimes seen to lie I heard the woods, the distant waters, roar, Wonder to all who do the same espy,

Couched on the bald top of an eminence; Or heard them not, as happy as a boy : The pleasant season did my heart employ : By what means it could thither come, and My old remembrances went from me

whence ; wholly;

(melancholy ! So that it seems a thing endued with sense : And all the ways of men so vain and Like a sea-beast crawled forth, that on a

shelf But, as it sometimes chanceth, from the Of rock or sand reposeth, there to sun itself ; might

Such seemed this man, not all alivenor dead, Of joy in minds that can no further go,

Nor all asleep-in his extreme old age : As high as we have mounted in delight

His body was bent double, feet and head In our dejection do we sink as low,

Coming together in lise's pilgrimage ; To me that morning did it happen so;

As if some dire constraint of pain, or rage And fears, and fancies, thick upon me came; Of sickness felt by him in times long past, Dim sadness—and blind thoughts, I knew A more than human weight upon his frame not, nor could name.

had cast. I heard the sky-lark warbling in the sky; Himself he propped, his body, limbs, and And I bethought me of the playful hare : face, Even such a happy child of earth am I ; Upon a long gray staff of shaven wood : Even as these blissful creatures do I fare ; And, still as I drew near with gentle pace, Farfrom the world I walk, and from allcare; Upon the margin of that moorish flood But there may come another day to me- Motionless as a cloud the old man stood ; Solitude, pain of eart, distress, and poverty? That heareth not the loud winds when they My whole life I have lived in pleasant And moveth altogether, if it move at all.

thought, As if life's business were a summer mood; At length, himself unsettling, he the pond As if all needful things would come un- Stirred with his staff, and fixedly did look sought

Upon the muddy water, which he conned, To genial faith, still rich in genial good;

As if he had been reading in a book : But how can he expect that others should And now a stranger's privilege I took ; Build for him, sow for him, and at his call And, drawing to his side, to him did say, Love him, who for himself will take no “This morning gives us promise of a gloheed at all?

rious day. I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous boy, A gentle answer did the old man make, The sleepless soul that perished in his pride; In courteous speech which forth he slowly Of him who walked in glory and in joy

drew :


And him with further words I thus bespake, While he was talking thus, the lonely place, "What occupation do you there pursue ? The old man's shape, and speech, ail This is a lonesome place for one like you." troubled me : He answered, while a flash of mild surprise In my mind's eye I seemed to see him pace Broke from the sable orbs of his yet vivid About the weary moors continually, eyes.

Wandering about alone and silently.

While I these thoughts within myself purHis words came feebly, from a feeble chest, sued,

(course renewed. But each in solemn order followed each, He, having made a pause, the same disWith something of a lofty utterance drest; Choice word, and measured phrase, above And soon with this he other matter blended, the reach

Cheerfully uttered, with demeanour kind. Of ordinary men; a stately speech ;

But stately in the main ; and when he ended, Such as grave livers do in Scotland use,

I could have laughed myself to scorn to find Religious men, who give to God and man in that decrepit man so firm a mind, their dues.

“God," said I, “be my help and stay secure :

(lonely moor!" He told, that to these waters he had come i'u think of the leech-gatherer on the To gather leeches, being old and poor : Employment hazardous and wearisome! And he had many hardships to endure :

THE THORN. From pond to pond he roamed, from moor to moor ;

(or chance : " THERE is a thorn—it looks so old, Housing, with God's good help, by choice In truth, you'd find it hard to sav And in this way he gained an honest main- How it could ever have been young, tenance.

It looks so old and gray.
The old man still stood talking by my side ; it stands erect, this aged thorn ;

Not higher than a two years' child
But now his voice to me was like a stream No leaves it has, no thorny points ;
Scarce heard ; nor word from word could I It is a mass of knotted joints,

A wretched thing forlorn. And the whole body of the man did seem

It stands erect, and like a stone
Like one whom I had met with in a

With lichens it is overgrown.
Or like a man from some far region sent,
To give me human strength, by apt ad-

Like rock or stone, it is o'ergrown, monishment.

With lichens to the very top,

And hung with heavy tufts of moss, My former thoughts returned : the fear that A melancholy crop :

Up from the earth these mosses creep. And hope that is unwilling to be fed ;

And this poor thorn they clasp it round Cold, pain, and labour, and all fleshly ills ; So close, you'd say, that they were bent And mighty poets in their misery dead.

With plain and manifest intent Perplexed, and longing to be comforted

To drag it to the ground ; My question eagerly did I renew,

And all had joined in one endeavour “How is it that you live, and what is it you To bury this poor thorn for ever. do?"

" High on a mountain's highest ridge, He with a smile did then his words repeat; Where oft the stormy winter gale And said, that, gathering leeches, far and Cuts like a scythe, while through the clouds wide

It sweeps from vale to vale ; He travelled ; stirring thus about his feet Not five yards from the mountain path, The waters of the pools where they abide. This thorn you on your left espy ; “Once I could meet with them on every And to the left, three yards beyond,

You see a little muddy pond But they have dwindled long by slow decay; Of water-never dry; Yet still I persevere, and find them where I Though but of compass small, and bare may.

To thirsty suns and parching air.

kills ;

side ;

"And, close beside this aged thorn, “I cannot tell ; I wish I could ; There is a fresh and lovely sight,

For the true reason no one knows : A beauteous heap, a hill of moss,

But would you gladly view the spot, Just half a foot in height.

The spot to which she goes ; All lovely colours there you see,

The hillock like an infant's grave, All colours that were ever seen ;

The pond—and thorn so old and gray ; And mossy Ret-work too is there,

Pass by her door-'tis seldom shutAs if by hand of lady fair

And, if you see her in her hut, The work had woven been ;

Then to the spot away ! And cups, the darlings of the eye,

I never heard of such as dare So deep is their vermilion dye.

Approach the spot when she is there." "Ah me! what lovely tints are there ! “But wherefore to the mountain-top Of olive green and scarlet bright,

Can this unhappy woman go, In spikes, in branches, and in stars, Whatever sta, is in the skies, Green, red, and pearly white.

Whatever wind may blow ?" This heap of earth o'ergrown with moss, “'Tis known, that twenty years are passed Which close beside the thorn you see, Since she (her name is Martha Ray) So fresh in all its beauteous dyes,

Gave with a maiden's true good will Is like an infant's grave in size,

Her company to Stephen Hill; As like as like can be :

And she was blithe and gay, But never, never any where,

While friends and kindred all approved An infant's grave was half so fair.

Of him whom tenderly she loved. "Now would you see this aged thorn, “And they had fixed the wedding day, This pond, and beauteous hill of moss, The morning that must wed them both ; You must take care and choose your time But Stephen to another maid The mountain when to cross.

Had sworn another oath ; For oft there sits between the heap

And with this other maid to church
So like an infant's grave in size,

Unthinking Stephen went-
And that same pond of which I spoke, Poor Martha ! on that woeful day
A woman in a scarlet cloak,

A pang of pitiless dismay
And to herself she cries,

Into her soul was sent; "Oh, misery! oh, misery!

A fire was kindled in her breast, Oh, woe is me! oh, misery!'

Which might not burn itself to rest. "At all times of the day and night “ They say, full six months after this, This wretched woman thither goes ;

While yet the summer leaves were green, And she is known to every star,

She to the mountain-top would go, And every wind that blows ;

And there was often seen. And there, beside the thorn, she sits

Alas! her lamentable state When the blue daylight's in the skies,

Even to a careless eye was plain ; And when the whirlwind's on the hill, She was with child, and she was mad; Or frosty air is keen and still,

Yet often she was sober sad And to herself she cries,

From her exceeding pain. Oh, misery! oh, misery!

O guilty father, --would that death Oh, woe is me! oh, misery!"

Had saved him from that breach of faith! Now wherefore, thus, by day and night, “Sad case for such a brain to hold In rain, in tempest, and in snow,

Communion with a stirring child ! Thus to the dreary mountain-top

Sad case, as you may think, tor one Does this poor woman go?

Who had a brain so wild ! And why sits she beside the thorn

Last Christmas-eve we talked of this, When the blue daylight's in the sky,

And gray-haired Wilfred of the glen Or when the whirlwind's on the hill,

Held that the unborn infant wrought Or frosty air is keen and still,

About its mother's heart, and brought And wherefore does she cry?

Her senses back again : Oh, wherefore? wherefore? tell me why

And when at last her time drew near, Does she repeat that doleful cry?"

Her looks were calm, her senses clear.

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