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“ A Mother, too !" these self-same words
Did Edward mutter plain;
With horror and huge pain.
Both groan'd at once, for both knew well
What thoughts were in his mind;
That hath been just struck blind.
He sat upright; and ere the dream
Had had time to depart,
“ I have torn out her heart.”
Then Ellen shriek’d, and forthwith burst
And never she smil'd after.
Carmen religuum in futurum tempus relegatum. To-morrow! and To-morrow and To-morrow!
Late, late yestreen I saw the new Moon,
Ballad of Sir PATRICK SPENCE.
WELL! If the Bard was weather-wise, who made
The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence,
This night, so tranquil now, will not go hence Unrous'd by winds, that ply a busier trade Than those which mould yon clouds in lazy flakes, Or the dull sobbing draft, that moans and rakes
Upon the strings of this Æolian lute,
Which better far were mute.
(With swimming phantom-light o'erspread
But rimm’d and circled by a silver thread)
The coming on of rain and squally blast.
And the slant night-shower driving loud and fast ! Those sounds which oft have raised me, whilst they awed,
And sent my soul abroad, Might now perhaps their wonted impulse give, . Might startle this dull pain, and make it move and live!
A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear,
A stifled, drowsy, unimpassion'd grief,
In word, or sigh, or tear-
All this long eve, so balmy and serene,
And it's peculiar tint of yellow green: