Watch the dim shades as like ghosts they go and come,

And complicate strange webs of melancholy mirth.

The leaves of wasted autumn woods shall float around thine head,

The blooms of dewy Spring shall gleam beneath thy feet:

But thy soul or this world must fade in the frost that binds the dead,

Ere midnight's frown and morning's smile, ere thou and peace, may meet.

The cloud shadows of midnight possess their own repose,

For the weary winds are silent, or the moon is in the deep;

Some respite to its turbulence unresting ocean knows;

Whatever moves or toils or grieves hath its appointed sleep.

Thou in the grave shalt rest :—yet, till the phantoms flee

Which that house and heath and garden made dear to thee erewhile,

Thy remembrance and repentance and deep musings are not free

From the music of two voices, and the light of one sweet smile.

ON DEATH.

There is no work nor device nor knowledge nor wisdom in the grave whither thou goest.-Ecclesiastes.

I.

THE pale, the cold, and the moony smile Which the meteor beam of a starless night Sheds on a lonely and sea-girt isle

Ere the dawning of morn's undoubted light Is the flame of life so fickle and wan That flits round our steps till their strength is gone.

2.

O man! hold thee on in courage of soul

Through the stormy shades of thy worldly way;

And the billows of cloud that around thee roll Shall sleep in the light of a wondrous day, Where hell and heaven shall leave thee free To the universe of destiny.

3.

This world is the nurse of all we know,
This world is the mother of all we feel;

And the coming of death is a fearful blow
To a brain unencompassed with nerves of
steel,

When all that we know or feel or see
Shall pass like an unreal mystery.

4.

The secret things of the grave are there
Where all but this frame must surely be,
Though the fine-wrought eye and the wondrous

ear

No longer will live to hear or to see
All that is great and all that is strange
In the boundless realm of unending change.

5.

Who telleth a tale of unspeaking death?
Who lifteth the veil of what is to come?
Who painteth the shadows that are beneath

The wide-winding caves of the peopled tomb? Or uniteth the hopes of what shall be

With the fears and the love for that which we see?

MUTABILITY.

I.

WE are as clouds that veil the midnight moon; How restlessly they speed and gleam and quiver,

Streaking the darkness radiantly! yet soon Night closes round, and they are lost for

ever:

2.

Or like forgotten lyres whose dissonant strings Give various response to each varying blast, To whose frail frame no second motion brings One mood or modulation like the last.

3.

We rest- —a dream has power to poison sleep; We rise-one wandering thought pollutes the day;

We feel, conceive, or reason, laugh or weep, Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away :

4.

It is the same!-For, be it joy or sorrow,
The path of its departure still is free;
Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow;
Nought may endure but Mutability.

TO WORDSWORTH.

POET of Nature, thou hast wept to know
That things depart which never may return ;

Childhood and youth, friendship, and love's first glow,

Have fled like sweet dreams, leaving thee

to mourn,

These common woes I feel. One loss is mine,

Which thou too feel'st, yet I alone deplore. Thou wert as a lone star whose light did shine

On some frail bark in winter's midnight

roar:

Thou hast like to a rock-built refuge stood
Above the blind and battling multitude:
In honoured poverty thy voice did weave
Songs consecrate to truth and liberty.
Deserting these, thou leavest me to grieve,
Thus, having been, that thou shouldst cease
to be.

FEELINGS OF A REPUBLICAN ON THE FALL OF BONAPARTE.

I HATED thee, fallen Tyrant! I did groan
To think that a most unambitious slave,
Like thou, should dance and revel on the
grave

Of Liberty. Thou mightst have built thy

throne