LENORE.

Ан, broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown for

ever!

Let the bell toll !

river;

a saintly soul floats on the Stygian

weep now

And, Guy De Vere, hast thou no tear ?

or never more!

See! on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love,

Lenore !

Come! let the burial rite be read

be sung!

the funeral song

An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so

young

A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so

young.

"Wretches! ye loved her for her wealth and hated her for her pride,

"And when she fell in feeble health, ye blessed her that she died!

"How shall the ritual, then, be read?

the requiem

- by yours, the

"That did to death the innocence that died, and died

Peccavimus; but rave not thus! and let a Sabbath

song

Go up to God so solemnly the dead may feel no wrong!

The sweet Lenore hath "

that flew beside,

gone before," with Hope,

Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been thy bride

For her, the fair and debonair, that now so lowly lies, The life upon her yellow hair but not within her -the death upon

eyes

The life still there, upon her hair

her eyes.

"Avaunt! avaunt! from fiends below, the indignant ghost is riven

"From Hell unto a high estate far up within the Heaven

"From grief and groan, to a golden throne, beside the King of Heaven.'

Let no bell toll then! - lest her soul, amid its hallowed mirth,

Should catch the note as it doth float up from the damnéd Earth !

And I!-to-night my heart is light! No dirge will I upraise,

But waft the angel on her flight with a Pæan of old days!

THE VALLEY OF UNREST.

Once it smiled a silent dell

Where the people did not dwell;
They had gone unto the wars,
Trusting to the mild-eyed stars,
Nightly, from their azure towers,

To keep watch above the flowers,
In the midst of which all day
The red sun-light lazily lay.
Now each visiter shall confess
The sad valley's restlessness.
Nothing there is motionless
Nothing save the airs that brood
Over the magic solitude.

Ah, by no wind are stirred those trees
That palpitate like the chill seas
Around the misty Hebrides!

Ah, by no wind those clouds are driven
That rustle through the unquiet Heaven
Uneasily, from morn till even,

Over the violets there that lie

In myriad types of the human eye-
Over the lilies three that wave
And weep above a nameless grave !
They wave: from out their fragrant tops
Eternal dews come down in drops.

They weep: from off their delicate stems Perennial tears descend in gems.

THE COLISEUM.

TYPE of the antique Rome! Rich reliquary
Of lofty contemplation left to Time

By buried centuries of pomp and power!
At length at length after so many days
Of weary pilgrimage and burning thirst,
(Thirst for the springs of lore that in thee lie,)
I kneel, an altered and an humble man,
Amid thy shadows, and so drink within
My very soul thy grandeur, gloom, and glory!

Vastness! and Age! and Memories of Eld!
Silence! and Desolation! and dim Night !
I feel ye now - I feel ye in your strength
O spells more sure than e'er Judæan king
Taught in the gardens of Gethsemane !

O charms more potent than the rapt Chaldee
Ever drew down from out the quiet stars!

Here, where a hero fell, a column falls !
Here, where the mimic eagle glared in gold,
A midnight vigil holds the swarthy bat!
Here, where the dames of Rome their gilded hair
Waved to the wind, now wave the reed and thistle !
Here, where on golden throne the monarch lolled,
Glides, spectre-like, unto his marble home,
Lit by the wan light of the hornéd moon,
The swift and silent lizard of the stones !

All of the famed, and the colossal left
By the corrosive Hours to Fate and me?

"Not all

-

are they

the Echoes answer me — "" not all! Prophetic sounds and loud, arise forever "From us, and from all Ruin, unto the wise, "As nelody from Memnon to the Sun.

we rule

We rule the hearts of mightiest men "With a despotic sway all giant minds. ‹‹ We are not impotent we pallid stones. "Not all our power is gone not all our fame"Not all the magic of our high renown "Not all the wonder that encircles us "Not all the mysteries that in us lie "Not all the memories that hang upon “And cling around about us as a garment, Clothing us in a robe of more than glory.”

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