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Dark, and drear, and desolate,
On a mossy crag I sate,
Watching through the heavenly gate
Many a solemn angel-band
Marching to the spirit-land,
When Love tapping on the door
Of my heart, did there implore—

A home implore.

Trembling, shivering, timid-hearted,

From that holy dream I started,

As a ghost of the departed

From the gates of light had drifted,

And with icy fingers lifted

Up the latchet of the door

Of my doting heart once more—

Ah me! once more!

Then aside I dashed the tear,
Lower bent my spirit's ear,
More distinct the taps to hear,
And all thoughtless did begin
To tell Love to enter in,
When an Angel sought this shore
To defeat him at the door—

My lone heart's door.

s Low his golden tresses streaming

O'er his wings with soul-light heaming,

Perched he down amid my dreaming,

Perching,, sat ere I could rise,

Gazing full into my eyes,

As my soul he would explore—

And this Cupid by the door—

My lone heart's door.

Calmly then the Angel spoke,
Words that o'er my spirit broke,
Like the chimes in dream-land woke—
"Sad, meek solitaire of earth,
Loving, trusting from thy birth—
Soul that heavenward dost soar,
Turn this traitor from the door—

Thy lone heart's door.

"In thy breast he seeks no home,
From the blithest he will roam;
He will enter the heart's dome,
Filch its every jewel fair,
Plant his barbed arrow there,
And then straight go out the door,
Back returning never more—

Ah! never more t

"Search the chronicles of Love,
See the nets that he has wove,
To entrap the timid dove;
See in Lethe's crowded domes
Ashes of his hecatombs;
And I wot thou'lt keep the door
Of thy heart locked ever more—
For ever more.

"Blossoms in thy heart may bloom,
E'en while Love hath there his home,
But their roots are in the tomb;
And the tramp of funeral-feet
Lone thy spirit's ear will greet,
When too late to lock the door
Of thy heart for ever more—

Ah! ever more!

"Therefore, mournful child of song,
Leave Love to the heartless throng,
Who can cope with woe and wrong;
Pour thy soul's surcharge of fire
On an altar holier, higher,
And let Reason keep the door
Of thy fond heart ever more—

For ever more."

When the Angel this had said,
Out his burnished wings he spread,
And above the tree-tops sped;
Upward, upward, where the moon
Floated in her cloudy noon,
Leaving me to guard the door
Of my heart for ever more—

Ah! ever more!

But this heart would not obey
What the missioned sprite did say—
It would have its wilful way;
It made Love its chiefest guest,
Till he banished peace and rest,
When he straight went out the door,
Locking woe in ever more—

Ah! ever more!

SONNETS TO MY STUDY.
I.

MY STUDY.

This is my world—my angel-guarded shrine, Which I have made to suit my heart's great need, When sorrow dooms it overmuch to hleed: Or, when aweary and athirst I pine For genial showers and sustenance divine; When love, or hope, or joy, my heart deceive, And I would sit me down alone to grieve— My mind to sad or studious mood resign. Here oft, upon the stream of thought I lie, Floating whichever way the waves are flowing— Sometimes along the banks of childhood going. Where all is bud, and bloom, and melody, Or, wafted by some stronger current, glide, Where darker frown the steeps and deeper flows the tide.

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