For so will sound thy voice,

When thy face is to the wall,

And such will be thy face, ladyè,

When the maidens work thy pall-
Margret, Margret!

"Am I not like to thee?"

The voice was calm and low

And between each word there seeméd heard The universe's flow!

"The like may sway the like!

By which mysterious law,

Mine eyes from thine, my lips from thine,

The light and breath may draw,
Margret, Margret!

My lips do need thy breath,

My lips do need thy smile,

And my pale deep eyne, that light in thine Which met the stars erewhile.

Yet go, with light and life

If that thou lovest one,

In all the earth, who loveth thee
More truly than the sun,
Margret, Margret !"

Her cheek had waxed white
As cloud at fall of snow;
Then, like to one at set of sun,
It waxed red also!—

For love's name maketh bold,

As if the loved were near:

And sighed she the deep long sigh
Which cometh after fear.
Margret, Margret!

"Now, sooth, I fear thee not

Shall never fear thee now!"

(And a noble sight was the sudden light

Which lit her lifted brow!) "Can earth be dry of streams,

Or hearts of love?"-she said;

"Who doubteth love, can know not love,He is already dead!"

Margret, Margret!

"I have"-and here her lips
Some word in pause did keep;

And gave, the while, a quiet smile,

As if they paused in sleep!

"I have a brother dear,
A knight of knightly fame;

I broider'd him a knightly scarf
With letters of my name.'
Margret, Margret!

"I fed his gray goss-hawk,

I kissed his fierce bloodhound,

I sate at home when he might come, And caught his horn's far sound:

I sang him songs of eld,

I pour'd him the red wine,

He looked from the cup, and said,
I love thee, sister mine!"
Margret, Margret!

IT trembled on the grass,

With a low, shadowy laughter!

The ladye did not heed

That the far stars did fail-
Still calm her smile, albeit, the while-
Nay!-but she is not pale !—
"I have a more than friend,
Across the mountains dim:—

No other's voice is soft to me,
Unless it naineth him!"

Margret, Margret!

"Though louder beats mine heart,

I know his tread again;

And his far plume aye,-unless turned away, For tears do blind me, then!

We brake no gold, a sign

Of stronger faith to be;

But I wear his last look in my soul,
Which said, I love but thee!"
Margret, Margret!

IT trembled on the grass,

With a low shadowy laughter—
The wind did toll, as a passing soul
Were sped by church-bell, after!
And shadows, 'stead of light,

Fell from the stars above,
In flakes of darkness on her face,
Still bright with trusting love!
Margret, Margret!

"He loved none but thee!

That love is transient too.

The wild hawk's bill doth dabble still
I' the mouth that vowed the true.
Will he open his dull eyes,

When tears fall on his brow?
Behold! the death-worm to his heart
Is a nearer thing than thou!"
Margret, Margret!

Her face was on the ground

None saw the agony!

But the men at sea did that night agree
They heard a drowning cry.

And, when the morning brake,

Fast roll'd the river's tide,

With the green trees waving overhead,
And a white corse lain beside.
Margret, Margret!

A knight's bloodhound and he

The funeral watch did keep

With a thought o' the chase he stroked its face,
As it howl'd to see him weep.

A fair child kiss'd the dead,
But shrank before the cold;

And alone, yet proudly, in his hall

Did stand a baron old.

Margret, Margret!

Hang up my harp again

I have no voice for song!

Not song, but wail-and mourners pale,
Not bards-to love belong!
Oh. failing human love!

Oh, light by darkness known!

Oh, false, the while thou treadest earth! Oh, deaf, beneath the stone!

Margret, Margret!

I called it my wilderness, For no one enter'd there but I; The sheep look'd in, the grass t' espy, And passed ne'ertheless.

The trees were interwoven wild, And spread their boughs enough about To keep both sheep and shepherd out, But not a happy child.

Adventurous joy it was for me!

I crept beneath the boughs, and found A circle smooth of mossy ground Beneath a poplar-tree.

Old garden rose-trees hedged it in, Bedropt with roses waxen-white, Well satisfied with dew and light, And careless to be seen.

Long years ago it might befall, When all the garden flowers were trim, The grave old gardener prided him On these the most of all;

And lady stately overun.ch, Who moved with a silken noise, Blush'd near them, dreaming of the voice That liken'd her to such!

And these, to make a diadem, She may have often pluck'd and twined,Half-smiling as it came to mind,

That few would look at them.

Oh! little thought that lady proud.

A child would watch her fair white rose, When buried lay her whiter brows,

And silk was changed for shroud!

Nor thought that gardener, full of scorns
For men unlearned and simple phrase,
A child would bring it all its praise,
By creeping through the thorns!

To me, upon my low moss seat,
Though never a dream the roses sent
Of science or love's compliment,
I ween they smelt as sweet.

Nor ever a grief was mine, to see
The trace of human step departed :—
Because the garden was deserted,

The blither place for me!

Friends, blame me not! a narrow ken Hath childhood 'twixt the sun and sward! We draw the moral afterward

We feel the gladness then!

And gladdest hours for me did glide

In silence at the rose-tree wall:

A thrush made gladness musical
Upon the other side.

Nor he nor I did e'er incline To mar or pluck the blossoms white.— How should I know but that they might Lead lives as glad as mine?

To make my hermit-home complete,
I brought clear water from the spring,
Praised in its own low murmuring,-
And cresses glossy wet.

And so, I thought my likeness grew
(Without the melancholy tale)
To gentle hermit of the dale,
And Angelina too!

For oft I read, within my nook,

Such minstrel stories, till the breeze
Made sounds poetic in the trees,—
And then I shut the book.

If I shut this wherein I write,
I hear no more the wind athwart
Those trees!-nor feel that childish heart
Delighting in delight!

My childhood from my life is parted; My footstep from the moss which drew Its fairy circle round: anew

The garden is deserted!

Another thrush may there rehearse
The madrigals which sweetest are ;-
No more for me!—myself, afar,
Do sing a sadder verse!

Ah me! ah me!-when erst I lay
In that child's-nest so greenly wrought,
I laughed to myself and thought,

46

The time will pass away!"

I laugaéd still, and did not fear But that, whene'er was past away The childish time, some happier play My womanhood would cheer.

I knew the time would pass away,-

And yet, beside the rose-tree wall,
Dear God!-how seldom, if at all,

I looked up to pray!

The time is past!--and now that grows The cypress high among the trees, And I behold white sepulchres

As well as the white rose

When wiser, meeker thoughts are given, And I have learn'd to lift my face, Remembering earth's greenest place The colour draws from heaven

It something saith for earthly pain, But more for heavenly promise free, That I who was, would shrink to be That happy child again!

LOVED ONCE.

I CLASS'D and counted once
Earth's lamentable sounds-the well-a-day,
The jarring yea and nay,

The fall of kisses upon senseless clay,-

The sobb'd farewell, the greeting mournfuler,-
But all those accents were

Less bitter with the leaven of earth's despair
Than I thought these loved once."

And who saith "I loved once ?"

Not angels; whose clear eyes love, love foresee; Love through eternity

Who by

"to love," do apprehend "to be."

Not God, called love, His noble crown-name; casting
A light too broad for blasting!

The great God, changing not for everlasting,
Saith never, "I loved once."

Nor ever" I loved once"

Wilt thou say, O meek Christ, O victim-friend! The nail and curse may rend,

But, having loved, Thou lovest to the end.

This is man's saying! Impotent to move
One spheric star above,

Man desecrates the eternal God-word Love,
With his "no more" and "once."

How say ye, "We loved once,"
Blasphemers? Is your earth not cold enow,
Mourners, without that snow?

Ah, sweetest friend-and would ye wrong me so? And would ye say of me, whose heart is known, Whose prayers have met your own: [shone, Whose tears have fallen for you; whose smile hath Your words "We loved her once?"

Could ye "we loved her once"

Say cold of me, when dwelling out of sight?
When happier friends aright

(Not truer) stand between me and your light?

When, like a flower kept too long in the shade,

Ye find my colours fade,

And al: that is not love in me decay'd,
Say ye, "We loved her once?"

Will ye, "We loved her once"

Say after, when the bearers leave the door?
When having murmur'd o'er

My last "Oh say it not," I speak no more?

Not so not then-least THEN! when life is shriven,
And death's full joy is given,-

Of those who sit and love you up in heaven,
Say not, We loved them once."

O earth, so full of dreary noises!
O men, with wailing in your voices!
O delved gold, the wailers heap!
O strife, O curse, that o'er it fall!
God makes a silence through you all,
And giveth His beloved sleep."

His dew drops mutely on the hill;
His cloud above it saileth still,

Though on its slope men toil and reap!
More softly than the dew is shed,
Or cloud is floated overhead,

"He giveth His beloved sleep."

Ha! men may wonder while they scan
A living, thinking, feeling man,

In such a rest his heart to keep;
But angels say-and through the word
I ween their blessed smile is heard-
"He giveth His beloved sleep !"

For me, my heart, that erst did go,
Most like a tired child at a show,

That sees through tears the juggler's leap,-
Would now its wearied vision close,
Would childlike on H's love repose,

Who "giveth His beloved sleep!"

And, friends!-dear friends!—when it shall be
That this low breath is gone from me,

And round my bier ve come to weep-
Let me, most loving of you all,
Say, not a tear must o'er her fall-
He giveth His beloved sleep!"

66

LADY CLARA VERE DE VERE.

LADY Clara Vere de Vere,

Of me you shall not win renown: You thought to break a country heart For pastime, ere you went to town. At me you smiled, but unbeguiled

I saw the snare, and I retired : The daughter of a hundred Earls, You are not one to be desired.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere,

I know you proud to bear your name, Your pride is yet no mate for mine,

Too proud to care from whence I came. Nor would I break for your sweet sake

A heart that doats on truer charms. A simple maiden in her flower

Is worth a hundred coats-of-arms.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere,

Some meeker pupil you must find, For were you queen of all that is,

I could not stoop to such a mind. You sought to prove how I could love, And my disdain is my reply. The lion on your old stone gates Is not more cold to you than I.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere,

You put strange memories in my head. Not thrice your branching limes have blown Since I beheld young Laurence dead. Oh your sweet eyes, your low replies: A great enchantress you may be; But there was that across his throat Which you had hardly cared to see.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere,

When thus he met his mother's view, She had the passions of her kind,

She spake some certain truths of you. Indeed I heard one bitter word

That scarce is fit for you to hear; Her manners had not that repose Which stamps the caste of Vere de Vere.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere,

There stands a spectre in your hall : The guilt of blood is at your door; You changed a wholesome heart to gall. You held your course without remorse, To make him trust his modest worth, And, last, you fix'd a vacant stare,

And slew him with your noble birth.

Trust me,

Clara Vere de Vere,
From yon blue heavens above us bent
The grand old gardener and his wife
Smile at the claims of long descent.
Howe'er it be, it seems to me,

'Tis only noble to be good.
Kind hearts are more than coronets,
And simple faith than Norman blood.

I know you, Clara Vere de Vere:
You pine among your halls and towers:
The languid light of your proud eyes
Is wearied of the rolling hours.
In glowing health, with boundless wealth,
But sickening of a vague disease,

You know so ill to deal with time,

You needs must play such pranks as these.

Clara, Clara Vere de Vere,

If Time be heavy on your hands, Are there no beggars at your gate,

Nor any poor about your lands? Oh! teach the orphan-boy to read,

Or teach the orphan-girl to sew, Pray Heaven for a human heart, And let the foolish yeoman go.

THE DESERTED HOUSE.

LIFE and Thought have gone away
Side by side,

Leaving door and windows wide,
Careless tenants they!

All within is dark as night:
In the windows is no light;
And no murmur at the door,
So frequent on its hinge before.
Close the door, the shutters close,
Or thro' the windows we shall see
The nakedness and vacancy
Of the dark deserted house.

Come away: no more of mirth

Is here or merry-making sound. The house was builded of the earth, And shall fall again to ground. Come away for Life and Thought Here no longer dwell;

But in a city glorious

A great and distant city-have bought A mansion incorruptible. Would they could have stayed with us!