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But thou the while shalt bear
To after-times an old and honored name,
Thy founder's virtuous fame.
AT LYME REGIS.
CALM, azure, marble
As a fair palace pavement largely spread, Where the gray bastions of the eternal hills
Lean over languidly,
Bosomed with leafy trees, and garlanded!
Peace is on all I view;
Sunshine and peace; earth clear as heaven one hour;
Brushed by the soft wing of the silent shower.
In no profounder calm
Did the great Spirit over ocean brood,
Ere the first hill his yet unclouded crest
Francis Turner Palgrave.
THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM.
TWAS in the prime of summer time,
Came bounding out of school;
There were some that ran and some that leapt Like troutlets in a pool.
Away they sped with gamesome minds.
To a level mead they came, and there
Like sportive deer they coursed about,
Turning to mirth all things of earth,
As only boyhood can;
But the usher sat remote from all,
His hat was off, his vest apart,
So he leaned his head on his hands, and read The book between his knees!
Leaf after leaf he turned it o'er,
Nor ever glanced aside;
For the peace of his soul he read that book
Much study had made him very lean
At last he shut the ponderous tome;
Then leaping on his feet upright,
And past a shady nook, And, lo! he saw a little boy
That pored upon a book!
"My gentle lad, what is 't you read, Romance or fairy fable?
Or is it some historic page,
Of kings and crowns unstable ?" The young boy gave an upward glance, "It is The Death of Abel.'”
The usher took six hasty strides,
Six hasty strides beyond the place,
And, long since then, of bloody men,
And how the sprites of injured men
And unknown facts of guilty acts
He told how murderers walk the earth
With crimson clouds before their eyes,
For blood has left upon their souls
"And well," quoth he, "I know, for truth, Their pangs must be extreme, Woe, woe, unutterable woe,
Who spill life's sacred stream! For why? Methought, last night I wrought A murder, in a dream!
"One that had never done me wrong, A feeble man and old;
I led him to a lonely field,
The moon shone clear and cold: Now here, said I, this man shall die, And I will have his gold!
"Two sudden blows with a ragged stick, And one with a heavy stone,
One hurried gash with a hasty knife,
"Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone, That could not do me ill;
And yet I feared him all the more,
There was a manhood in his look
"And, lo! the universal air
Seemed lit with ghastly flame;
"O God! it made me quake to see