TO

SHOULD my early life seem

(As well it might) a dream—

Yet I build no faith upon
The king Napoleon-

I look not up afar

For my destiny in a star.

In parting from you now

Thus much I will avow

There are beings, and have been,

Whom my spirit has not seen;

Had I let them pass me by

With a dreaming eye

354

ΤΟ

If my peace hath fled away
In a night or in a day-
In a vision—or in none—
Is it therefore the less gone?

I am standing 'mid the roar
Of a weather-beaten shore,
And I hold within my hand
Some particles of sand→

How few! and how they creep
Thro' my fingers to the deep!

My early hopes? no-they

Went gloriously away,

Like lightning from the sky

At once-and so will I.

So young? Ah! no-not now—
Thou hast not seen my brow;
But they tell thee I am proud-

They lie-they lie aloud

My bosom beats with shame

At the paltriness of name

With which they dare combine

A feeling such as mine

Nor Stoic? I am not :

In the terror of my lot
I laugh to think how poor
That pleasure "to endure !"
What! shade of Zeno !-I!
Endure -no-no-defy.

SPIRITS OF THE DEAD.

THY Soul shall find itself alone

'Mid dark thoughts of the gray

tomb-stone

Not one, of all the crowd, to pry

Into thine hour of secrecy.

Be silent in that solitude

Which is not loneliness-for then

The spirits of the dead who stood

In life before thee are again

In death around thee-and their will
Shall overshadow thee: be still.

The night--tho' clear-shall frown-
And the stars shall not look down,

From their high thrones in the Heaven, With light like Hope to mortals given—

But their red orbs, without beam,

To thy weariness shall seem

As a burning and a fever

Which would cling to thee for ever.

Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish

Now are visions ne'er to vanish

From thy spirit shall they pass

No more-like dew-drops from the grass.

The breeze-the breath of God-is still

And the mist upon the hill

Shadowy-shadowy-yet unbroken,

Is a symbol and a token

How it hangs upon the trees,

A mystery of mysteries!