O what to her shall be the end?

And what to me remains of good?
To her, perpetual maidenhood,

And unto me, no second friend.

VII

DARK house, by which once more I stand
Here in the long unlovely street,

Doors, where my heart was used to beat

So quickly, waiting for a hand,

A hand that can be clasp'd no more-
Behold me, for I cannot sleep,

And like a guilty thing I creep
At earliest morning to the door.

He is not here; but far away

The noise of life begins again,

And ghastly thro' the drizzling rain On the bald street breaks the blank day.

VIII

A HAPPY lover who has come

To look on her that loves hiin well, Who lights and rings the gateway bell, And learns her gone and far from home;

He saddens, all the magic light

Dies off at once from bower and hall, And all the place is dark, and all The chambers emptied of delight:

So find I every pleasant spot

In which we two were wont to meet, The field, the chamber and the street, For all is dark where thou art not.

Yet as that other, wandering there

In those deserted walks, may find A flower beat with rain and wind, Which once she foster'd up with care;

So seems it in my deep regret,

O my forsaken heart, with thee And this poor flower of poesy Which little cared for fades not yet.

But since it pleased a vanish'd eye,

I go to plant it on his tomb,
That if it can it there may bloom,
Or dying, there at least may dię.

Hallam alize more

ump. than Hallam immortal

FAIR ship, that from the Italian shore
Sailest the placid ocean-plains

With my lost Arthur's loved remains,
Spread thy full wings, and waft him o'er.

So draw him home to those that mourn
In vain; a favourable speed

Ruffle thy mirror'd mast, and lead
Thro' prosperous floods his holy urn.
All night no ruder air perplex

Thy sliding keel, till Phosphor, bright
As our pure love, thro' early light
Shall glimmer on the dewy decks.

Sphere all your lights around, above;

Sleep, gentle heavens, before the prow;
Sleep, gentle winds, as he sleeps now,

My friend, the brother of my love;

My Arthur, whom I shall not see

Till all my widow'd race be run ;
Dear as the mother to the son,
More than my brothers are to me.

X

I HEAR the noise about thy keel;
I hear the bell struck in the night;
I see the cabin-window bright;

I see the sailor at the wheel.

Thou bringest the sailor to his wife,

And travell❜d men from foreign lands
And letters unto trembling hands;
And, thy dark freight, a vanish'd life.

So bring him: we have idle dreams :
This look of quiet flatters thus
Our home-bred fancies: O to us,
The fools of habit, sweeter seems

To rest beneath the clover sod,

That takes the sunshine and the rains, Or where the kneeling hamlet drains The chalice of the grapes of God;

Than if with thee the roaring wells

Should gulf him fathom-deep in brine; And hands so often clasp'd in mine, Should toss with tangle and with shells.

XI

CALM is the morn without a sound,
Calm as to suit a calmer grief,
And only thro' the faded leaf

The chesnut pattering to the ground:

Calm and deep peace on this high wold,
And on these dews that drench the furze,
And all the silvery gossamers

That twinkle into green and gold:

Calm and still light on yon great plain

That sweeps with all its autumn bowers,
And crowded farms and lessening towers,

To mingle with the bounding main:

Calm and deep peace in this wide air,
These leaves that redden to the fall;
And in my heart, if calm at all,

If any calm, a calm despair:

Calm on the seas, and silver sleep,

And waves that sway themselves in rest, And dead calm in that noble breast Which heaves but with the heaving deep.

XII

Lo, as a dove when up she springs

To bear thro' Heaven a tale of woe,
Some dolorous message knit below

The wild pulsation of her wings;

Like her I go; I cannot stay;

I leave this mortal ark behind,
A weight of nerves without a mind,
And leave the cliffs, and haste away

a weighty news"

the body
an awful thot"

O'er ocean-mirrors rounded large,

And reach the glow of southern skies,

And see the sails at distance rise,
And linger weeping on the marge,

And saying; “Comes he thus, my friend?
Is this the end of all my care?"
And circle moaning in the air :

"Is this the end? Is this the end?”

And forward dart again, and play

About the prow, and back return
To where the body sits, and learn,
That I have been an hour away.

XIII

TEARS of the widower, when he sees
A late-lost form that sleep reveals,
And moves his doubtful arms, and feels

Her place is empty, fall like these;

Which weep a loss for ever new,

A void where heart on heart reposed ;

And, where warm hands have prest and closed, Silence, till I be silent too.

Which weep the comrade of my choice,

An awful thought, a life removed,
The human-hearted man I loved,

A Spirit, not a breathing voice.

Come Time, and teach me many years
I do not suffer in a dream;

For now so strange do these things seem,
Mine eyes have leisure for their tears;

My fancies time to rise on wing,

And glance about the approaching sails,
As tho' they brought but merchants' bales,
And not the burthen that they bring.

XIV

If one should bring me this report,

That thou hadst touch'd the land to-day,
And I went down unto the quay,

And found thee lying in the port;

And standing, muffled round with woe,
Should see thy passengers in rank
Come stepping lightly down the plank,
And beckoning unto those they know;

And if along with these should come
The man I held as half-divine;
Should strike a sudden hand in mine,
And ask a thousand things of home;

And I should tell him all my pain,

And how my life had droop'd of late, And he should sorrow o'er my state And marvel what possess'd my brain;

And I perceived no touch of change,

No hint of death in all his frame,
But found him all in all the same,

I should not feel it to be strange.

XV

can't believe

Kath lucause it is totally foreign

TO-NIGHT the winds began to rise
And roar from yonder dropping day:
The last red leaf is whirl'd away,

The rooks are blown about the skies;

The forest crack'd, the waters curl'd,
The cattle huddled on the lea;

And wildly dash'd on tower and tree
The sunbeam strikes along the world:

And but for fancies, which aver

That all thy motions gently pass
Athwart a plane of molten glass,
I scarce could brook the strain and stir

That makes the barren branches loud;
And but for fear it is not so,

The wild unrest that lives in woe
Would dote and pore on yonder cloud

That rises upward always higher,

And onward drags a labouring breast,
And topples round the dreary west,
A looming bastion fringed with fire.