With strange and dusky aspects; he was not
Himself like what he had been; on the sea
And on the shore he was a wanderer;
There was a mass of many images
Crowded like waves upon me, but he was
A part of all; and in the last he lay
Reposing from the noontide sultriness,
Couch'd among fallen columns, in the shade
Of ruin'd walls that had survived the names
Of those who rear'd them; by his sleeping
side

Stood camels grazing, and some goodly steeds

Were fasten'd near a fountain; and a

And the remember'd chambers, and the place,

The day, the hour, the sunshine, and the

shade,

As by the sickness of the soul; her mind Had wander'd from its dwelling, and her eyes

170

They had not their own lustre, but the look Which is not of the earth; she was become

Like to the Pontic monarch of old days, He fed on poisons, and they had no power, But were a kind of nutriment; he lived Through that which had been death to many men,

And made him friends of mountains: with the stars

And the quick Spirit of the Universe
He held his dialogues; and they did teach
To him the magic of their mysteries;
To him the book of Night was open'd wide,
And voices from the deep abyss reveal'd
A marvel and a secret-Be it so.

IX

200

My dream was past; it had no further change.

It was of a strange order, that the doom Of these two creatures should be thus traced out

Almost like a reality - the one
To end in madness—both in misery.
July, 1816.

From lips that moved not and unbreathing frame,

Like cavern'd winds, the hollow accents

came.

Saul saw, and fell to earth, as falls the oak, At once, and blasted by the thunder-stroke

'Why is my sleep disquieted?
Who is he that calls the dead?
Is it thou, O King? Behold,
Bloodless are these limbs, and cold:
Such are mine; and such shall be
Thine to-morrow, when with me:
Ere the coming day is done,
Such shalt thou be, such thy son.
Fare thee well, but for a day,
Then we mix our mouldering clay.
Thou, thy race, lie pale and low,
Pierced by shafts of many a bow;
And the falchion by thy side

To thy heart thy hand shall guide: Crownless, breathless, headless fall, Son and sire, the house of Saul!' SEAHAM, February, 1815.

'ALL IS VANITY, SAITH THE PREACHER'

FAME, wisdom, love, and power were mine,
And health and youth possess'd me;
My goblets blush'd from every vine,
And lovely forms caress'd me;
I sunn'd my heart in beauty's eyes,
And felt my soul grow tender;
All earth can give, or mortal prize,
Was mine of regal splendour.

I strive to number o'er what days
Remembrance can discover,
Which all that life or earth displays
Would lure me to live over.
There rose no day, there roll'd no hour
Of pleasure unembitter'd;
And not a trapping deck'd my power
That gall'd not while it glitter'd.

The serpent of the field, by art

And spells, is won from harming; But that which coils around the heart, Oh! who hath power of charming? It will not list to wisdom's lore,

Nor music's voice can lure it; But there it stings for evermore The soul that must endure it. SEAHAM, 1815.