Like birdlets beaten by some resistless storm

'Gainst a dead wall, dead. I pity ye, that such

Mean things should have rais'd in man or hope or fear;

Those Titans of the heart that fight at heaven,

And sleep, by fits, on fire, whose slightest stir's

An earthquake. I am bound and bless'd

to youth.

None but the brave and beautiful can love. Oh give me to the young, the fair, the free,

The brave, who would breast a rushing, burning world

Which came between him and his heart's delight.

Mad must I be, and what's the world?

Like mad

For itself. And I to myself am all things,

too.

If my heart thunder'd would the world rock? Well,

Then let the mad world fight its shadow down.

Soon there may be nor sun nor world nor shadow.

But thou, my blood, my bright red running soul,

Rejoice thou like a river in thy rapids. Rejoice, thou wilt never pale with age, nor

thin;

But in thy full dark beauty, vein by vein Serpent-wise, me encircling, shalt to the end Throb, bubble, sparkle, laugh, and leap along.

Make merry, heart, while the holidays shall

last.

Better than daily dwine, break sharp with life;

Like a stag, sunstruck, top thy bounds and

die.

Heart, I could tear thee out, thou fool, thou

fool,

And strip thee into shreds upon the wind. What have I done that thou shouldst maze me thus ?

Lucifer. Let us away; we have had enough of hearts.

Festus. Öh for the young heart like a fountain playing,

Flinging its bright fresh feelings up to the skies

It loves and strives to reach; strives, loves in vain.

It is of earth, and never meant for heaven, Let us love both and die. The sphinx-like heart

Loathes life the moment that life's riddle is read.

The knot of our existence solv'd, all things Loose-ended lie, and useless. Life is had, And lo! we sigh, and say, can this be all? It is not what we thought; it is very well, But we want something more. There is but death.

And when we have said and seen, done, had, enjoy'd

And suffer'd, maybe, all we have wish'd or fear'd,

From fame to ruin, and from love to loathing,

There can come but one more changetry it — death.

Oh! it is great to feel that nought of earth, Hope, love, nor dread, nor care for what's

When, like a sea-shell with its sea-born strain,

My soul aye rang with music of the lyre, And my heart shed its lore as leaves their dew

A honey dew, and throve on what it shed. All things I lov'd; but song I lov'd in chief.

Imagination is the air of mind,

Judgment its earth and memory its main, Passion its fire. I was at home in heaven. Swiftlike, I liv'd above; once touching

earth,

The meanest thing might master me: long wings

But baffled. Still and still I harp'd on song.

Oh! to create within the mind is bliss, And shaping forth the lofty thought, or lovely,

We seek not, need not heaven: and when the thought,

Cloudy and shapeless, first forms on the mind,

Slow darkening into some gigantic make, How the heart shakes with pride and fear, as heaven

Quakes under its own thunder; or as might,

Of old, the mortal mother of a god, When first she saw him lessening up the skies.

And I began the toil divine of verse, Which, like a burning bush, doth guest a god.

But this was only wing-flapping

flight;

not

The pawing of the courser ere he win; Till by degrees, from wrestling with my soul,

I gather'd strength to keep the fleet thoughts fast,

And made them bless me. Yes, there was a time

When tomes of ancient song held eye and

heart; Were the sole lore I reck'd of the great bards

Of Greece, of Rome, and mine own master land,

And they who in the holy book are deathless;

Men who have vulgariz'd sublimity, And bought up truth for the nations; held it whole;

Men who have forged gods utter'd made them pass:

Sons of the sons of God, who in olden days Did leave their passionless heaven for earth and woman,

Brought an immortal to a mortal breast, And, rainbowlike the sweet earth clasping: left

A bright precipitate of soul, which lives Ever, and through the lines of sullen men, The dumb array of ages, speaks for all; Flashing by fits, like fire from an enemy's front;

Whose thoughts, like bars of sunshine in shut rooms,

Mid gloom, all glory, win the world to light;

Who make their very follies like their souls,

And like the young moon with a ragged edge,

Still in their imperfection beautiful; Whose weaknesses are lovely as their strengths,

Like the white nebulous matter between

A power, an ill which doth outbalance being.
Behold life's tyrant evil, peer of good,
The great infortune of the universe.
Am I not more than mortal in my form?
Millions of years have circled round my
brow,

Like worlds upon their centres, — still I live,

And age but presses with a halo's weight. This single arm hath dash'd the light of heaven;

This one hand dragg'd the angels from their thrones :

Am I not worthy to have lov'd thee, lady? Thou mortal model of all heavenliness! Yet all these spoils have I abandon'd, cower'd

My powers, my course becalm'd, and stoop'd from the high

Destruction of the skies for thee, and him Who loving thee is with thee lost, both lost. Thou hast but serv'd the purpose of the

fiend;

Art but the gilded vessel of selfish sin Whose poison hath drunken made a soul to death:

Thou, useless now. I come to bid thee die.

Elissa. Wicked, impure, tormentor of the world,

I knew thee not. Yet doubt not thou it was Who darkenedst for a moment with base aim

God to evade, and shun in this world, man, Love's heart; with selfish end alone redeeming

Me from the evil, the death-fright. Take,

nathless,

One human soul's forgiveness, such the sum Of thanks I feel for heaven's great grace that thou

From the overflowings of love's cup mayst quench

Thy breast's broad burning desert, and fertilize

Aught may be in it, that boasts one root of good.

Lucifer. It is doubtless sad to feel one day our last.

Elissa. I knew, forewarn'd, I was dying. God is good.

The heavens grow darker as they purer grow,

And both, as we approach them; so near death

The soul grows darker and diviner hourly.
Could I love less, I should be happier now.
But always 't is to that mad extreme,
death

Alone appears the fitting end to bliss
Like that my spirit presseth for.
Lucifer.
Thy death
Gentle shall be as e'er hath been thy life.
I'll hurt thee not, for once upon this breast,
Fell, like a snowflake on a fever'd lip,
Thy love. Thy soul shall, dreamlike, pass
from thee.

One instant, and thou wakest in heaven for aye.

Elissa. Lost, say'st thou in one breath, and sav'd in heaven.

As a wind-flaw, darting from some rifted cloud,

Seizes upon a water-patch mid main,
And into white wrath worries it, so my
mind

This petty controversy distracts. He comes,
I say, but never shalt thou view him, living.
Elissa. But I will, will see him, and
while I am alive.
I hear him. He is come.
Lucifer.

The ends of things Are urgent. Still, to this mortuary deed Reluctant, fix I death's black seal. He's here!

Elissa. I hear him; he is come; it is he; it is he!

Lucifer. Die graciously, as ever thou hast liv'd;

Die, thou shalt never look upon him again.
Elissa. My love! haste, Festus! I am
dying.
Lucifer.

Dead!

As ocean racing fast and fierce to reach Some headland, ere the moon with maddening ray

Forestall him, and rebellious tides excite To vain strife, nor of the innocent skiff that thwarts

His path, aught heeds, but with dispiteous foam

Wrecks deathful, I, made hasty by time's end

Impending, thus fill up fate's tragic form. A word could kill her. See, she hath gone to heaven.

A SONG OF FAREWELL

THE Spring will come again, dear friends,
The swallow o'er the sea;

The bud will hang upon the bough,
The blossom on the tree;

And many a pleasant sound will rise to greet her on her way,

The voice of bird, and leaf, and stream, and warm winds in their play ; Ah! sweet the airs that round her breathe! and bountiful is she,

She bringeth all the things that fresh, and sweet, and hopeful be ;

She scatters promise on the earth with open hand and free,

But not for me, my friends,
But not for me!

Summer will come again, dear friends,
Low murmurs of the bee

Will rise through the long sunny day
Above the flowery lea;

And deep the dreamy woods will own the slumbrous spell she weaves,

And send a greeting, mix'd with sighs, through all their quivering leaves. Oh, precious are her glowing gifts! and plenteous is she,

She bringeth all the lovely things that bright and fragrant be,

She scatters fulness on the Earth with lavish hand and free,

But not for me, my friends,
But not for me!

Autumn will come again, dear friends,
His spirit-touch shall be

With gold upon the harvest-field,
With crimson on the tree;

He passeth o'er the silent woods, they wither at his breath,

Slow fading in a still decay, a change that is not Death.

Oh! rich and liberal, and wise, and provident is he!

He taketh to his garner-house the things that ripen'd be,

He gathereth his store from Earth, and silently

And he will gather me, my friends,

He will gather me !

TO CHRISTINA ROSSETTI THOU hast fill'd me a golden cup With a drink divine that glows, With the bloom that is flowing up From the heart of the folded rose. The grapes in their amber glow, And the strength of the blood-red wine, All mingle and change and flow In this golden cup of thine, With the scent of the curling vine, With the balm of the rose's breath,For the voice of love is thine,

And thine is the Song of Death!

LIGHT

What soul-like

moods,

changes,

evanescent

Upon the face of the still passive earth,
Its hills, and fields, and woods,
Thou with thy seasons and thy hours art
ever calling forth!

Even like a lord of music bent
Over his instrument,

Who gives to tears and smiles an equal birth!

When clear as holiness the morning ray Casts the rock's dewy darkness at its feet,

Mottling with shadows all the mountain gray;

When, at the hour of sovereign noon,
Infinite silent cataracts sheet
Shadowless through the air of thunder-
breeding June ;

And when a yellower glory slanting passes 'Twixt longer shadows o'er the meadow

grasses;