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other's aspects-saw, and shriek'd, and died1 of their mutual hideousness they died, nowing who he was upon whose brow

ine had written Fiend. The world was void,
populous and the powerful was a lump,
onless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless--
mp of death-
-a chaos of hard clay.

rivers, lakes, and ocean all stood still,
nothing stirr'd within their silent depths;

s sailorless lay rotting on the sea,

their masts fell down piecemeal; as they dropp'd slept on the abyss without a surge

waves were dead; the tides were in their moon their mistress had expired before;

winds were wither'd in the stagnant air,
the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need
d from them-She was the universe.

CHURCHILL'S GRAVE,

A FACT LITERALLY RENDERED.

I STOOD beside the grave of him who blazed
The comet of a season, and I saw

The humblest of all sepulchres, and gazed
With not the less of sorrow and of awe
On that neglected turf and quiet stone,
With name no clearer than the names unknown,
Which lay unread around it; and I ask’d
The Gardener of that ground, why it might be
That for this plant strangers his memory task'd
Through the thick deaths of half a century;
And thus he answer'd—" Well, I do not know

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Why frequent travellers turn to pilgrims so; "He died before my day of Sextonship,

"And I had not the digging of this grave.” And is this all? I thought, and do we rip

The veil of Immortality? and crave

I know not what of honour and of light
Through unborn ages, to endure this blight?

So soon and so successless? As I said,
The Architect of all on which we tread,
For Earth is but a tombstone, did essay
To extricate remembrance from the clay,
Whose minglings might confuse a Newton's thought
Were it not that all life must end in one,

Of which we are but dreamers ;-as he caught
As 'twere the twilight of a former Sun,

Thus spoke he,

-" I believe the man of whom

"You wot, who lies in this selected tomb,

"Was a most famous writer in his day,

"And therefore travellers step-from out their way
"To pay him honour,—and myself whate'er
"Your honour pleases," then most pleased I shook
From out my pocket's avaricious nook

Some certain coins of silver, which as 'twere
Perforce I gave this man, though I could spare
So much but inconveniently;-Ye smile,
I see ye, ye profane ones! all the while,
Because my homely phrase the truth would tell.
You are the fools, not I-for I did dwell
With a deep thought, and with a soften'd
On that Old Sexton's natural homily,
In which there was Obscurity and Fame,
The Glory and the Nothing of a Name.

eye,

THE DREAM.

1.

OUR life is twofold; Sleep hath its own world,
A boundary between the things misnamed
Death and existence: Sleep hath its own world,
And a wide realm of wild reality,

And dreams in their developement have breath,
And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy;
They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts,
They take a weight from off our waking toils,
They do divide our being; they become

A portion of ourselves as of our time,
And look like heralds of eternity;

They pass like spirits of the past, they speak
Like sybils of the future; they have power-
The tyranny of pleasure and of pain;

They make us what we were not-what they will,
And shake us with the vision that's gone by,
The dread of vanish'd shadows-Are they so?
Is not the past all shadow? What are they?
Creations of the mind?-The mind can make
Substance, and people planets of its own
With beings brighter than have been, and give
A breath to forms which can outlive all flesh.

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would recall a vision which I dream'd

chance in sleep-for in itself a thought, slumbering thought, is capable of years, d curdles a long life into one hour.

aw two beings in the hues of youth
anding upon a hill, a gentle hill,
een and of mild declivity, the last
'twere the cape of a long ridge of such,

ve that there was no sea to lave its base,
t a most living landscape, and the wave
woods and cornfields, and the abodes of men
atter'd at intervals, and wreathing smoke
sing from such rustic roofs;-the hill
as crown'd with a peculiar diadem
trees, in circular array, so fix'd,

t by the sport of nature, but of man:
ese two, a maiden and a youth, were there
zing-the one on all that was beneath
ir as herself-but the boy gazed on her;
d both were young, and one was beautiful:
d both were young-yet not alike in youth.
- the sweet moon on the horizon's verge
e maid was on the eve of womanhood;
e boy had fewer summers, but his heart

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