Was turn'd to funeral pomp-the company
With heavy hearts and looks, broke up; nor they
Who loved the dead went weeping on their way
Alone, but sorrow mix'd with sad surprise
Loosen'd the springs of pity in all eyes,

On which that form, whose fate they weep in vain,
Will never, thought they, kindle smiles again.
The lamps which half extinguish'd in their haste
Gleam'd few and faint o'er the abandon'd feast,
Shew'd as it were within the vaulted room
A cloud of sorrow hanging, as if gloom
Had pass'd out of men's minds into the air.
Some few yet stood around Gherardi there,
Friends and relations of the dead, and he,

A loveless man, accepted torpidly
The consolation that he wanted not,

Awe in the place of grief within him wrought.
Their whispers made the solemn silence seem
More still—some wept, [

]

Some melted into tears without a sob,

And some with hearts that might be heard to throb
Leant on the table, and at intervals

Shudder'd to hear through the deserted halls
And corridors the thrilling shrieks which came
Upon the breeze of night, that shook the flame
Of every torch and taper as it swept
From out the chamber where the women kept ;-
Their tears fell on the dear companion cold
Of pleasures now departed; then was knoll'd
The bell of death, and soon the priests arrived,
And finding death their penitent had shrived,
Return'd like ravens from a corpse whereon
A vulture has just feasted to the bone.
And then the mourning women came.—

THE DIRGE.

Old winter was gone

In his weakness back to the mountains hoar,
And the spring came down

From the planet that hovers upon the shore
Where the sea of sunlight encroaches

On the limits of wintry night ;—

If the land, and the air, and the sea
Rejoice not when spring approaches,
We did not rejoice in thee,
Ginevra!

She is still, she is cold

On the bridal couch,

One step to the white death-bed,

And one to the bier,

And one to the charnel—and one, O where?

The dark arrow fled

In the noon.

Ere the sun through heaven once more has roll'd, The rats in her heart

Will have made their nest,

And the worms be alive in her golden hair,

While the spirit that guides the sun,

Sits throned in his flaming chair,

She shall sleep.

105

FRAGMENTS.

ACT I.

SCENE I.- -The Pageant to [celebrate] the arrival of the Queen. A Pursuivant. Place, for the Marshal of the Masque ! First Speaker. What thinkest thou of this quaint masque, which turns,

Like morning from the shadow of the night,

The night to day, and London to a place
Of peace and joy?

Second Speaker. And Hell to Heaven;
Eight years are gone,

And they seem hours, since in this populous street
I trod on grass made green by summer's rain,
For the red plague kept state within that palace
Where now reigns vanity-in nine years more
The roots will be refresh'd with civil blood;
And thank the mercy of insulted Heaven
That sin and wrongs wound as an orphan's cry,

The patience of the great avenger's ear.

Third Speaker (a youth). Yet, father, tis a happy sight

to see,

Beautiful, innocent, and unforbidden

By God or man ;-'tis like the bright procession

Of skiey visions in a solemn dream

From which men wake as from a paradise,

And draw new strength to tread the thorns of life.

If God be good, wherefore should this be evil?
And if this be not evil, dost thou not draw
Unseasonable poison from the flowers

Which bloom so rarely in this barren world?

O, kill these bitter thoughts which make the present
Dark as the future !—

When avarice and tyranny, vigilant fear,
And open-eyed conspiracy lie sleeping

As on Hell's threshold; and all gentle thoughts
Waken to worship him who giveth joys

With his own gift.

Second Speaker. How young art thou in this old age of time!

How green in this grey world! Canst thou not think
Of change in that low scene, in which thou art
Not a spectator but an actor? [

]

The day that dawns in fire will die in storms,

Even though the noon be calm. My travel's done;
Before the whirlwind wakes I shall have found
My inn of lasting rest, but thou must still

Be journeying on in this inclement air.

Second Speaker.

Rather say the Pope.

London will be soon his Rome: he walks

As if he trod upon the heads of men.

He looks elate, drunken with blood and gold ;-
Beside him moves the Babylonian woman
Invisibly, and with her as with his shadow,
Mitred adulterer! he is join'd in sin,

Which turns Heaven's milk of mercy to revenge.
Another Citizen (lifting up his eyes). Good Lord! rain

it down upon him. [

]

Amid her ladies walks the papist queen,

As if her nice feet scorn'd our English earth.

There's old Sir Henry Vane, the Earl of Pembroke,

Lord Essex, and Lord Keeper Coventry,

And others who make base their English breed

By vile participation of their honours

With papists, atheists, tyrants, and apostates.

When lawyers mask 'tis time for honest men
To strip the vizor from their purposes.

Fourth Speaker (a pursuivant). Give place, give place!—

You torch-bearers advance to the great gate,

And then attend the Marshal of the Masque

Into the Royal presence.

Fifth Speaker (a law student). What thinkest thou Of this quaint show of ours, my aged friend?

First Speaker. I will not think but that our country's wounds

May yet be heal'd-The king is just and gracious,
Though wicked counsels now pervert his will:

These once cast off

Second Speaker.

As adders cast their skins

And keep their venom, so kings often change:
Councils and counsellors hang on one another,

Like the base patchwork of a leper's rags.

Third Speaker. O, still those dissonant thoughts-List! loud music

Grows on the enchanted air! And see, the torches
Restlessly flashing, and the crowd divided

Like waves before an Admiral's prow.

Another Speaker. Give place

To the Marshal of the Masque !

Third Speaker. How glorious! See those thronging chariots

Rolling like painted clouds before the wind:

Some are

Like curved shells dyed by the azure depths
Of Indian seas; some like the new-born moon;
And some like cars in which the Romans climb'd
(Canopied by Victory's eagle wings outspread)