Dido.

Y love is gone, and will return no more!
He's gone, and in this cruel loneliness

I seek the silent fellowship of heaven
And earth and sea, far dearer to me now
Than man's cold looks, and words of pity feigned.
My love is gone, and will return no more!
Oh was it not enough that in my youth
My life upon a restless surge of toils
Had ridden tempest-tost, and I had brooked
Such woes as maidens of my tender years
Have seldom had to bear?-the cruel death
Of the dear husband of my earliest choice-
A brother's hands polluted in his blood—
My weary roaming course through land and sea,
And battle with a myriad host of ills.

DIDO.

My wanderings ceased-to Afric's shore I came ;
And regal Carthage, diadem'd with towers,
Mighty in Juno's special love, began

To rise the queen, methought, of earth to be.
I seemed at length a haven to have reached,
Where I might rest, and my heart's bitter grief
Grow mellow. But across the blue serene
Which now began to ope amid the clouds
That darkened my young life, his form divine
Flashed meteor-like. I, dazèd, stood and basked
Awhile, and in these glories sunned myself;
But, like those heavenly couriers, soon besped
Away to some far region, and I'm left
To find the measure of my boundless grief.

My love is gone, and will return no more!
He's gone, but yonder still his ship I see:
And, merging in the glories of that path
Of sheeny light which leads to that bright Sun
Now rising from his ocean couch, the barque,
A tiny speck, now mocks my aching sight.

My love is gone, and will return no more!
He's gone, but I will not outlive his loss.
Yon temple's dome I'll scek, and there erect

A stately funeral pile, and on it lay

The arms which he hath left, and mount thereon,,
And clasp these reliques tightly to my heart,

And clasping them I'll perish there alone!

39

My love is gone, and will return no more!
And I am lying face to face with Death.
A pale wan phantom seems to stare at me,
And tell me of a journey dark and drear
I have to traverse. But I fear it not.
My trusty sword, be thou at hand to do

My bidding well, for I shall need thee soon.
Keep still, fond heart! for thou no more shalt beat.
Weep not, poor eyes! for ye shall weep no more.
Yearn not, poor soul! thy sorrows all shall cease:
This best-loved blade shall work deliverance now.

So said she, and her passionate soul outpoured:
She seized the fatal sword: its severing blade
Soon opened for her life's own blood a way.

The Raindrop.

E sat within his prison pent,

He looked on tower and battlement

That he was born to lord.

But now a stranger holds his land,
His dog doth lick a stranger's hand,
A stranger wields his sword.

When Harold fell in Hastings' field
He lands and sword refused to yield
At the proud Norman's call.

But ere a month had passed away
A chain-bound prisoner he lay
In his ancestral hall.

42

THE RAINDROP.

A raindrop from a lowering cloud,
An emblem of himself, once proud,
Fell from the darkened sky.

"And yet," said he, "that drop of rain
Will soon in mists mount up again
To heaven, and may not I?"