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Many an evening by the waters did we watch the
stately ships, And our spirits rushed together at the touching of
O my cousin, shallow-hearted! O my Amy, mine
no more! O the dreary, dreary moorland! O the barren,
barren shore !
Falser than all fancy fathoms, falser than all songs Puppet to a father's threat, and servile to a shrew
ish tongue !
Is it well to wish thee happy ?-having known
me—to decline On a range of lower feelings and a narrower heart
Yet it shall be: thou shalt lower to his level day by
dav, What is fine within thee growing coarse to sympa
thize with clay.
As the husband is, the wife is; thou art mated with
à clown, And the grossness of his nature will have weight to
drag thee down.
He will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent
its novel force, Something better than his dog, a little dearer than
What is this ? his eyes are heavy: think not they It may be my lord is weary, that his brain is over.
are glazed with wine. Go to him: it is thy duty: kiss him: take his hand
wrought: Soothe him with thy finer fancies, touch him with
thy lighter thought. He will answer to the purpose, easy things to under
standBetter thou wert dead before me, though I slew thee with
Better thou and I were lying, hidden from the
heart's disgrace, Rolled in one another's arms, and silent in a last
Cursed be the social wants that sin against the
strength of youth! Cursed be the social lies that warp us from the living
Cursed be the sickly forms that err from honest
of the fool!
Well,—'tis well that I should bluster !-Hadst thou
less unworthy provedWould to God-for I had loved thee more than ever
wife was loved.
Am I mad, that I should cherish that which bears
but bitter fruit? I will pluck it from my bosom, though my heart be
at the root.
Never, though my mortal summers to such length
of years should come . As the many-wintered crow that leads the clanging
Where is comfort ? in division of the records of the
mind ? Can I part her from herself, and love her, as I knew
her, kind ?
I remember one that perished: sweetly did she
speak and move: Such a one do I remember, whom to look at was to
Can I think of her as dead, and love her for the
love she bore ? No—she never loved me truly: love is love forever
Comfort ? comfort scorned of devils ! this is truth
the poet sings, That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering
Drug thy memories, lest thou learn it, lest thy heart
be put to proof, In the dead, unhappy night, and when the rain is
on the roof.
Like a dog, he hunts in dreams, and thou art staring
at the wall, Where the dying night-lamp flickers, and the
shadows rise and fall.
Then a hand shall pass before thee, pointing to his
drunken sleep, To thy widowed marriage-pillows, to the tears that
thou wilt weep. Thou shalt hear the “ Never, never," whispered by
the phantom years, And a song from out the distance in the ringing of And an eye shall vex thee, looking ancient kindness
on thy pain. Turn thee, turn thee on thy pillow; get thee to tlıy
rest again. Nay, but Nature brings thee solace; for a tender
voice will cry 'Tis a purer life than thine; a lip to drain thy
Baby lips will laugh me down: my latest rival
brings thee rest. Baby fingers, waxen touches, press me from the
O, the child too clothes the father with a dearness
not his due. Half is thine and half is his : it will be worthy of
O, I see thee old and formal, fitted to thy petty
part, With a little hoard of maxims preaching down a
They were dangerous guides the feelingsshe
herself was not exemptTruly, she herself had suffered”—Perish in thy
I care ?
days like these ? Every door is barred with gold, and opens but to
Every gate is thronged with suitors, all the markets
overflow. I have but an angry fancy: what is that which I
should do ?
I had been content to perish, falling on the foeman's
ground, When the ranks are rolled in vapor, and the winds
are laid with sound.
But the jingling of the guinea helps the hurt that
Honor feels, And the nations do but murmur, snarling at each
Can I but relive in sadness? I will turn that earlier
page. Hide me from my deep emotion, oh thou wondrous
Make me feel the wild pulsation that I felt before
the strife, When I heard my days before me, and the tumult
of my life; Yearning for the large excitement that the coming
years would yield, Eager-hearted as a boy when first he leaves his
And at night along the dusky highway near and
nearer drawn, Sees in heaven the light of London flaring like a
And his spirit leaps within him to be gone before
him then, Underneath the light he looks at, in among the
throngs of men;