Like thee-he sanctified his country's steel,
At once the tyrant and tyrannicide,
In his own blood-a deed it was to bring
Tears from all men-though full of gentle
pride,

Such pride as from impetuous love may spring,
That will not be refused its offering.

III.

Those whom nor power, nor lying faith, nor toil, Nor custom, queen of many slaves, makes blind,

Have ever grieved that man should be the spoil Of his own weakness, and with earnest mind Fed hopes of its redemption, these recur

Chastened by deathful victory now, and find Foundations in this foulest age, and stir Me whom they cheer to be their minister.

IV.

Dark is the realm of grief: but human things Those may not know who cannot weep for

them.

The shadows of my soul upon mankind, For to those hearts with which they never blend, Thoughts are but shadows which the flashing

FRAGMENT OF A SONG.

O THAT a chariot of cloud were mine!
Of cloud which the wild tempest weaves in

air,

When the moon over the ocean's line

Is spreading the locks of her bright grey hair.

O that a chariot of cloud were mine!

I would sail on the waves of the billowy wind

To the mountain peak and the rocky lake,
And the . . . .

FRAGMENT: TO A FRIEND LEAVING PRISON.1

FOR me, my friend, if not that tears did tremble

In my faint eyes, and that my heart beat

fast

With feelings which make rapture pain resemble,

Yet, from thy voice that falsehood starts aghast,

I thank thee-let the tyrant keep

His chains and tears, yea let him weep
With rage to see thee freshly risen,

Like strength from slumber, from the prison, In which he vainly hoped the soul to bind Which on the chains must prey that fetter humankind.

1 Possibly a rejected passage for Rosalind and Helen.-ED.

FRAGMENT: SATAN LOOSE.

A GOLDEN-WINGED Angel stood
Before the Eternal Judgment-seat:
His looks were wild, and Devils' blood
Stained his dainty hands and feet.
The Father and the Son

Knew that strife was now begun.

They knew that Satan had broken his chain,
And, with millions of dæmons in his train,
Was ranging over the world again.
Before the Angel had told his tale,

A sweet and a creeping sound

ΙΟ

Like the rushing of wings was heard around; And suddenly the lamps grew pale

The lamps, before the Archangels seven,

That burn continually in heaven.

TWO FRAGMENTS TO MUSIC.

I.

SILVER key of the fountain of tears,

Where the spirit drinks till the brain is wild; Softest grave of a thousand fears,

Where their mother, Care, like a drowsy child,

Is laid asleep in flowers.

II.

No, Music, thou art not the "food of Love," Unless Love feeds upon its own sweet self, Till it becomes all Music murmurs of.

FRAGMENT: UNSATISFIED DESIRES.

To thirst and find no fill-to wail and wander With short uneasy steps-to pause and ponder

To feel the blood run through the veins and tingle

Where busy thought and blind sensation mingle;

To nurse the image of unfelt caresses
Till dim imagination just possesses
The half created shadow.

STANZA: WEALTH AND LOVE.

WEALTH and dominion fade into the mass
Of the great sea of human right and wrong,
When once from our possession they must
pass;

But love, though misdirected, is among
The things which are immortal, and surpass
All that frail stuff which will be-or which was.

FRAGMENT: THOUGHTS.

My thoughts arise and fade in solitude;
The verse that would invest them melts

away

Like moonlight in the heaven of spreading

day:

How beautiful they were, how firm they stood, Flecking the starry sky like woven pearl!

A HATE-SONG:

IMPROVISED.

A HATER he came and sat by a ditch,
And he took an old cracked lute;

And he sang a song which was more of a screech

'Gainst a woman that was a brute.

LINES TO A CRITIC.

I.

HONEY from silkworms who can gather,
Or silk from the yellow bee?

The grass may grow in winter weather

As soon as hate in me.

II.

Hate men who cant, and men who pray,

And men who rail like thee;

An equal passion to repay

They are not coy

like me.

III.

Or seek some slave of power and gold,
To be thy dear heart's mate;
Thy love will move that bigot cold
Sooner than me thy hate.

IV.

A passion like the one I

Cannot divided be;

prove

I hate thy want of truth and love—
How should I, then, hate thee?