Away they sped with gamesome minds, To a level mead they came, and there Like sportive deer they cours'd about, But the Usher sat remote from all, His hat was off, his vest apart, To catch heaven's blessed breeze; For a burning thought was in his brow, And his bosom ill at ease: So he lean'd his head on his hands, and read The book between his knees. Leaf after leaf, he turn'd it o'er, For the peace of his soul he read that book In the golden eventide : At last he shut the ponderous tome, And clasp it with a clasp ! "And well," quoth he, "I know, for truth, "I took the dreary body up, Their pangs must be extreme, Woe, woe, unutterable woe, Who spill life's sacred stream! For why? Methought, last night, I wrought A murder, in a dream! And cast it in a stream, The depth was so extreme :- "Down went the corse with hollow plunge And vanish'd in the pool; Anon I cleans'd my bloody hands, And wash'd my forehead cool, And sat among the urchins young, That evening in the school. "Oh, Heaven! to think of their white souls, And mine so black and grim! I could not share in childish prayer “And peace went with them, one and all, And drew my midnight curtains round, I WILL not have the mad Clytie, Whose head is turn'd by the sun; The tulip is a courtly quean, "With breathless speed, like a soul in chase, Whom, therefore I will shun; I took him up and ran ; There was no time to dig a grave In a lonesome wood, with heaps of leaves, "And all that day I read in school, And a mighty wind had swept the leaves, "Then down I cast me on my face, And first began to weep, For I knew my secret then was one That earth refus'd to keep: Or land or sea, though he should be Ten thousand fathoms deep. The cowslip is a country wench, The violet is a nun; But I will woo the dainty rose, The queen of every one. Jasmine is sweet, and has many loves, And the broom's betroth'd to the bee; But I will plight with the dainty rose, For fairest of all is she. FAIR INES O SAW ye not fair Ines? To dazzle when the sun is down, O turn again, fair Ines, For fear the Moon should shine alone, And breathes the love against thy cheek FROM "MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LEG" HER DEATH 'TIS a stern and startling thing to think How often mortality stands on the brink Of its grave without any misgiving: And yet in this slippery world of strife, In the stir of human bustle so rife, There are daily sounds to tell us that Life Is dying, and Death is living! Ay, Beauty the Girl, and Love the Boy, How their souls would sadden instanter, To remember that one of those wedding bells, Which ring so merrily through the dells, Our last farewells, But breath and blood set doom at nought: Was fluttering round her candle! As she look'd at her clock of or-molu, For the hours she had gone so wearily through At the end of a day of trial, How little she saw in her pride of prime The dart of Death in the Hand of TimeThat hand which mov'd on the dial! As she went with her taper up the stair, That the Shadow which follow'd was double ! Or when she clos'd her chamber door, It was shutting out, and for evermore, The world and its worldly trouble. Little she dreamt, as she laid aside They were solemn bequests to Vanity; Or when her robes she began to doff That she stood so near to the putting off Of the flesh that clothes humanity. |