L HOME-THOUGHTS FROM ABROAD Oh, to be in England Now that April's there, And whoever wakes in England Sees, some morning, unaware, That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf And after April, when May follows, And the white-throat builds, and all the swallowsHark! where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge Leans to the field and scatters on the clover Blossoms and dewdrops-at the bent spray's edge- And though the fields look rough with hoary dew, LI R. Browning THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM 'Twas in the prime of summer time, An evening calm and cool, And four-and-twenty happy boys Came bounding out of school: There were some that ran, and some that leapt, Like troutlets in a pool. Away they sped with gamesome minds, To a level mead they came, and there Like sportive deer they coursed 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, Nor ever glanced aside; For the peace of his soul he read that book In the golden eventide : Much study had made him very lean, And pale, and leaden-eyed. At last he shut the ponderous tome; 'O Heav'n, could I so close my mind, Then leaping on his feet upright, Some moody turns he took; Now up the mead, then down the mead, 'My gentle lad, what is't you read— Romance or fairy fable? Or is it some historic page Of kings and crowns unstable?' The young boy gave an upward glance— 'It is the death of Abel.' The usher took six hasty strides, And long since then, of bloody men, And how the sprites of injured men And unknown facts of guilty acts Are seen in dreams from God! He told how murderers walk'd the earth With crimson clouds before their eyes, 'And well,' quoth he, 'I know, for truth, Their pangs must be extreme Wo, wo, unutterable wo Who spill life's sacred stream! For why? Methought last night I wrought A murder in a dream! 'One that had never done me wrong A feeble man, and old; I led him to a lonely field, The moon shone clear and cold: Now here, said I, this man shall die, And I will have his gold! 'Two sudden blows with a ragged stick, One hurried gash with a hasty knife, 'Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone, That could not do me ill; And yet I fear'd him all the more, For lying there so still : There was a manhood in his look That murder could not kill! 'And lo! the universal air Seem'd lit with ghastly flameTen thousand, thousand dreadful eyes Were looking down in blame : I took the dead man by the hand, And call'd upon his name! 'Oh me, it made me quake to see 'My head was like an ardent coal, My heart as solid ice; My wretched, wretched soul, I knew, A dozen times I groan'd; the dead 'And now from forth the frowning sky, From the heaven's topmost height, I heard a voice-the awful voice 'I took the dreary body up |