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Blue isles and snowy mountains wear
The purple noon's transparent might,
The breath of the moist earth is light,
Around its unexpanded buds;

Like many a voice of one delight,
The winds, the birds, the ocean floods,
The City's voice itself is soft like Solitude's.

II.

I see the Deep's untrampled floor

With green and purple seaweeds strown;

I see the waves upon the shore,

Like light dissolved in star-showers, thrown:
I sit upon the sands alone,

The lightning of the noon-tide ocean

Is flashing round me, and a tone Arises from its measured motion,

How sweet! did any heart now share in my emotion.

III.

Alas! I have nor hope nor health,

Nor peace within nor calm around, Nor that content surpassing wealth The sage in meditation found,

And walked with inward glory crownedNor fame, nor power, nor love, nor leisure. Others I see whom these surroundSmiling they live, and call life pleasure;— To me that cup has been dealt in another measure.

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IV.

Yet now despair itself is mild,

Even as the winds and waters are;
I could lie down like a tired child,
And weep away the life of care
Which I have borne and yet must bear,
Till death like sleep might steal on me,
And I might feel in the warm air
My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea
Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony.

V.

Some might lament that I were cold,

As I, when this sweet day is gone,

Which my lost heart, too soon grown old,
Insults with this untimely moan;
They might lament-for I am one
Whom men love not,-and yet regret,

Unlike this day, which, when the sun.
Shall on its stainless glory set,
Will linger, though enjoyed, like joy in memory yet.

AUTUMN:

A DIRGE.

I.

THE warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing, The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying, And the year

On the earth her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead,
Is lying.

Come, months, come away,
From November to May,
In your saddest array;
Follow the bier

Of the dead cold year,

And like dim shadows watch by her sepulchre.

II.

The chill rain is falling, the nipt worm is crawling,
The rivers are swelling, the thunder is knelling

For the year;

The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards each gone To his dwelling;

Come, months, come away;

Put on white, black, and grey;

Let your light sisters play

Ye, follow the bier

Of the dead cold year,

And make her grave green with tear on tear.

THE MASK OF ANARCHY

WRITTEN ON THE OCCASION OF THE MASSACRE AT MANCHESTER.

I.

As I lay asleep in Italy

There came a voice from over the Sea,
And with great power it forth led me
To walk in the visions of Poesy.

II.

I met Murder on the way—
He had a mask like Castlereagh-
Very smooth he looked, yet grim;
Seven blood-hounds followed him:
III.

All were fat; and well they might
Be in admirable plight,

For one by one, and two by two,
He tossed them human hearts to chew
Which from his wide cloak he drew.

IV.

Next came Fraud, and he had on,
Like Eldon, an ermined gown;
His big tears, for he wept well,
Turned to mill-stones as they fell.

V.

And the little children, who
Round his feet played to and fro,
Thinking every tear a gem,

Had their brains knocked out by them.

VI.

Clothed with the Bible, as with light,
And the shadows of the night,

Like Sidmouth, next, Hypocrisy
On a crocodile rode by.

VOL. II.

VII.

And many more Destructions played
In this ghastly masquerade,
All disguised, even to the eyes,
Like Bishops, lawyers, peers or spies.

VIII.

Last came Anarchy: he rode
On a white horse, splashed with blood;
He was pale even to the lips,
Like Death in the Apocalypse.

IX.

And he wore a kingly crown;
And in his grasp a sceptre shone;
On his brow this mark I saw-
"I AM GOD, AND KING, AND LAW!"
X.

With a pace stately and fast,
Over English land he past,
Trampling to a mire of blood
The adoring multitude.

XI.

And a mighty troop around,
With their trampling shook the ground,
Waving each a bloody sword,
For the service of their Lord.

XII.

And with glorious triumph, they
Rode thro' England proud and gay,
Drunk as with intoxication

Of the wine of desolation.

XIII.

O'er fields and towns, from sea to sea,
Past the Pageant swift and free,
Tearing up, and trampling down;
Till they came to London town.

XIV.

And each dweller, panic-stricken,
Felt his heart with terror sicken
Hearing the tempestuous cry
Of the triumph of Anarchy.

XV.

For with pomp to meet him came,
Clothed in arms like blood and flame,
The hired murderers, who did sing
"Thou art God, and Law, and King.

XVI.

"We have waited, weak and lone "For thy coming, Mighty One! "Our purses are empty, our swords are cold. "Give us glory, and blood, and gold."

XVII.

Lawyers and priests, a motley crowd,
To the earth their pale brows bowed;
Like a bad prayer not over loud,
Whispering "Thou art Law and God."..

XVIII.

Then all cried with one accord,
"Thou art King, and God, and Lord;
"Anarchy, to thee we bow,

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'Be thy name made holy now!"

XIX.

And Anarchy, the Skeleton,
Bowed and grinned to every one,
As well as if his education

Had cost ten millions to the nation,

XX.

For he knew the Palaces

Of our Kings were nightly his;
His the sceptre, crown, and globe,
And the gold-inwoven robe.

XXI.

So he sent his slaves before

To seize upon the Bank and Tower,
And was proceeding with intent
To meet his pensioned Parliament

XXII.

When one fled past, a maniac maid,
And her name was Hope, she said
But she looked more like Despair,
And she cried out in the air:

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