Thus, even thus, the Countess slept,
While Death still nearer and nearer crept,

Like the Thane who smote the sleeping→→→
But her mind was busy with early joys,
Her golden treasures and golden toys ·
That flash'd a bright

And golden light

Under lids still red with weeping.

The golden doll that she used to hug!
Her coral of gold, and the golden mug!
Her godfather's golden presents!

The golden service she had at her meals,
The golden watch, and chain, and seals,
Her golden scissors, and thread, and reels,
And her golden fishes and pheasants!

The golden guineas in silken purse—

And the Golden Legends she heard from her nurse
Of the Mayor in his gilded carriage—
And London streets that were paved with gold-
And the Golden Eggs that were laid of old—
With each golden thing

To the golden ring

At her own auriferous Marriage?

And still the golden light of the sun

Through her golden dream appear'd to run,
Though the night, that roared without, was one
To terrify seamen or gipsies--

While the moon, as if in malicious mirth,

Kept peeping down at the ruffled earth,
As though she enjoy'd the tempest's birth,
In revenge of her old eclipses.

But vainly, vainly, the thunder fell,

For the soul of the Sieeper was under a spell

That time had lately embitter'dThe Count, as once at her foot he knelt-That foot, which now he wanted to melt! But-hush!-'twas a stir at her pillow she feltAnd some object before her glitter'd.

'Twas the Golden Leg!-she knew its gleam! And up she started and tried to scream,

But ev'n in the moment she started-
Down came the limb with a frightful smash,
And, lost in the universal flash

That her eyeballs made at so mortal a crash,
The Spark, call'd Vital, departed:

Gold, still gold! hard, hard yellow, and cold,
For gold she had lived, and she died for gold
By a golden weapon-not oaken;
In the morning they found her all alone-
Stiff, and bloody, and cold as stone-
But her Leg, the Golden Leg, was gone,
And the "Golden Bowl was broken!"

Gold-still gold! it haunted her yet-
At the Golden Lion the Inquest met-
Its foreman, a carver and gilder—
And the Jury debated from twelve till three
What the Verdict ought to be,

And they brought it in as Felo de Se,

"Because her own Leg had kill'd her!"

HER MORAL.

GOLD! Gold ! Gold! Gold !

Bright and yellow, hard and cold,

T

Molten, graven, hammer'd and roll'd;
Heavy to get, and light to hold;
Hoarded, barter'd, bought, and sold,
Stolen, borrow'd, squander'd, doled:
Spurn'd by the young, but hugg'd by the old
To the very verge of the churchyard mould;
Price of many a crime untold;

Gold! Gold ! Gold ! Gold !

Good or bad a thousand-fold!

How widely its agencies vary→

To save-to ruin-to curse-to bless

As even its minted coins express,

Now stamp'd with the image of Good Queen Bess,
And now of a Bloody Mary.

WITH fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,
A woman sat, in unwomanly rags,
Plying her needle and thread-

Stitch stitch! stitch!

In poverty, hunger, and dirt,

And still with a voice of dolorous pitch She sang the "Song of the Shirt."

"Work! work! work!

While the cock is crowing aloof!

And work-work-work,

Till the stars shine through the roof!
It's Oh! to be a slave

Along with the barbarous Turk, Where woman has never a soul to save, If this is Christian work!

"Work-work-work

Till the brain begins to swim;

Work-work-work

Till the eyes are heavy and dim!

Seam, and gusset, and band,

Band, and gusset, and seam, Till over the buttons I fall asleep, And sew them on in a dream!

"Oh, Men, with Sisters dear!

Oh, men, with Mothers and Wives!
It is not linen you're wearing out,

But human creatures' lives!
Stitch-stitch-stitch,

In poverty, hunger and dirt,
Sewing at once, with a double thread.
A Shroud as well as a Shirt.

"But why do I talk of Death?
That Phantom of grisly bone,
I hardly fear its terrible shape,
It seems so like my own-
It seems so like my own,
Because of the fasts I keep;

Oh, God! that bread should be so dear,
And flesh and blood so cheap!

"Work-work-work!

My labour never flags;

And what are its wages? A bed of straw,

A crust of bread-and rags.

That shatter'd roof-and this naked floor

A table-a broken chair

And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank For sometimes falling there!

"Work-work-work!

From weary chime to chime,
Work-work-work-

As prisoners work for crime!