THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 x^f
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 OR LUNACY
 
 Of this Edition ^00 Copies ka-ve been printed 
 for England and America
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 A NECROMAUNT 
 
 IN THREE CHIMERAS 
 
 BY THOMAS T. STODDART 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION 
 
 BY ANDREW LANG 
 
 Is't like that lead contains her ? , . . . 
 
 It were too gross 
 To rib her cerecloth in the obscure grave 
 
 Shakespeare 
 
 LONDON: JOHN LANE 
 
 CHICAGO: WAY & WILLIAMS 
 
 1895
 
 Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson & Co. 
 u4t the Ballantyne Press
 
 5499 
 
 INTRODUCTION TO 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 LIBRARf"
 
 ^iscatori 
 'Pise ator 
 
 An angler to an angler here. 
 
 To one who longed not for the bays, 
 I bring a little gift and dear, 
 
 A line of love, a word of praise, 
 A common memory of the ways. 
 
 By Elibank and Yair that lead; 
 Of all the burns, from all the braes. 
 
 That yield their tribute to the Tweed. 
 
 His boyhood found the waters clean. 
 
 His age deplored them, foul with dye ; 
 But purple hills, and copses green. 
 
 And these old towers he wandered by. 
 Still to the simple strains reply 
 
 Of his pure unrepinirig reed. 
 Who lies where he was fain to lie. 
 
 Like Scott, within the sound of Tweed. 
 
 A. L.
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 The extreme rarity of The Death-Wake is 
 a reason for its republication, which may or 
 may not be approved of by collectors. Of the 
 original edition the Author says that more 
 than seventy copies were sold in the first 
 week of publication, but thereafter the pub- 
 lisher failed in business. Mr. Stoddart re- 
 covered the sheets of his poem, and his cook 
 gradually, and perhaps not injudiciously, ex- 
 pended them for domestic purposes. 
 
 Apart from its rarity. The Death-Wake 
 has an interest of its own for curious amateurs 
 of poetry. The year of its composition 
 (1830) was the great year of Romanticisme in 
 France, the year of Hernani^ and of Gautier's 
 gilet rouge. In France it was a literary age 
 
 3
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 given to mediaeval extravagance, to the 
 dagger and the bowl, the cloak and sword, 
 the mad monk and the were-wolf ; the age 
 of Petrus Borel and MacKeat, as well as of 
 Dumas and Hugo. Now the official poetry 
 of our country was untouched by and ignor- 
 ant of the virtues and excesses of 1830. 
 Wordsworth's bolt was practically shot ; Sir 
 Walter was ending his glorious career ; 
 Shelley and Byron and Keats were dead, and 
 the annus mtrabills of Coleridge was long 
 gone by. Three young poets of the English- 
 speaking race were producing their volumes, 
 destined at first to temporary neglect. The 
 year 1830 was the year of Mr. Tennyson's 
 Poems^ chiefly Lyrical^ his first book, not 
 counting Poems by Two Brothers. It was 
 also the year of Mr. Browning's ^Pauline 
 (rarer even than The Death-Wake^ ; and it 
 was the year which followed the second, and 
 perhaps the most characteristic, poetical 
 venture of Edgar Allan Poe. In Mr. 
 
 4
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 Tennyson's early lyrics, and in Mr. Poe's, 
 any capable judge must have recognised new 
 notes of romance. Their accents are fresh 
 and strange, their imaginations dwell in 
 untrodden regions. Untouched by the 
 French romantic poets, they yet uncon- 
 sciously reply to their notes, as if some 
 influence in the mental air were at work on 
 both sides of the Channel, on both sides of 
 the Atlantic. Now, in my opinion, this 
 indefinite influence was also making itself 
 felt, faintly and dimly, in Scotland. 7he 
 Death-Wake is the work of a lad who 
 certainly had read Keats, Coleridge and 
 Shelley, but who is no imitator of these 
 great poets. He has, in a few passages, and 
 at his best, an accent original, distinct, 
 strangely musical, and really replete with 
 promise. He has a fresh unborrowed melody 
 and mastery of words, the first indispensable 
 sign of a true poet. His rhymed heroic 
 verse is no more the rhymed heroic verse of 
 
 5
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 Endymion^ than it is that of Mr. Pope, or ot 
 Mr. William Morris. He is a new master of 
 the old instrument. 
 
 His mood is that of Scott when Scott was 
 young, and was so anxious to possess a death's 
 head and cross-bones. The malady is *' most 
 incident" to youth, but Mr. Stoddart wears 
 his rue with a difference. The mad monkish 
 lover of the dead nun Agathe has hit on 
 precisely the sort of fantasy which was 
 about to inspire Theophile Gautier's Comedie 
 de la Mort^ or the later author of Gaspard de 
 la Nuit^ or Edgar Poe. There is here no 
 " criticism of life ; " it is a criticism of strange 
 death ; and, so far, may recall Beddoes's 
 Death's "Jest-Book^ unpublished, of course, in 
 1830. Naturally this kind of poetry is 
 "useless," as Mr. Ruskin says about Cole- 
 ridge, but, in its bizarre way, it may be 
 beautiful. 
 
 The author, by a curious analogy with 
 Theophile Gautier, was, in these days, a 
 
 6
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 humourist as well as a poet. In the midst ot 
 his mad fancies and rare melodies he is laugh- 
 ing at himself, as Theophile mocked at Les 
 "Jeunes France, The psychological position 
 is, therefore, one of the rarest. Mr. Stoddart 
 was, first of all and before all, a hardy and 
 enthusiastic angler. Between 1830 and 1840 
 he wrote a few beautiful angling songs, and 
 then all the poetry of his character merged 
 itself in an ardent love of Nature : of hill, 
 loch and stream — above all, of Tweed, the 
 fairest of waters, which he lived to see a sink 
 of pollution. After 1831 we have no more 
 romanticism from Mr. Stoddart. The wind, 
 blowing where it listeth, struck on him as on 
 an iEolian harp, and " an uncertain warbling 
 made," in the true Romantic manner. He 
 did write a piece with the alluring name of 
 Ajalon of the Winds ^ but not one line of it 
 survives. The rest is not silence, indeed, for, 
 in addition to his lays of trout and salmon, of 
 Tweed and Teviot, Mr. Stoddart wrote a 
 
 7
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 good deal of prose, and a good deal of per- 
 fectly common and uninspired verse. The 
 Muse, which was undeniably with him for 
 an hour, abandoned him, or he deserted her, 
 being content to whip the waters of Tweed, 
 and Meggat, and Yarrow. Perhaps un- 
 favourable and unappreciative criticism, acting 
 on a healthy and contented nature, drove him 
 back into the common paths of men. What- 
 ever the cause, the Death-Wake alone (save 
 for a few angling songs) remains to give 
 assurance of a poet " who died young," It 
 is needless to rewrite the biography, excel- 
 lently done, in Angling SongSjhy Miss Stoddart, 
 the poet's daughter (Black woods, Edin- 
 burgh, 1889). Mr. Stoddart was born on 
 St. Valentine's Day 1810, in Argyll Square, 
 Edinburgh, nearly on the site of the Kirk 
 of Field, where Darnley was murdered. He 
 came of an old Border family. Miss Stod- 
 dart tells a painful tale of an aged Miss 
 Helen who burned family papers because she 
 
 8
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 thought she was bewitched by the seals 
 arid decorated initials. Similar follies are re- 
 ported of a living old lady, on whose 
 hearth, after a night of destruction, was 
 once found the impression of a seal of Mary 
 of Modena. I could give only too good a 
 guess at the provenance of those papers, but 
 nobody can interfere. Beyond 1500 the 
 family memories rely on tradition. The 
 ancestors owned lands in the Forest of 
 Ettrick, and Williamhope, on the Tweed 
 hard by Ashestiel, On the Glenkinnon 
 burn, celebrated by Scott, they hid the pro- 
 phets of the Covenant " by fifties in a cave." 
 One Williamhope is said to have been out 
 at Drumclog, or, perhaps, Bothwell Brig. 
 This laird, of enormous strength, was called 
 the Beetle of Yarrow, and was a friend of 
 Murray of Philiphaugh. His son, in the 
 Fifteen, was out on the Hanoverian side, 
 which was not in favour with the author of 
 The Death-Wake. He married a daughter of 
 
 9
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 Veitch of The Glen, now the property of Sir 
 Charles Tennant. In the next generation 
 but one, the Stoddarts sold their lands and 
 took to commerce, while the poet's father 
 won great distinction in the Navy. The 
 great-great-grandfather of the poet married a 
 Miss Muir of Anniston, the family called 
 cousins (on which side of the blanket I know 
 not) with Robert II. of Scotland, and, by 
 another line, were as near as in the sixth 
 degree of James III. 
 
 As a schoolboy, Mr. Stoddart was always 
 rhyming of goblin, ghost, fairy, and all Sir 
 Walter's themes. At Edinburgh University 
 he was a pupil of Christopher North (John 
 Wilson), who pooh-poohed The Death-TVake 
 in Blackwood. He also knew Aytoun, 
 Professor Ferrier, De Quincey, Hartley 
 Coleridge, and Hogg, and was one of the 
 first guests of Tibbie Shells, on the spit of 
 land between St. Mary's and the Loch of the 
 Lowes. In verses of this period (1827) 
 
 10
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 Miss Stoddart detects traces of Keats and 
 Byron, but the lines quoted are much better 
 in technique than Byron usually wrote. 
 
 The summer of 1830 Mr. Stoddart passed 
 in Hogg's company on Yarrow, and early in 
 1 83 1 he published The Death-Wake. There 
 is no trace of James Hogg in the poem, 
 which, to my mind, is perfectly original. 
 Wilson places it " between the weakest of 
 Shelley and the strongest of Barry Cornwall." 
 It is really nothing but a breath of the spirit 
 of romance, touching an instrument not 
 wholly out of tune, but never to be touched 
 again. 
 
 It is unnecessary to follow Mr. Stoddart 
 through a long and happy life of angling 
 and of literary leisure. He only blossomed 
 once. His poem was plagiarised and in- 
 serted in Graharn's Magazine^ by a person 
 named Louis Fitzgerald Tasistro (vol. xx,). 
 Mr. Ingram, the biographer of Edgar Poe, 
 observes that Poe praised the piece while 
 
 II
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 he was exposing Tasistro's " barefaced 
 robbery." 
 
 The copy of The Death-Wake from which 
 this edition is printed was once the property 
 of Mr. Aytoun, author of Lays of the Scottish 
 Cavaliers^ and, I presume, of Ta Phairshon. 
 Mr. Aytoun has written a prefatory sonnet 
 which will be found in its proper place, a set 
 of rhymes on the flyleaf at the end, and 
 various cheerful but unfeeling notes. After 
 some hesitation I do not print these frivolities. 
 
 The copy was most generously presented 
 to me by Professor Knight of St. Andrews, 
 and I have only seen one other example, 
 which I in turn contributed to fill the vacant 
 place in the shelves of Mr. Knight. His 
 example, however, is far the more curious of 
 the twain, by virtue of Aytoun's annota- 
 tions. 
 
 I had been wanting to see The Death- 
 Wake ever since, as a boy, I read the unkind 
 review of it in an ancient volume of Black- 
 
 12
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 wood''s Magazine. In its " pure purple 
 mantle " of glazed cloth, with paper label, it 
 is an unaffectedly neat and well-printed little 
 volume. 
 
 It would be unbecoming and imperti- 
 nent to point out to any one who has an ear 
 for verse, the charm of such lines as — 
 
 " A murmur far and far, of those that stirred 
 Within the great encampment of the sea." 
 
 Or— 
 
 "A love-winged seraph glides in glory by, 
 Striking the tent of its mortality." 
 
 (An idea anticipated by the as yet unknown 
 Omar Khayyam). 
 
 Or— 
 
 "Dost thou, in thy vigil, hail 
 
 Arcturus in his chariot pale, 
 Leading him with a fiery flight 
 Over the hollow hill of night ? " 
 
 These are wonderful verses for a lad of 
 twenty-one, living among anglers, under- 
 
 13
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 graduates, and, if with some society of the 
 lettered, apparently with none which could 
 appreciate or applaud him. 
 
 For the matter of the poem, the wild 
 voyage of the mad monkish lover with the 
 dead Bride of Heaven, it strikes, of course, on 
 the common reef of the Romantic — the 
 ridiculous. But the recurring contrasts of a 
 pure, clear peace in sea and skv, are of rare 
 and atoning beauty. Such a passage is — 
 
 "And the great ocean, like a holy hall, 
 Where slept a seraph host maritimal. 
 Was gorgeous with wings of diamond." 
 
 Once more, when the mad monk tell? the 
 sea-waves 
 
 " That ye have power and passion, and a sound 
 As of the flying of an angel round, 
 The mighty world, that ye are one with 
 Time," 
 
 we recognise genuine imagination. 
 
 H
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 A sympathetic reader of The Death-Wake 
 would perhaps have expected the leprosies and 
 lunacies to drop off, and the genius, purged of 
 its accidents, to move into a pure trans- 
 parency. The abnormal, the monstrous, the 
 boyish elements should have been burned 
 away in the fire of the genius of poetry. 
 But the Muses did not so will it, and the 
 mystic wind of the spirit of song became of 
 less moment to Mr, Stoddart than the breeze 
 on the loch that stirs the trout to feed. 
 Perhaps his life was none the less happy and 
 fortunate. Of the many brilliant men whom 
 he knew intimately — Wilson, Aytoun, Ferrier, 
 Glassford Bell, and others — perhaps none, not 
 even Hogg, recognised the grace of the Muse 
 which (in my poor opinion) Mr. Stoddart 
 possessed. His character was not in the 
 least degree soured by neglect or fretted by 
 banter. Not to over-estimate oneself is a 
 virtue very rare among poets, and certainly 
 does not lead to public triumphs. Modesty 
 
 15
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 is apt to accompany the sense of humour 
 which alleviates life, while it is an almost 
 insuperable bar to success. 
 
 Mr. Stoddart died on November 22nd, 
 1880. His last walk was to Kelso Bridge 
 " to look at the Tweed," which now 
 murmurs by his grave the selfsame song 
 that it sings beside Sir Walter's tomb in 
 Dryburgh Abbey. We leave his poem to 
 the judgment of students of poetry, and to 
 him we say his own farewell — 
 
 Sorrow, sorrow speed away 
 
 To our angler's quiet mound. 
 With the old pilgrim, twilight grey, 
 
 Enter thou the holy ground. 
 
 There he sleeps, whose heart was twined 
 With wild stream and wandering burn, 
 
 Wooer of the western wind. 
 Watcher of the April morn. 
 
 A. L. 
 
 16
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 OR LUNACY
 
 Sonnet to the Author 
 
 O wormy Thomas Stoddart who inheritest 
 
 Rich thoughts and loathsome, nauseous words, iff 
 rare ! 
 Tell me, my friend, why is it that thou ferret est 
 
 ^nd gropest in each death-corrupted lair ? 
 SeeFst thou for maggots, such as have afinity 
 
 With those in thine own brain ? or dost thou think 
 That all is sweet which hath a horrid stink ? 
 Why dost thou make Hautgout thy sole divinity ? 
 Here is enough of genius to convert 
 
 File dung to precious diamonds, and to spare. 
 Then why transform the diamond into dirt. 
 And change thy mind w'l sh"^. be rich if 
 fair 
 Into a medley of creations foul, 
 jfs if a Seraph would become a Goul? 
 
 W. E. J. 
 
 1834
 
 CHIMERA I 
 
 An anthem of a sister choristry ! 
 
 And like a windward murmur of the sea, 
 
 O'er silver shells, so solemnly it falls ! 
 
 A dying music shrouded in deep walls. 
 
 That bury its wild breathings ! And the moon. 
 
 Of glow-worm hue, like virgin in sad swoon. 
 
 Lies coldly on the bosom of a cloud, 
 
 Until the elf-winds, that are wailing loud. 
 
 Do minister unto her sickly trance. 
 
 Fanning the life into her countenance ; 
 
 And there are pale stars sparkling, far and few 
 
 In the deep chasms of everlasting blue, 
 
 Unmarshall'd and ungather'd, one and one. 
 
 Like outposts of the lunar garrison. 
 
 A train of holy fathers windeth by 
 The arches of an aged sanctuary. 
 With cowl, and scapular, and rosary 
 
 19
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 On to the sainted oriel, where stood. 
 
 By the rich altar, a fair sisterhood — 
 
 A weeping group of virgins ! one or two 
 
 Bent forward to a bier, of solemn hue. 
 
 Whereon a bright and stately coffin lay. 
 
 With its black pall flung over: — Agathc 
 
 Was on the lid — a name. And who ? — No more ! 
 
 'Twas only Agathe. 
 
 'Tis o'er, 'tis o'er, — 
 Her burial ! and, under the arcades. 
 Torch after torch into the moonlight fades ; 
 And there is heard the music, a brief while, 
 Over the roofings of the imaged aisle. 
 From the deep organ panting out its last. 
 Like the slow dying of an autumn blast. 
 
 A lonely monk is loitering within 
 The dusky area, at the altar seen. 
 Like a pale spirit kneeling in the light 
 Of the cold moon, that looketh wan and white 
 Through the deviced oriel ; and he lays 
 His hands upon his bosom, with a gaze 
 
 20
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 To the chill earth. He had the youthful 
 
 look 
 Which heartfelt woe had wasted, and he shook 
 At every gust of the unholy breeze, 
 That enter'd through the time-worn crevices. 
 
 A score of summers only o'er his brow 
 Had pass'd — and it was summer, even now, 
 The one-and-twentieth — from a birth of tears. 
 Over a waste of melancholy years ! 
 And that brow was as wan as if it were 
 Of snowy marble, and the raven hair 
 That would have cluster'd over, was all shorn. 
 And his fine features stricken pale as morn. 
 
 He kiss'd a golden crucifix that hung 
 Around his neck, and in a transport flung 
 Himself upon the earth, and said, and said 
 Wild, raving words, about the blessed dead : 
 And then he rose, and in the moon-shade stood, 
 Gazing upon its light in solitude ; 
 And smote his brow, at some idea wild 
 That came across: then, weeping like a child, 
 
 21
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 He falter'd out the name of Agathe ; 
 And look'd unto the heaven inquiringly, 
 And the pure stars. 
 
 " Oh shame ! that ye are met, 
 To mock me, like old memories, that yet 
 Break in upon the golden dream I knew. 
 While she — she lived : and I have said adieu 
 To that fair one, and to her sister Peace, 
 That lieth in her grave. When wilt thou cease 
 To feed upon my quiet! — thou Despair! 
 That art the mad usurper, and the heir, 
 Of this heart's heritage ! Go, go — return. 
 And bring me back oblivion, and an urn! 
 And ye, pale stars, may look, and only find, 
 The wreck of a proud tree, that lets the wind 
 Count o'er its blighted boughs; for such was he 
 That loved, and loves, the silent Agathe!" 
 And he hath left the sanctuary, like one 
 That knew not his own purpose — The red sun 
 Rose early over incense of bright mist, 
 That girdled a pure sky of amethyst. 
 
 22
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 And who was he? A monk. And those who knew 
 Yclept him Julio; but they were few: 
 And others named him as a nameless one, — 
 A dark, sad-hearted being, who had none 
 But bitter feelings, and a cast of sadness, 
 That fed the wildest of all curses — madness ! 
 
 But he was, what none knew, of lordly line, 
 That fought in the far land of Palestine, 
 Where, under banners of the cross, they fell. 
 Smote by the armies of the infidel. 
 And Julio was the last ; alone, alone ! 
 A sad, unfriended orphan, that had gone 
 Into the world, to murmur and to die. 
 Like the cold breezes that are passing by ! 
 
 And few they were that bade him to their board ; 
 His fortunes now were over, and the sword 
 Of his proud ancestry dishonour'd — left 
 To moulder in its sheath — a hated gift ! 
 
 Ay! it was so; and Julio had fain 
 Have been a warrior ; but his very brain 
 
 23
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 Grew fever'd at the sickly thought of death. 
 And to be stricken with a want of breath ! — 
 To be the food of worms — inanimate, 
 And cold as winter, — and as desolate ! 
 And then to waste away, and be no more 
 Than the dark dust! — The thought was like a sore 
 That gather'd in his heart ; and he would say,— 
 "A curse be on their laurels! " and decay 
 Came over them ; the deeds that they had done 
 Had fallen with their fortunes ; and anon 
 Was Julio forgotten, and his line — 
 No wonder for this frenzied tale of mine ! 
 
 Oh ! he was wearied of this passing scene ! 
 But loved not death r his purpose was between 
 Life and the grave ; and it would vibrate there. 
 Like a wild bird that floated far and fair 
 Betwixt the sun and sea! 
 
 He went, and came. 
 And thought, and slept, and still awoke the same, — 
 A strange, strange youth ; and he would look all 
 
 night 
 Upon the moon and stars, and count the flight 
 
 24
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 Of the sea waves, and let the evening wind 
 Play with his raven tresses, or would bind 
 Grottoes of birch, wherein to sit and sing : 
 And peasant girls would find him sauntering. 
 To gaze upon their features, as they met, 
 In laughter, under some green arboret. 
 
 At last, he became monk, and, on his knees, 
 Said holy prayers, and with wild penances 
 Made sad atonement ; and the solemn whim, 
 That, like a shadow, loiter'd over him. 
 Wore oiF, even like a shadow. He was cursed 
 With none of the mad thoughts that were at 
 
 first 
 The poison of his quiet ; but he grew 
 To love the world and its wild laughter too, 
 As he had known before ; and wish'd again 
 To join the very mirth he hated then ! 
 
 He durst not break the vow — he durst not be 
 The one he would — and his heart's harmony 
 Became a tide of sorrow. Even so, 
 He felt hope die, — in madness and in woe ! 
 
 25
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 But there came one — and a most lovely one 
 As ever to the warm light of the sun 
 Threw back her tresses, — a fair sister girl, 
 With a brow changing between snow and pearl, 
 And the blue eyes of sadness, fill'd with dew 
 Of tears, — like Heaven's own melancholy blue, — 
 So beautiful, so tender ; and her form 
 Was graceful as a rainbow in a storm. 
 Scattering gladness on the face of sorrow — 
 Oh ! I had fancied of the hues that borrow 
 Their brightness from the sun ; but she was bright 
 In her own self, — a mystery of light ! 
 With feelings tender as a star's own hue, 
 Pure as the morning star ! as true, as true ; 
 For it will glitter in each early sky. 
 And her first love be love that lasteth aye ! 
 
 And this was Agathe, young Agathe, 
 A motherless, fair girl : and many a day 
 She wept for her lost parent. It was sad 
 To see her infant sorrow; how she bade 
 The flow of her wild spirits fall away 
 To grief, like bright clouds in a summer day 
 
 26
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 Melting into a shower : and it was sad 
 Almost to think she might again be glad. 
 Her beauty was so chaste, amid the fall 
 Of her bright tears. Yet, in her father's hall, 
 She had lived almost sorrowless her days : 
 But he felt no affection for the gaze 
 Of his fair girl ; and when she fondly smiled, 
 He bade no father's welcome to the child, 
 But even told his wish, and will'd it done. 
 For her to be sad-hearted — and a nun ! 
 
 And so it was. She took the dreary veil, 
 A hopeless girl ! and the bright flush grew pale 
 Upon her cheek : she felt, as summer feels 
 The winds of autumn and the winter chills. 
 That darken his fair suns. — It was away. 
 Feeding on dreams, the heart of Agathe ! 
 
 The vesper prayers were said, and the last 
 
 hymn 
 Sung to the Holy Virgin. In the dim, 
 Gray aisle was heard a solitary tread, 
 As of one musing sadly on the dead — 
 
 27
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 'Twas Julio; it was his wont to be 
 Often alone within the sanctuary; 
 But now, not so — another: it was she! 
 Kneeling in all her beauty, like a saint 
 Before a crucifix; but sad and faint 
 The tone of her devotion, as the trill 
 Of a moss-burden'd, melancholy rill. 
 
 And Julio stood before her; — 'twas as yet 
 The hour of the pale twilight — and they met 
 Each other's gaze, till either seem'd the hue 
 Of deepest crimson ; but the ladye threw 
 Her veil above her features, and stole by 
 Like a bright cloud, with sadness and a sigh! 
 
 Yet Julio still stood gazing and alone, 
 A dreamer! — "Is the sister ladye gone?" 
 He started at the silence of the air 
 That slumber'd over him — she is not there. 
 
 And either slept not through the live-long night, 
 Or slept in fitful trances, with a bright. 
 Fair dream upon their eyelids : but they rose 
 In sorrow from the pallet of repose ; 
 
 28
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 For the dark thought of their sad destiny- 
 Came o'er them, like a chasm of the deep sea, 
 That was to rend their fortunes ; and at eve 
 They met again, but, silent, took their leave, 
 As they did yesterday : another night. 
 And neither spake awhile — A pure delight 
 Had chasten'd love's first blushes : silently 
 Gazed Julio on the gentle Agathe — 
 At length, " Fair Nun ! " — She started, and held 
 
 fast 
 Her bright hand on her lip — "the past, the past. 
 And the pale future ! There be some that lie 
 Under those marble urns — I know not why, 
 But I were better in that only calm, 
 Than be as I have been, perhaps, and am. 
 The past! — ay! it hath perish'd; never, never. 
 Would I recall it to be blest for ever : 
 The future it must come — I have a vow " — 
 And his cold hand rose trembling to his brow. 
 "True, true, I have a vow. Is not the moon 
 Abroad, fair Nun?" — " Indeed! so very soon?" 
 Said Agathe, and "I must then away." — 
 "Stay, love! 'tis early yet; stay, angel, stay!" 
 
 29
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 But she was gone : — yet they met many a time 
 In the lone chapel, after vesper chime — 
 They met in love and fear. 
 
 One weary day. 
 And Julio saw not his loved Agathe; 
 She was not in the choir of sisterhood 
 That sang the evening anthem, and he stood 
 Like one that listen'd breathlessly awhile ; 
 But stranger voices chanted through the aisle. 
 She was not there ; and, after all were gone. 
 He linger'd : the stars came — he lingcr'd on. 
 Like a dark fun'ral image on the tomb 
 Of a lost hope. He felt a world of gloom 
 Upon his heart — a solitude — a chill. 
 The pale morn rose, and still, he linger'd still. 
 And the next vesper toll'd ; nor yet, nor yet — 
 " Can Agathe be faithless, and forget?" 
 
 It was the third sad eve, he heard it said, 
 " Poor Julio! thy Agathe is dead," 
 And started. He had loiter'd in the train 
 That bore her to the grave : he saw her lain 
 
 30
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 In the cold earth, and heard a requiem 
 
 Sung over her — To him it was a dream ! 
 
 A marble stone stood by the sepulchre ; 
 
 He look'd, and saw, and started — she was there ! 
 
 And Agathe had died; she that was bright — 
 
 She that was in her beauty ! a cold blight 
 
 Fell over the young blossom of her brow. 
 
 And the life-blood grew chill — She is not, now. 
 
 She died, like zephyr falling amid flowers ! 
 
 Like to a star within the twilight hours 
 
 Of morning — and she was not ! Somehave thought 
 
 The Lady Abbess gave her a mad draught, 
 
 That stole into her heart, and sadly rent 
 
 The fine chords of that holy instrument, 
 
 Until its music falter'd fast away. 
 
 And she — she died, — the lovely Agathe ! 
 
 Again, and through the arras of the gloom 
 Are the pale breezes moaning : by her tomb 
 Bends Julio, like a phantom, and his eye 
 Is fallen, as the moon-borne tides, that lie 
 At ebb within the sea. Oh ! he is wan, 
 As winter skies are wan, like ages gone, 
 
 31
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 And stars unseen for paleness; it is cast, 
 As foliage in the raving of the blast. 
 All his fair bloom of thoughts ! Is the moon chill, 
 That in the dark clouds she is mantled still ? 
 And over its proud arch hath Heaven flung 
 A scarf of darkness ? Agathe was young ! 
 And there should be the virgin silver there, 
 The snow-white fringes delicately fair! 
 
 He w^ields a heavy mattock in his hands, 
 And over him a lonely lanthorn stands 
 On a near niche, shedding a sickly fall 
 Of light upon a marble pedestal. 
 Whereon is chisel'd rudely, the essay 
 Of untaught tool, " Hie jacet Agathe!" 
 And Julio hath bent him down in speed, 
 Like one that doeth an unholy deed. 
 
 There is a flagstone lieth heavily 
 
 Over the ladye's grave ; I wist of three 
 
 That bore it, of a blessed verity! 
 
 But he hath lifted it in his pure madness, 
 
 As it were lightsome as a summer gladnes?, 
 
 32
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 And from the carved niche hath ta'en the lamp. 
 And hung it by the marble flagstone damp. 
 
 And he is flinging the dark, chilly mould 
 Over the gorgeous pavement : 'tis a cold, 
 Sad grave, and there is many a relic there 
 Of chalky bones, which, in the wasting air, 
 Fell smouldering away ; and he would dash 
 His mattock through them, with a cursed clash, 
 That made the lone aisle echo. But anon 
 He fell upon a skull, — a haggard one. 
 With its teeth set, and the great orbless eye 
 Revolving darkness, like eternity — 
 And in his hand he held it, till it grew 
 To have the fleshy features and the hue 
 Of life. He gazed, and gazed, and it became 
 Like to his Agathc — all, all the same ! 
 He drew it nearer, — the cold, bony thing! — 
 To kiss the worm- wet lips. " Ay ! let me cling — 
 Cling to thee now, for ever!" but a breath 
 Of rank corruption from its jaws of death 
 Went to his nostrils, and he madly laugh'd, 
 And dash'd it over on the altar shaft, 
 
 33 c
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 Which the new risen moon, in her gray light, 
 Had fondly flooded, beautifully bright ! 
 
 Again he went 
 To his wild work, beside the monument. 
 " Ha ! leave, thou moon ! where thy footfall hath 
 
 been 
 In sorrow amid heaven ! there is sin 
 Under thy shadow, lying like a dew ; 
 So come thou, from thy awful arch of blue, 
 Where thou art even as a silver throne 
 For some pale spectre-king; come thou alone, 
 Or bring a solitary orphan star 
 Under thy wings ! afar, afar, afar. 
 To gaze upon this girl of radiancy. 
 In her deep slumbers — Wake thee, Agathe ! " 
 
 And Julio hath stolen the dark chest 
 Where the fair nun lay coffin'd, in the rest 
 That wakes not up at morning : she is there, 
 An image of cold calm ! One tress of hair 
 Lingereth lonely on her snowy brow; 
 But the bright eyes are closed in darkness now; 
 
 34
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 And their long lashes delicately rest 
 
 On the pale cheek, like sun-rays in the 
 
 west, 
 That fall upon a colourless, sad cloud. 
 Humility lies rudely on the proud, 
 But she was never proud ; and there she is, 
 A yet unwither'd flower the autumn breeze 
 Hath blown from its green steml 'T is pale, 't is 
 
 pale, 
 But still unfaded, like the twilight veil 
 That falleth after sunset ; like a stream 
 That bears the burden of a silver gleam 
 Upon its waters; and is even so, — 
 Chill, melancholy, lustreless, and low ! 
 
 Beauty in death ! a tenderness upon 
 The rude and silent relics, where alone 
 Sat the destroyer ! Beauty on the dead ! 
 The look of being where the breath is fled ! 
 The unwarming sun still joyous in its light! 
 A time — a time without a day or night ! 
 Death cradled upon Beauty, like a bee 
 Upon a flower, that looketh lovingly ! — 
 
 35
 
 THE DEATH- WAKE 
 
 Like a wild serpent, coiling in its madness, 
 Under a wreath of blossom and of gladness ! 
 
 And there she is ; and Julio bends o'er 
 The sleeping girl, — a willow on the shore 
 Of a Dead Sea! that steepeth its far bough 
 Into the bitter waters, — even now 
 Taking a foretaste of the awful trance 
 That was to pass on his own countenance ! 
 
 Yes ! yes ! and he is holding his pale lips 
 Over her brow ; the shade of an eclipse 
 Is passing to his heart, and to his eye, 
 That is not tearful ; but the light will die, 
 Leaving it like a moon within a mist, — 
 The vision of a spell-bound visionist ! 
 
 He breathed a cold kiss on her ashy cheek, 
 That left no trace — no flush — no crimson streak. 
 But was as bloodless as a marble stone. 
 Susceptible of silent waste alone. 
 Ana on her brow a crucifix he laid — 
 A jewel'd crucifix, the virgin maid 
 
 36
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 Had given him before she died. The moon 
 Shed light upon her visage — clouded soon, 
 Then briefly breaking from its airy veil, 
 Like warrior lifting up his aventayle. 
 
 But Julio gazed on, and never lifted 
 Himself to see the broken clouds, that drifted 
 One after one, like infant elves at play 
 Amid the night-winds, in their lonely way — 
 Some whistling and some moaning, some asleep. 
 And dreaming dismal dreams, and sighing deep 
 Over their couches of green moss and flowers. 
 And solitary fern, and heather bowers. 
 
 The heavy bell toll'd two, and, as it toll'd, 
 Julio started, and the fresh-turn'd mould 
 He flung into the empty chasm with speed. 
 And o'er it dropt the flagstone. One could 
 
 read 
 That Agathe lay there; but still the girl 
 Lay by him, like a precious and pale pearl, 
 That from the deep sea-waters had been rent — 
 Like a star fallen from the firmament ! 
 
 37
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 He hides the grave-tools in an aged porch, 
 
 To westward of the solitary church ; 
 
 And he hath clasp'd around the melting waist 
 
 The beautiful, dead girl : his cheek is press'd 
 
 To hers — Life warming the cold chill of Death ! 
 
 And over his pale palsy breathing breath 
 
 His eye is sunk upon her — " Thou must leave 
 
 The worm to waste for love of thee, and 
 
 grieve 
 Without thee, as I may not. Thou must go. 
 My sweet betrothed, with me — but not below. 
 Where there is darkness, dream, and solitude. 
 But where is light, and life, and one to brood 
 Above thee till thou wakest — Ha ! I fear 
 Thou wilt not wake for ever, sleeping here, 
 Where there are none but winds to visit thee. 
 And convent fathers, and a choristry 
 Of sisters, saying, 'Hush!' — But I will sing 
 Rare songs to thy pure spirit, wandering 
 Down on the dews to hear me ; I will tune 
 The instrument of the ethereal moon. 
 And all the choir of stars, to rise and fall 
 In harmony and beauty musical." 
 
 38
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 He is away — and still the sickly lamp 
 
 Is burning next the altar ; there's a damp. 
 
 Thin mould upon the pavement ; and, at morn. 
 
 The monks do cross them in their blessed scorn 
 
 And mutter deep anathemas, because 
 
 Of the unholy sacrilege, that was 
 
 Within the sainted chapel, — for they guess'd, 
 
 By many a vestige sad, how the dark rest 
 
 Of Agathe was broken, — and anon 
 
 They sought for Julio. The summer sun 
 
 Arose and and set, with his imperial disc 
 
 Toward the ocean-waters, heaving brisk 
 
 Before the winds, — but Julio came never : 
 
 He that was frantic as a foaming river — 
 
 Mad as the fall of leaves upon the tide 
 
 Of a great tempest, that have fought and died 
 
 Along the forest ramparts, and doth still 
 
 In its death-struggle desperately reel 
 
 Round with the fallen foliage — he was gone. 
 
 And none knew whither. Still were chanted on 
 
 Sad masses, by pale sisters, many a day. 
 
 And holy requiems sung for Agathe ! 
 
 39
 
 CHIMERA II 
 
 A CURSE ! a curse ! the beautiful pale wing 
 Of a sea-bird was worn with wandering, 
 And, on a sunny rock beside the shore, 
 It stood, the golden waters gazing o'er ; 
 And they were heaving a brown amber flow 
 Of weeds, that glitter'd gloriously below. 
 
 It was the sunset, and the gorgeous hall 
 Of heaven rose up on pillars magical 
 Of living silver, shafting the fair sky 
 Between dark time and great eternity. 
 They rose upon their pedestal of sun, 
 A line of snowy columns ! and anon 
 Were lost in the rich tracery of cloud 
 That hung along, magnificently proud. 
 Predicting the pure star-light, that beyond 
 The east was armouring in diamond 
 
 41
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 About the camp of twilight, and was soon 
 To marshal under the fair champion moon. 
 That call'd her chariot of unearthly mist. 
 Toward her citadel of amethyst. 
 
 A curse ! a curse ! a lonely man is there 
 
 By the deep waters, with a burden fair 
 
 Clasp'd in his wearied arms — 'Tis he ; 'tis he 
 
 The brain-struck Julio, and Agathe ! 
 
 His cowl is back — flung back upon the breeze. 
 
 His lofty brow is haggard with disease, 
 
 As if a wild libation had been pour'd 
 
 Of lightning on those temples, and they shower'd 
 
 A dismal perspiration, like a rain. 
 
 Shook by the thunder and the hurricane ! 
 
 He dropt upon a rock, and by him placed, 
 Over a bed of sea-pinks growing waste. 
 The silent ladye, and he mutter'd wild. 
 Strange words, about a mother, and no 
 
 child. 
 "And I shall wed thee, Agathe ! although 
 Ours be no God-blest bridal — even so ! " 
 
 42
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 And from the sand he took a silver shell, 
 
 That had been wasted by the fall and swell 
 
 Of many a moon-borne tide into a ring — 
 
 A rude, rude ring ; it was a snow-white thing, 
 
 Where a lone hermit limpet slept and died. 
 
 In ages far away. " Thou art a bride, 
 
 Sweet Agathe ! Wake up ; we must not linger." 
 
 He press'd the ring upon her chilly finger, 
 
 And to the sea-bird, on its sunny stone. 
 
 Shouted, " Pale priest ! thou liest all alone 
 
 Upon thy ocean altar, rise away 
 
 To our glad bridal ! " and its wings of gray 
 
 All lazily it spread, and hover'd by 
 
 With a wild shriek — a melancholy cry ! 
 
 Then swooping slowly o'er the heaving breast 
 
 Of the blue ocean, vanish'd in the west. 
 
 And Julio is chanting to his bride, 
 
 A merry song of his wild heart, that died 
 
 On the soft breeze through pinks beside the sea. 
 
 All rustling in their beauty gladsomely. 
 
 43
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 SONG 
 
 A rosary of stars, love ! we'll count them as we go 
 Upon the laughing waters, that are wandering 
 
 below. 
 And we'll o'er the pearly moon-beam, as it lieth in 
 
 the sea. 
 In beauty and in glory, like a shadowing of thee ! 
 
 A rosary of stars, love ! a prayer as we glide, 
 And a whisper in the wind, and a murmur on the tide ! 
 And we'll say afair adieu to the flowers that are seen, 
 With shells of silver sown in radiancy between. 
 
 A rosary of stars, love ! the purest they shall be. 
 Like spirits of pale pearls, in the bosom of the sea; 
 Now help thee, virgin mother! with a blessing as 
 
 we go, 
 Upon the laughing waters, that are wandering 
 
 below ! 
 
 He lifted the dead girl, and is away 
 
 To where a light boat, in its moorings lay, 
 
 44
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 Like a sea-cradle, rocking to the hush 
 Of the nurse waters. With a frantic rush 
 O'er the wild field of tangles he hath sped, 
 And through the shoaling waves that fell and fled 
 Upon the furrow'd beach. 
 
 The snowy sail 
 Is hoisted to the gladly gushing gale. 
 That bosom'd its fair canvass with a breast 
 Of silver, looking lovely to the west ; 
 And at the helm there sits the wither'd one, 
 Gazing and gazing on the sister nun. 
 With her fair tresses floating on his knee — 
 The beautiful, death-stricken Agathe ! 
 
 Fast, fast, and far away, the bark hath stood 
 Out toward the great heaving solitude, 
 That gurgled in its deeps, as if the breath 
 Went through its lungs, of agony and death ! 
 
 The sun is lost within the labyrinth 
 Of clouds of purple and pale hyacinth, 
 That are the frontlet of the sister Sky 
 Kissing her brother Ocean ; and they lie 
 
 45
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 Bathing in blushes, till the rival queen 
 
 Night, with her starry tiar, floateth in — 
 
 A dark and dazzling beauty ! that doth draw 
 
 Over the light of love a shade of awe 
 
 Most strange, that parts our wonder not the 
 
 less 
 Between her mystery and loveliness ! 
 
 And she is there, that is a pyramid 
 Whereon the stars, the statues of the dead. 
 Are imaged over the eternal hall, 
 A group of radiances majestical ! 
 And Julio looks up, and there they be. 
 And Agathe, and all the waste of Sea, 
 That slept in wizard slumber, with a shroud 
 Of night flung o'er his bosom, throbbing proud 
 Amid its azure pulses ; and again 
 He dropt his blighted eye-orbs, with a strain 
 Of mirth upon the ladye : — Agathe! 
 Sweet bride ! be thou a queen, and I will lay 
 A crown of sea-weed on thy royal brow ; 
 And I will twine these tresses, that are now 
 Floating beside me, to a diadem ; 
 
 46
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 And the sea foam will sprinkle gem on gem, 
 
 And so will the soft dews. Be thou the queen 
 
 Of the unpeopled waters, sadly seen 
 
 By star-light, till the yet unrisen moon 
 
 Issue, unveiled, from her anderoon. 
 
 To bathe in the sea fountains : let me say. 
 
 Hail — hail to thee ! thrice hail, my Agathe ! " 
 
 The warrior world was lifting to the bent 
 
 Of his eternal brow magnificent. 
 
 The fiery moon, that in her blazonry 
 
 Shone eastward, like a shield. The throbbing sea 
 
 Felt fever on his azure arteries. 
 
 That shadow'd them with crimson, while the 
 
 breeze 
 Fell faster on the solitary sail. 
 But the red moon grew loftier and pale. 
 And the great ocean, like the holy hall, 
 Where slept a seraph host maritimal. 
 Was gorgeous, with wings of diamond 
 Fann'd over it, and millions beyond 
 Of tiny waves were playing to and fro, 
 All musical, with an incessant flow 
 
 47
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 Of cadences, innumerably heard 
 Between the shrill notes of a hermit bird. 
 That held a solemn paean to the moon. 
 
 A few devotional fair clouds were soon 
 Breathed o'er the living countenance of Heaven, 
 And under the great galaxies were driven 
 Of stars that group'd together, and they went 
 Like voyagers along the firmament, 
 And grew to silver in the blessed light 
 Of the moon alchymist. It was not night, 
 Not the dark deathly shadow, that falls o'er 
 The eye-lid like a curse, but far before 
 In splendour, struggling through a fall of gloom. 
 In many a myriad gushes, that do come 
 Direct from the eternal stars beyond. 
 Like holy fountains pouring diamond ! 
 
 A sail ! awake thee, Julio ! a sail ! 
 And be not bending to thy trances pale. 
 But he is gazing on the moonlit brow 
 Of his dead Agathe, and fondly now. 
 The light is silvering her bloodless face 
 And the cold grave-clothes. There is loveliness 
 
 48
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 As in a marble image, very bright ! 
 
 But stricken with a phantasy of light 
 
 That is not given to the mortal hue, 
 
 To life and breathing beauty: and she too 
 
 Is more of the expressless lineament, 
 
 Than of the golden thoughts that came and 
 
 went 
 Over her features like a living tide 
 No while before. 
 
 A sail is on the wide 
 And moving waters, and it draweth nigh 
 Like a sea-cloud. The elfin billows fly 
 Before it, in their armories enthrall'd 
 Of radiant and moon-breasted emerald ; 
 And many is the mariner that sees 
 The lone boat in the melancholy breeze. 
 Waving her snowy canvass, and anon 
 Their stately vessel with a gallant run 
 Crowds by in all her glory ; but the cheer 
 Of men is pass'd into a sudden fear. 
 And whisperings, and shakings of the head - 
 The moon was streaming on a virgin dead, 
 
 49 o
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 And Julio sat over her insane, 
 Like a sea demon! O'er and o'er again. 
 Each cross'd him, as the stately vessel stood 
 Far out into the murmuring solitude! 
 
 But Julio saw not ; he only heard 
 A rushing, like the passing of a bird. 
 And felt him heaving on the foam, that flew 
 Along the startled billows ; and he knew 
 Of a strange sail, by broken oaths that fell 
 Beside him, on the coming of the swell. 
 
 "They knew thou wert a queen, my royal 
 
 bride ! 
 And made obeisance at thy holy side. 
 They saw thee, Agathe ! and go to bring 
 Fair worshippers, and many a poet-king. 
 To utter music at thy pearly feet. — 
 Now, wake thee ! for the moonlight cometh sweet. 
 To visit in thy temple of the sea ; 
 Thy sister moon is watching over thee ! 
 And she is spreading a fair mantle of 
 Pure silver, in thy lonely palace, love ! — 
 
 50
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 Now, wake thee ! for the sea-bird is aloof, 
 
 In solitude, below the starry roof; 
 
 And on its dewy plume there is a light 
 
 Of palest splendour, o'er the blessed night. 
 
 Thy spirit, Agathe ! — and yet, thou art 
 
 Beside me, and my solitary heart 
 
 Is throbbing near to thee : I must not feel 
 
 The sweet notes of thy holy music steal 
 
 Into my feverous and burning brain, — 
 
 So wake not ! and I'll hush thee with a strain 
 
 Of my wild fancy, till thou dream of me, 
 
 And I be loved as I have loved thee : — 
 
 SONG 
 
 'Tis light to love thee living, girl, when hope is 
 
 full and fair. 
 In the springtide of thy beauty, when there is no 
 
 sorrow there-— 
 No sorrow on thy brow, and no shadow on thy 
 
 heart ! 
 When, like a floating sea-bird, bright and beautiful 
 
 thou art ! 
 
 5»
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 'Tis light to love thee living, girl — to see thee 
 
 ever so, 
 With health, that, like a crimson flower, lies 
 
 blushing in the snow ; 
 And thy tresses falling over, like the amber on the 
 
 pearl — 
 Oh ! true it is a lightsome thing, to love thee 
 
 living, girl ! 
 
 But when the brow is blighted, like a star of 
 
 morning tide. 
 And faded is the crimson blush upon the cheek 
 
 beside ; 
 It is to love, as seldom love, the brightest and the 
 
 best. 
 When our love lies like a dew upon the one that 
 
 is at rest. 
 
 Because of hopes, that, fallen, are changing to 
 
 despair. 
 And the heart is iiways dreaming on the ruin 
 
 that is there, 
 
 52
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 Oh, true ! 'tis weary, weary, to be gazing over thee, 
 And the light of thy pure vision breakcth never 
 upon me ! 
 
 He lifts her in his arms, and o'er and o'er, 
 Upon the brow of chilliness and hoar. 
 Repeats a silent kiss ; — along the side 
 Of the lone bark, he leans that pallid bride. 
 Until the waves do image her within 
 Their bosom, like a spectre — 'Tis a sin 
 Too deadly to be shadow'd or forgiven. 
 To do such mockery in the sight of Heaven ! 
 And bid her gaze into the startled sea, 
 And say, " Thy image, from eternity. 
 Hath come to meet thee, ladye ! " and anon, 
 He bade the cold corse kiss the shadowy one, 
 That shook amid the waters, like the light 
 Of borealis in a winter night! 
 
 And after, he did strain her sea-wet hair 
 Between his chilly fingers, with a stare 
 Of mystery, that marvell'd how that she 
 Had drench'd it so amid the moonlit sea. 
 
 53
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 The morning rose, with breast of living gold. 
 Like eastern phcenix, and his plumage roU'd 
 In clouds of molted brilliance, very bright! 
 And on the waste of waters floated light. — 
 
 In truth, 'twas strange to see that merry bark 
 Skimming the silver ocean, like a shark 
 At play amid the beautiful sea-green. 
 And all so sadly desolate within. 
 
 And hours flew after hours, a weary length, 
 Until the sunlight, in meridian strength. 
 Threw burning floods upon the wasted brow 
 Of that sea-hermit mariner ; and now 
 He felt the fire-light feed upon his brain, 
 And started with intensity of pain, 
 And wash'd him in the sea ; it only brought 
 Wild reason, like a demon, and he thought 
 Strange thoughts, like dreaming men — he thought 
 
 how those 
 Were round him he had seen, and many rose 
 His heart had hated ; every billow threw 
 Features before him, and pale faces grew 
 
 54
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 Out of the sea by myriads : — the self-same 
 
 Was moulded from its image, and they came 
 
 In groups together, and all said, like one, 
 
 " Be cursed ! " and vanish'd in the deep anon. 
 
 Then thirst, intolerable as the breath 
 
 Of Upas, fanning the wild wings of death. 
 
 Crept up his very gorge,— like to a snake, 
 
 That stifled him, and bade the pulses ache 
 
 Through all the boiling current of his blood. 
 
 It was a thirst, that let the fever flood 
 
 Fall over him, and gave a ghastly hue 
 
 To his cramp'd lips, until their breathing grew 
 
 White as a mist, and short, and like a sigh, 
 
 Heaved with a struggle, till it falter'd by. 
 
 And ever he did look upon the corse 
 
 With idiot visage, like the hag Remorse 
 
 That gloateth over on a nameless deed 
 
 Of darkness and of dole unhistoried. 
 
 And were there thatmighthearhim,theywouldhear 
 
 The murmur of a prayer in deep fear. 
 
 Through unbarr'd lips, escaping by the half, 
 
 And all but smother'd by a maniac laugh, 
 
 55
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 That follow'd it, so sudden and so shrill, 
 That swarms of sea-birds, wandering at 
 
 will 
 Upon the wave, rose startled, and away 
 Went flocking, like a silver shower of spray! 
 And aye he called for water, and the sea 
 Mock'd him with his brine surges tauntingly. 
 And lash'd them over on his fev'rous brow, 
 Volleying roars of curses : — " Stay thee, now, 
 Avenger! lest I die ; for I am worn 
 Fainter than star-light at the birth of morn ; 
 Stay thee, great angel ! for I am not shriven. 
 But frantic as thyself : Oh Heaverp Heaven ! 
 But thou hast made me brother of the sea. 
 That I may tremble at his tyranny ; 
 Or am I slave? a very, very jest 
 To the sarcastic waters? let me breast 
 The base insulters, and defy them so. 
 In this lone little skiff — I am your foe! 
 Ye raving, lion-like, and ramping seas, 
 That open up your nostrils to the breeze. 
 And fain would swallow me! Do ye not fly. 
 Pale, sick, and gurgling, as I pass you by? 
 
 56
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 " Lift up ! and let me see, that I may tell 
 Ye can be mad, and strange, and terrible ; 
 That ye have power, and passion, and a sound 
 As of the flying of an angel round 
 The mighty world; that ye are one with 
 
 time. 
 And in the great primordium sublime 
 Were nursed together, as an infant-twain, — 
 A glory and a wonder ! I would fain 
 Hold truce, thou elder brother! for we are. 
 In feature, as the sun is to a star. 
 So are we like, and we are touch'd in tunc 
 With lunacy as music ; and the moon. 
 That setteth the tides sentinel before 
 Thy camp of waters, on the pebbled shore. 
 And measures their great footsteps to and fro, 
 Hath lifted up into my brain the flow 
 Of this mad tide of blood, — Ay! we are like 
 In foam and frenzy ; the same winds do strike. 
 The same fierce sun-rays, from their battlement 
 Of fire ! so, when I perish impotent 
 Before the night of death, they'll say of me. 
 He died as mad and frantic, as the sea ! " 
 
 57
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 A cloud stood for the east, a cloud like night, 
 Like a huge vulture, and the blessed light 
 Of the great sun grew shadow'd awfully : 
 It seem'd to mount up from the mighty sea. 
 Shaking the showers from its solemn wings. 
 And grew, and grew, and many a myriad springs, 
 Were on its bosom, teeming full of rain. 
 There fell a terrible and wizard chain 
 Of lightning, from its black and heated forge. 
 And the dark waters took it to their gorge. 
 And lifted up their shaggy flanks in wonder 
 With rival chorus to the peal of thunder, 
 That wheel'd in many a squadron terrible 
 The stern black clouds, and as they rose and 
 
 fell 
 They oozed great showers ; and Julio held up 
 His wasted hands, in likeness of a cup, 
 And drank the blessed waters, and they roU'd 
 
 Upon his cheeks like tears, but sadly cold ! 
 
 'Twas very strange to look on Agathe ! 
 How the quick lightnings, in their elfin play, 
 Stream'd pale upon her features, and they were 
 Sickly, like tapers in a sepulchre ! 
 
 58
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 The ship ! that selfsame ship, that Julio knew 
 Had pass'd him, with her panic-stricken crew. 
 She gleams amid the storm, a shatter'd thing 
 Of pride and lordly beauty : her fair wing 
 Of sail is wounded — the proud pennon gone : 
 Dark, dark she sweepeth like an eagle, on 
 Through waters that are battling to and fro. 
 And tossing their great giant shrouds of snow 
 Over her deck. Ahead, and there is seen 
 A black, strange line of breakers, down between 
 The awful surges, lifting up their manes. 
 Like great sea lions. Quick and high she strains 
 Her foaming keel — that solitary ship ! 
 As if, in all her frenzy, she would leap 
 The cursed barrier; forward, fast and fast — 
 Back, back she reels ; her timbers and her mast 
 Split in a thousand shivers ! A white spring 
 Of the exulted sea rose bantering 
 Over her ruin ; and the mighty crew. 
 That mann'd her decks, were seen, a straggling 
 
 few. 
 Far scatter'd on the surges. Julio felt 
 The impulse of that hour, and low he knelt, 
 
 59
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 Within his own light bark — a prayful man !' 
 And clasp'd his lifeless bride ; and to her wan, 
 Cold cheek did lay his melancholy brow. — 
 *' Save thou a mariner ! " He starteth nowj 
 To hear that dying cry ; and there is one, 
 All worn and wave -wet, by his bark anon, 
 Clinging, in terror of the ireful sea, 
 A fair hair'd mariner ! But suddenly 
 He saw the pale dead ladye, by a flame 
 Of blue and livid lightning, and there came 
 Over his features blindness, and the power 
 Of his strong hands grew weak, — a giant shower 
 Of foam rose up, and swept him far along ; 
 And Julio saw him buffeting the throng 
 Of the great eddying waters, till they went 
 Over him — a wind-shaken cerement ! 
 
 Then terribly he laugh'd, and rose above 
 His soul-less bride — the ladye of his love 
 Lifting him up, in all his wizard glee ; 
 And he did wave, before the frantic sea, 
 His wasted arm. " Adieu ! adieu ! adieu ! 
 Thou sawest how we were ; thou sawest, too, 
 
 60
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 Thou wert not so ; for in the inmost shrine 
 
 Of my deep heart are thoughts that are not thine. 
 
 And thou art gone, fair mariner ! in foam 
 
 And music-murmurs, to thy blessed home — 
 
 Adieu ! adieu! Thou sawest how that she 
 
 Sleeps in her holy beauty, tranquilly ; 
 
 And when the fair and floating vision breaks 
 
 From her pure brow, and Agathe awakes — 
 
 Till then, we meet not ; so adieu, adieu ! " 
 
 Still on before the sullen tempest flew, 
 
 Fast as a meteor star, the lonely bark : 
 
 And Julio bent over to the dark, 
 
 The solitary sea, for close beside 
 
 Floated the stringed harp of one that died 
 
 In that wild shipwreck, and he drew it home. 
 
 With madness, to his bosom : the white foam 
 
 Was o'er its strings ; and on the streaming sail 
 
 He wiped them, running, with his fingers pale. 
 
 Along the tuneless notes, that only gave 
 
 Seldom responses to his wandering stave ! 
 
 6i
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 TO THE HARP 
 
 Jewel ! that lay before the heart 
 Of some romantic boy. 
 
 And startled music in her home. 
 Of mystery and joy ! 
 
 II 
 
 The image of his love was there ; 
 
 And, with her golden wings, 
 She swept her tone of sorrow from 
 
 Thy melancholy strings! 
 
 Ill 
 
 We drew thee, as an orphan one. 
 From waters that had cast 
 
 No music round thee, as they went 
 In their pale beauty past. 
 62
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 IV 
 
 No music but the changeless sigh — 
 That murmur of their own, 
 
 That loves not blending in the thrill 
 Of thine aerial tone. 
 
 V 
 
 The girl that slumbers at our side 
 Will dream how they are bent, 
 
 That love her even as they love 
 Thy blessed instrument, 
 
 VI 
 
 And music, like a flood, will break 
 
 Upon the fairy throne 
 Of her pure heart, all glowing, like 
 
 A morning star, alone ! 
 
 VII 
 
 Alone, but for the song of him 
 That waketh by her side. 
 
 And strikes thy chords of silver to 
 
 His fair and sea-borne bride. 
 
 63
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 VIII 
 
 Jewel ! that hung before the heart 
 
 Of some romantic boy ; 
 Like him, I sweep thee with a storm 
 
 Of music and of joy ! 
 
 And Julio placed the trembling harp before 
 The ladye, till the minstrel winds came o'er 
 Its moisten'd strings, and tuned them with a sigh. 
 "I hear thee, how thy spirit goeth by. 
 In music and in love. Oh Agathe ! 
 Thou sleepest long, long, long ; and they will say 
 That seek thee, — ' She is dead — she is no more !* 
 But thou art cold, and I will throw before 
 Thy chilly brow the pale and snowy sheet." 
 And he did lift it from her marble feet, 
 The sea-wet shroud ! and flung it silently 
 Over her brow — the brow of Agathe ! 
 
 But, as a passion from the mooded mind. 
 The storm had died, and wearily the wind 
 Fell fast asleep at evening, like one 
 That hath been toiling in the fiery sun. 
 
 64
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 And the white sail dropt downward, as the wing 
 
 Of wounded sea-bird, feebly murmuring 
 
 Unto the mast. It was a deathly calm, 
 
 And holy stillness, like a shadow, swam 
 
 All over the wide sea, and the boat stood, 
 
 Like her of Sodom, in the solitude, 
 
 A snowy pillar, looking on the waste. 
 
 And there was nothing but the azure breast 
 
 Of ocean and the sky — the sea and sky, 
 
 And the lone bark ; no clouds were floating by 
 
 Where the sun set, but his great seraph light. 
 
 Went down alone, in majesty and might ; 
 
 And the stars came again, a silver troop. 
 
 Until, in shame, the coward shadows droop 
 
 Before the radiance of these holy gems, 
 
 That bear the images of diadems ! 
 
 And Julio fancied of a form that rose 
 Before him from the desolate repose 
 Of the deep waters — a huge ghastly form. 
 As of one lightning-stricken in a storm ; 
 And leprosy cadaverous was hung 
 Before his brow, and awful terror flung 
 
 65 E
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 Around him like a pall — a solemn shroud ! — 
 
 A drapery of darkness and of cloud ! 
 
 And agony was writhing on his lip, 
 
 Heart-rooted, awful agony and deep. 
 
 Of fevers, and of plagues, and burning blain. 
 
 And ague, and the palsy of the brain — 
 
 A wierd and yellow spectre ! And his eyes 
 
 Were orbless and unpupil'd, as the skies 
 
 Without the sun, or moon, or any star : 
 
 And he was like the wreck of what men are,— 
 
 A wasted skeleton, that held the crest 
 
 Of Time, and bore his motto on his breast ! 
 
 There came a group before of maladies, 
 And griefs, and Famine empty as a breeze, — 
 A double monster, with a gloating leer 
 Fix'd on his other half. They drew them near. 
 One after one, led onward by Despair, 
 That like the last of winter glimmer'd there, — 
 A dismal prologue to his brother Death, 
 Which was behind, and, with the horrid breath 
 Of his wide baneful nostrils, plied them on. 
 And often as they saw the skeleton 
 
 66
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 Grisly beside them, the wild phantasies 
 Grew mad and howl'd ; the fever of disease 
 Became wild frenzy — very terrible ! 
 And, for a hell of agony — a hell 
 Of rage, was there, that fed on misty things, 
 On dreams, ideas, and imaginings. 
 
 And some were raving on philosophy. 
 
 And some on love, and some on jealousy. 
 
 And some upon the moon ; and these were they 
 
 That were the wildest ; and anon alway 
 
 Julio knew them by a something dim 
 
 About their wasted features like to him ! 
 
 But Death was by, like shell of pyramid 
 Among old obelisks, and his eyeless head 
 Shook o'er the wiery ribs, where darkness lay 
 The image of a heart — He is away ! 
 And Julio is watching, like Remorse, 
 Over the pale and solitary corse ! 
 
 Shower soft light, ye stars, that shake the dew 
 From your eternal blossoms ! and thou, too, 
 
 67
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 Moon ! minded of thy power, tide-bearing 
 
 queen ! 
 That hast a slave and votary w^ithin 
 The great rock-fetter'd deeps, and hearest cry 
 To thee the hungry surges, rushing by 
 Like a vast herd of wolves, — fall full and fair 
 On Julio as he sleepeth, even there. 
 Amid the suppliant bosom of the sea ! — 
 Sleep ! dost thou come, and on thy blessed 
 
 knee 
 With hush and whisper lull the troubled brain 
 Of this death-lover ? — Still the eyes do strain 
 Their orbs on Agathe — those raven eyes ! 
 All earnest on the ladye as she lies 
 In her white shroud. They see not, though they 
 
 are 
 As if they saw ; no splendour like a star 
 Is under their dark lashes : they are full 
 Of dream and slumber — melancholy, dull ! 
 
 A wide, wide sea ! and on its rear and van 
 Amid the stars, the silent meteors ran 
 
 68
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 All that still night, and Julio with a cry- 
 Woke up, and saw them flashing fiercely by. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Full three times three, its awful veil of night 
 Hath Heaven hung before the blessed light ; 
 And a fair breeze falls o'er the sleeping sea, 
 Where Julio is watching Agathe ! 
 By sun and darkness hath he bent him over — 
 A mad, moon-stricken, melancholy lover! 
 
 And hardly hath he tasted, night or day, 
 Of drink or food, because of Agathe ! 
 He sitteth in a dull and dreary mood. 
 Like statue in a ruin'd solitude. 
 Bearing the brent of sunlight and of shade 
 Over the marble of some colonnade. 
 
 The ladye, she hath lost the pearly hue 
 Upon her gorgeous brow, where tresses grew 
 Luxuriantly as thoughts of tenderness. 
 That once were floating in the pure recess 
 Of her bright soul. These are not as they were, 
 But are as weeds above a sepulchre, 
 
 69
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 Wild waving in the breeze : her eyes are now 
 Sunk deeply under the discolour'd brow. 
 That is of sickly yellow, and pale blue, 
 Unnaturally blending. The same hue 
 Is on her cheek : it is the early breath 
 Of cold Corruption, the ban dog of Death, 
 Falling upon her features. — Let it be, 
 And gaze awhile on Julio, as he 
 Is gazing on the corse of Agathe ! 
 
 In truth, he secmeth like no living one. 
 But is the image of a skeleton : 
 A fearful portrait from the artist tool 
 Of Madness — terrible and wonderful ! 
 
 There was no passion there — no feeling traced 
 Under those eyelids, where had run to waste. 
 All that was wild, or beautiful, or bright ; 
 A very cloud was cast upon their light, 
 That gave to them the heavy hue of lead ; 
 And they were lorn, and lustreless, and dead ! 
 He sate like vulture from the mountains gray, 
 Unsated, that had flown full many a day 
 
 70
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 O'er distant land and sea, and was in pride 
 Alighted by the lonely ladye's side. 
 
 He sate like winter o'er the wasted year — 
 Like melancholy winter, drawing near 
 To its own death. — *' Oh me ! the worm, at last. 
 Will gorge upon me, and the autumn blast 
 Howl by ! — -Where ? — where ? — there is no worm 
 Amid the waters of the lonely deep ; [to creep 
 But I will take me Agathe upon 
 This sorrowful, sore bosom, and anon, 
 Down, down, through azure silence, we shall go, 
 Unepitaph'd, to cities far below ; 
 Where the sea triton, with his winding shell. 
 Shall sound our blessed welcome. We shall dwell 
 With many a mariner in his pearly home, 
 In bowers of amber weed and silver foam. 
 Amid the crimson corals ; we shall be 
 Together, Agathe ! fair Agathe ! — 
 But thou art sickly, ladye — thou art sad ; 
 And I am weary, ladye — I am mad ! 
 They bring no food to feed us, and I feel 
 A frost upon my vitals, very chill, 
 
 71
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 Like winter breaking on the golden year 
 
 Of life. This bark shall be our floating bier, 
 
 And the dark waves our mourners ; and the 
 
 white, 
 Pure swarm of sunny sea birds, basking bright 
 On some far isle, shall sorrowfully pour 
 Their wail of melancholy o'er and o'er, 
 At evening, on the waters of the sea, — 
 While, with its solemn burden, silently, 
 Floats forward our lone bark. — Oh, Agathe ! •- 
 Methinks that I shall meet thee far away, 
 Within the awful centre of the earth. 
 Where, earliest, we had our holy birth — 
 In some huge cavern, arching wide below. 
 Upon whose airy pivot, years ago, 
 The world went round : 'tis infinitely deep. 
 But never dismal ; for above it sleep. 
 And under it, blue waters, hung aloof, 
 And held below, — an amethystine roof, 
 A sapphire pavement ; and the golden sun. 
 Afar, looks through alternately, like one 
 That watches round some treasure : often, too. 
 Through many a mile of ocean, sparkling through, 
 
 72
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 Are seen the stars and moon, all gloriously, 
 Bathing their angel brilliance in the sea ! 
 
 "And there are shafted pillars, that beyond, 
 Are ranged before a rock of diamond. 
 Awfully heaving its eternal heights, 
 From base of silver strewn with chrysolites ; 
 And over it are chasms of glory seen. 
 With crimson rubies clustering between. 
 On sward of emerald, with leaves of pearl, 
 And topazes hung brilliantly on beryl. 
 So Agathd*! — but thou art sickly sad. 
 And tellest me, poor Julio is mad — 
 Ay, mad ! — was he not madder when he sware 
 A vow to Heaven ? was there no madness there. 
 That he should do — for why ? — a holy string 
 Of penances ? No penances will bring 
 The stricken conscience to the blessed light 
 Of peace, — Oh ! I am lost, and there is night, 
 Despair and darkness, darkness and despair, 
 And want, that hunts me to the lion-lair 
 Of wild perdition : and I hear them all — 
 All cursing me ! The very sun-rays fall 
 
 73
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 Jn curses, and the shadow of the moon, 
 
 And the pale star light, and the winds that tune 
 
 Their voices to the music of the sea, — 
 
 And thou, — yes, thou ! my gentle Agatha ! — 
 
 All curse me ! — Oh ! that I were never, never ! — 
 
 Or but a breathless fancy, that was ever 
 
 Adrift upon the wilderness of Time, 
 
 That knew no impulse, but was left sublime 
 
 To play at its own will ! — that 1 were hush'd 
 
 At night by silver cataracts, that gush'd 
 
 Through flowers of fairy hue, and then to die 
 
 Away, with all before me passing by. 
 
 Like a fair vision I had lived to see. 
 
 And died to see no more ! — It cannot be ! 
 
 By this right hand ! I feel it is not so. 
 
 And by the beating of a heart below, 
 
 That strangely feareth for eternity ! " 
 
 He said, and gazing on the lonely sea. 
 Far off he saw, like an ascending cloud. 
 To westward, a bright island, lifted proud 
 Amid the struggling waters, and the light 
 Of the great sun was on its clifted height, 
 
 74
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 Scattering golden shadow, like a mirror ; 
 But the gigantic billows sprung in terror 
 Upon its rock-built and eternal shore. 
 With silver foams that fell in fury o'er 
 A thousand sunny breakers. Far above, 
 There stood a wild and solitary grove 
 Of aged pines, all leafless but their brows. 
 Where a green group of tempest-stricken 
 
 boughs 
 Was waving now and then, and to and fro, 
 And the pale moss was clustering below. 
 
 Then Julio saw, and bent his head away 
 To the cold wasted corse of Agathe, 
 And sigh'd ; but ever he would turn again 
 A gaze to that green island on the main. 
 
 The bark is drifting through the surf, beside 
 Its rocks of gray upon the coming tide ; 
 And lightly is it stranded on the shore 
 Of pure and silver shells, that lie before, 
 Glittering in the glory of the sun ; 
 And Julio hath landed him, like one 
 
 75
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 That aileth of some wild and weary pest ; 
 And Agathe is folded on his breast,— 
 A faded flower ! with all the vernal dews 
 From its bright blossom shaken, and the hues 
 Become as colourless as twilight air — 
 I marvel much, that she was ever fair ! 
 
 76
 
 CHIMERA III 
 
 Another moon ! and over the blue night 
 
 She bendeth, like a holy spirit bright. 
 
 Through stars that veil them in their wings of 
 
 gold; 
 As on she floateth with her image cold 
 Enamell'd on the deep. A sail of cloud 
 Is to her left, majestically proud ! 
 Trailing its silver drapery away 
 In thin and fairy webs, that are at play 
 Like stormless waves upon a summer sea 
 Dragging their length of waters lazily. 
 
 Ay ! to the rocks ! and thou wilt see, I wist, 
 A lonely one, that bendeth in the mist 
 Of moonlight, with a wild and raven pall 
 Flung round him. Is he mortal man at all ? 
 
 11
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 For, by the meagre fire-light that is under 
 Those eyelids, and the vizor shade of wonder 
 Falling upon his features, I would guess, 
 Of one that wanders out of blessedness ! 
 Julio ! raise thee ! — By the holy mass ! 
 I wot not of the fearless one would pass 
 Thy wizard shadow. Where the raven hair 
 Was shorn before, in many a matted layer 
 It lieth now ; and on a rock beside 
 The sea, like merman at the ebb of tide. 
 Feasting his wondrous vision on Decay, 
 So art thou gazing over Agathe ! 
 
 Ah me ! but this is never the fair girl, 
 With brow of light, as lovely as a pearl. 
 That was as beautiful as is the form 
 Of sea-bird at the breaking of a storm. 
 The eye is open, with convulsive strain — 
 A most unfleshly orb ! the stars that wane 
 Have nothing of its hue ; for it is cast 
 With sickly blood, and terribly aghast ! 
 And sunken in its socket, like the light 
 Of a red taper in the lonely night ! 
 
 78
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 And there is not a braid of her bright hair 
 But lieth floating in the moonlight air. 
 Like the long moss, beside a silver spring, 
 In -elfin tresses, sadly murmuring. 
 The worm hath 'gan to crawl upon her brow — 
 The living worm ! and with a ripple now. 
 Like that upon the sea, are heard below, 
 The slimy swarms all ravening as they go, 
 Amid the stagnate vitals, with a rush ; 
 And one might hear them echoing the hush 
 Of Julio, as he watches by the side 
 Of the dead ladyc, his betrothed bride ! 
 
 And, ever and anon, a yellow group 
 
 Was creeping on her bosom, like a troop 
 
 Of stars, far up amid the galaxy. 
 
 Pale, pale, as snowy showers ; and two or three 
 
 Were mocking the cold finger, round and round. 
 
 With likeness of a ring ; and, as they wound 
 
 About its bony girth, they had the hue 
 
 Of pearly jewels glistering in dew. 
 
 That deathly stare ! it is an awful thing 
 
 To gaze upon ; and sickly thoughts will spring 
 
 79
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 Before it to the heart : it telleth how 
 
 There must be waste where there is beauty now. 
 
 The chalk ! the chalk ! where was the virgin snow 
 
 Of that once heaving bosom ! — even so, — 
 
 The cold pale dewy chalk, with yellow shade 
 
 Amid the leprous hues ; and o'er it played 
 
 The straggling moonlight, and the merry breeze. 
 
 Like two fair elves, that, by the murmuring seas, 
 
 Woo'd smilingly together ; but there fell 
 
 No life-gleam on the brow, all terrible 
 
 Becoming, through its beauty, like a cloud 
 
 That waneth paler even than a shroud. 
 
 All gorgeous and all glorious before ; 
 
 For waste, like to the wanton night, was o'er 
 
 Her virgin features, stealing them away — 
 
 Ah me ! ah me ! and this is Agathe ? 
 
 " Enough ! enough ! Oh God ! but I have pray'd 
 To thee, in early daylight and in shade. 
 And the mad curse is on me still — and still ! 
 I cannot alter the Eternal will — 
 But — but — I hate thee, Agathe ! I hate 
 What lunacy hath bade me consecrate : 
 
 80
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 I am not mad-! — not now ! — I do not feel 
 
 That slumberous and blessed opiate steal 
 
 Up to my brain — Oh ! that it only would. 
 
 To people this eternal solitude 
 
 With fancies, and fair dreams, and summer mirth. 
 
 Which is not now — And yet, my mother earth, 
 
 I would not love to lie above thee so, 
 
 As Agathe lies there — oh ! no ! no ! no ! 
 
 To have these clay-worms feast upon my heart ! 
 
 And all the light of being, to depart 
 
 Into a dismal shadow ! I could die 
 
 As the red lightnings, quenching amid sky 
 
 Their wild and wizard breath ; I could away. 
 
 Like a blue billow, bursting into spray ; 
 
 But, never — never have corruption here, 
 
 To feed her worms, and let the sunlight jeer 
 
 Above me so. — 'Tis thou ! — I owe thee. Moon, 
 
 To-night's fair worship ; so be lifting soon 
 
 Thy veil of clouds, that I may kneel, as one 
 
 That seeketh for thy virgin benison ! " 
 
 He gathers the cold limpets, as they creep 
 On the grey rocks beside the lonely deep ; 
 
 81 F
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 And with a flint breaks through into the shell, 
 And feeds him — by the mass ! he feasteth well. 
 And he hath lifted water in a clam. 
 And tasted sweetly, from a stream that swam 
 Down to the sea ; and now is turn'd away. 
 Again, again, to gaze on Agathe ! 
 
 There is a cave upon that isle — a cave 
 Where dwelt a hermit man ; the winter wave 
 Roll'd to its entrance, casting a bright mound 
 Of snowy shells and fairy pebbles round ; 
 And over were the solemn ridges strewn 
 Of a dark rock, that, like the wizard throne 
 Of some sea-monarch, stood, and from it hung 
 Wild thorn and bramble, in confusion flung 
 Amid the startling crevices — like sky. 
 Through gloom of clouds, that sweep in thunder by. 
 A cataract fell over, in a streak 
 Of silver, playing many a wanton freak ; 
 Midway, and musical, with elfin glee 
 It bounded in its beauty to the sea. 
 Like dazzling angel vanishing away. 
 In sooth, 'twas pleasant in the moonlight gray 
 
 82
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 To see that fairy fountain leaping so, 
 
 Like one that knew not wickedness nor woe ! 
 
 The hermit had his cross and rosary ; 
 
 I ween like other hermits, so was he ; 
 
 A holy man, and frugal, and at night 
 
 He prayed, or slept, or, sometimes, by the light 
 
 Of the fair moon, went wandering beside 
 
 The lonely sea, to hear the silver tide 
 
 Rolling in gleesome music to the shore : 
 
 The more he heard, he loved to hear the more. 
 
 And there he is, his hoary beard adrift 
 
 To the night winds, that sportingly do lift 
 
 Its snow-white tresses ; and he leaneth on 
 
 A rugged staff, all weakly and alone, 
 
 A childless, friendless man ! 
 
 He is beside 
 The ghastly Julio, and his ghastlier bride. 
 'Twas wondrous strange to gaze upon the two ! 
 And the old hermit felt a throbbing through 
 His pulses : — " Holy virgin ! save me, save ! " 
 He deem'd of spectre from the midnight wave, 
 
 83
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 And cross'd him thrice, and pray'd, and pray'd 
 
 again : — 
 "Hence ! hence !" and Julio started, as the strain 
 Of exorcisms fell faintly on his ear : — 
 " I knew thee, father, that thou beest here. 
 To gaze upon this girl, as I have been. 
 By yonder moon ! it was a frantic sin 
 To worship so an image of the clay ; 
 It was like beauty — but is now away — 
 What lived upon her features, like the light 
 On yonder cloud, all tender and all bright; 
 But it is faded as the other must, 
 And she that was all beauty, is all dust. 
 
 " Father ! thy hand upon this brow of mine. 
 And tell me, is it cold? — But she will twine 
 No wreath upon these temples, — never, never ! 
 For there she lieth, like a streamless river 
 That stagnates in its bed. Feel, feel me, 
 
 here. 
 If I be madly throbbing in the fear 
 For that cold slimy worm. Ay ! look and see 
 How dotingly it feeds, how pleasantly ! 
 
 84
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 And where it is, have been the living hues 
 Of beauty, purer than the very dews. 
 So, father ! seest thou that yonder moon 
 Will be on wane to-morrow, soon and soon? 
 And I, that feel my being wear away, 
 Shall droop beside to darkness ; so, but say 
 A prayer for the dead, when I am gone. 
 And let the azure tide that floweth on 
 Cover us lightly with its murmuring surf 
 Like a green sward of melancholy turf. 
 Thou mayest, if thou wilt, thou maycst rear 
 A cenotaph on this lone island here. 
 Of some rude mossy stone, below a tree. 
 And carve an olden rhyme for her and mc 
 Upon its brow." 
 
 He bends, and gazes yet 
 Before his ghastly bride ! the anchoret 
 Sate by him, and hath press'd a cross of wood 
 To his wan lips. 
 
 « # * * « 
 
 " My son ! look up and tell thy dismal tale. 
 Thou seemest cold, and sorrowful, and pale, 
 
 85
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 Alas ! I fear but thou hast strangely been 
 
 A child of curse, and misery, and sin. 
 
 And this — is she thy sister?" — "Nay! my 
 
 bride." 
 "A nun! and thou:" — "True, true! but then 
 
 she died, 
 And was a virgin, and is virgin still. 
 Chaste as the moon, that taketh her pure fill 
 Of light from the great sun. But now, go by, 
 And leave me to my madness, or to die! 
 This heart, this brain are sore. — Come, come, and 
 
 fold 
 Me round, ye hydra billows ! wrapt in gold. 
 That are so writhing your eternal gyres 
 Before the moon, which, with a myriad tiars 
 Is crowning you, as ye do fall and kiss 
 Her pearly feet, that glide in blessedness ! 
 Let me be torture-eaten, ere I die ! 
 Let me be mangled sore with agony ! 
 And be so cursed, so stricken by the spell 
 Of my heart's frenzy, that a living hell 
 Be burningthere ! — Back ! back ! if thouart mad — 
 Mcthought thou wast, but thou art only sad. 
 
 86
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 Is this thy child, old man? look, look, and 
 
 see! 
 In truth it is a piteous thing for thee 
 To become childless — Well-a-well, go by ! 
 Is there no grave ? The quiet sea is nigh, 
 And I will bury her below the moon ; 
 It may be but a trance or midnight swoon, 
 And she may wake. Wake, ladye ! ha! methought 
 It was like her — Like her! and is it not? 
 My angel girl ! my brain, my stricken brain ! — 
 I know thee now ! — I know myself again." 
 
 He flings him on the ladye, and anon. 
 
 With loathly shudder, from that wither'd one 
 
 Hath torn him back. "Oh me! no more — no 
 
 more! 
 Thou virgin mother ! Is the dream not o'er. 
 That I have dreamt, but I must dream again 
 For moons together, till this weary brain 
 Become distemper'd as the winter sea? 
 Good father! give me blessing; let it be 
 Upon me as the dew upon the moss. 
 Oh me ! but I have made the holy cross 
 
 87
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 A curse, and not a blessing! let me kiss 
 The sacred symbol ; for, by this — by this ! 
 I sware, and sware again, as now I will — 
 Thou Heaven ! if there be bounty in thee 
 
 still, 
 If thou wilt hear, and minister, and bring 
 The light of comfort on some angel wing 
 To one that lieth lone, do — do it now ; 
 By all the stars that open on thy brow 
 Like silver flowers ! and by the herald moon 
 That listeth to be forth at nightly noon, 
 Jousting the clouds, I swear! and be it true. 
 As 1 have perjured me, that I renew 
 Allegiance to thy God, and bind me o'er 
 To this same penance, I have done before ! 
 That night and day I watch, as I have been 
 Long watching, o'er the partner of my sin ! 
 That I taste never the delight of food. 
 But these wild shell-fish, that may make the mood 
 Of madness stronger, till it grapple Death — 
 Despair — Eternity ! " 
 
 He saith, he saith, 
 88
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 And, on the jaundiced bosom of the corse, 
 Lieth all frenzied ; one would see Remorse, 
 And hopeless Love, and Hatred, struggling there. 
 And Lunacy, that lightens up Despair, 
 And makes a gladness out of agony. 
 Pale phantom ! I would fear and worship thee, 
 That hast the soul at will, and gives it play. 
 Amid the wildest fancies far away ; 
 That thronest Reason, on some wizard throne 
 Of fairy land, within the milky zone, — 
 Some spectre star, that glittereth beyond 
 The glorious galaxies of diamond. 
 
 Beautiful Lunacy ! that shapest flight 
 For love to blessed bowers of delight. 
 And buildest holy monarchies within 
 The fancy, till the very heart is queen 
 Of all her golden wishes. Lunacy! 
 Thou empress of the passions ! though they be 
 A sister group of wild, unearthly forms. 
 Like lightnings playing in their home of storms! 
 I see thee, striking at the silver strings 
 Of the pure heart, and holy music springs 
 
 89
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 Before thy touch, in many a solemn strain, 
 Like that of sea-waves rolling from the main ! 
 
 But say, is Melancholy by thy side. 
 With tresses in a raven shower, that hide 
 Her pale and weeping features ? Is she never 
 Flowing before thee, like a gloomy river. 
 The sister of thyself? but cold and chill. 
 And winter-born, and sorrowfully still. 
 And not like thee, that art in merry mood, 
 And frolicksome amid thy solitude ! 
 
 Fair Lunacy ! I see thee, with a crown 
 Of hawthorn and sweet daisies, bending down 
 To mirror thy young image in a spring ; 
 And thou'wilt kiss that shadow of a thing 
 As soul-less as thyself. 'Tis tender, too, 
 The smile that meeteth thine! the holy hue 
 Of health ! the pearly radiance of the brow ! 
 All, all as tender — beautiful as thou ! 
 
 And wilt thou say, my sister, there is none 
 Will answer thee ? Thou art — thou art alone, 
 
 90
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 A pure, pure being ! but the God on high 
 Is with thee ever, as thou goest by. 
 
 Thou poetess! that harpest to the moon. 
 
 And, in soft concert to the silver tune 
 
 Of waters, play'd on by the magic wind. 
 
 As he comes streaming, with his hair untwined. 
 
 Dost sing light strains of melody and mirth, — 
 
 I hear thee, hymning on thy holy birth, 
 
 How thou wert moulded of thy mother Love, 
 
 That came, like seraph, from the stars above. 
 
 And was so sadly wedded unto Sin, 
 
 That thou wert born, and Sorrow was thy 
 
 twin. 
 Sorrow and mirthful Lunacy ! that be 
 Together link'd for time, I deem of ye 
 That ye are worshipp'd as none others are, — 
 One as a lonely shadow, one a star ! 
 
 Is Julio glad, that bendeth, even now. 
 To his wild purpose, to his holy vow? 
 He seeth only in his ladye-bride 
 The image of the laughing girl, that died 
 
 91
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 A moon before — The same, the very same — 
 The Agathe that lisp'd her lover's name, 
 To him and to her heart : that azure eye. 
 That shone through sunny tresses, waving by ; 
 The brow, the cheek, that blush'd of fire and snow, 
 Both blending into one ethereal glow ; 
 And that same breathing radiancy, that swam 
 Around her, like a pure and blessed calm 
 Around some halcyon bird. And, as he kiss'd 
 Her wormy lips, he felt that he was blest ! 
 He felt her holy being stealing through 
 His own, like fountains of the azure dew. 
 That summer mingles with his golden light ; 
 And he would clasp her, till the weary night 
 Was worn away. 
 
 ***** 
 
 And morning rose in form 
 Of heavy clouds, that knitted into storm 
 The brow of Heaven, and through her lips the 
 
 wind 
 Came rolling westward, with a track behind 
 Of gloomy billows, bursting on the sea, 
 All rampant, like great lions terribly, 
 
 92
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 And gnashing on each other : and anon, 
 Julio heard them, rushing one by one. 
 And laugh'd and turn'd. — The hermit was away. 
 For he was old and weary, and he lay 
 Within his cave, and thought it was a dream, 
 A summer's dream ? and so the quiet stream 
 Of sleep came o'er his eyelids, and in truth 
 He dreamt of that strange ladye, and the youth 
 That held a death-wake on her wasting form ; 
 And so he slept and woke not, till the storm 
 Was over. 
 
 But they came, — the wind and sea. 
 And rain and thunder, that in giant glee. 
 Sang o'er the lightnings pale, as to and fro 
 They writhed, like stricken angels ! — White as 
 
 snow 
 Roll'd billow after billow, and the tide 
 Came forward as an army deep and wide, 
 To charge with all its waters. There was heard 
 A murmur far and far, of those that stirr'd 
 Within the great encampment of the sea. 
 And dark they were, and lifted terribly 
 
 93
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 Their water-spouts like banners. It was grand 
 To see the black battalions, hand in hand 
 Striding to conflict, and their helmets bent 
 Below their foamy plumes magnificent! 
 
 And Julio heard and laugh'd, " Shall I be king 
 
 To your great hosts, that ye are murmuring 
 
 For one to bear you to your holy war ? 
 
 There is no sun, or moon, or any star. 
 
 To guide your iron footsteps as ye go ; 
 
 But I, your king, will marshal you to flow 
 
 From shore to shore. Then bring my car of shell. 
 
 That I may ride before you terrible ; 
 
 And bring my sceptre of the amber weed. 
 
 And Agathe, my virgin bride, shall lead 
 
 Your summer hosts, when these are ambling low. 
 
 In azure and in ermine, to and fro." 
 
 He said, and madly, with his wasted hand, 
 
 Swept o'er the tuneless harp, and fast he spann'd 
 
 The silver chords, until a rush of sound 
 
 Came from them, solemn — terrible — profound ; 
 
 And then he dash'd the instrument away 
 
 Into the waters, and the giant play 
 
 94-
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 Of billows threw it back unto the shore, 
 
 A shiver'd, stringlcss frame — its day of music o'er ! 
 
 The tide, the rolling tide ! the multitude 
 
 Of the sea surges, terrible and rude. 
 
 Tossing their chalky foam along the bed 
 
 Of thundering pebbles, that are shoring dread, 
 
 And fast retreating to the gloomy gorge 
 
 Of waters, sounding like a Titan forge! 
 
 It comes! it comes! the tide, the rolling tide! 
 
 But Julio is bending to his bride. 
 
 And making mirthful whispers to her ear. 
 
 A cataract! a cataract is near. 
 
 Of one stupendous billow, and it breaks 
 
 Terribly furious, with a myriad flakes 
 
 Of foam, that fly about the haggard twain ; 
 
 And Julio started, with a sudden pain. 
 
 That shot into his heart ; his reason flew 
 
 Back to its throne ; he rose, and wildly threw 
 
 His matted tresses over on his brow. 
 
 Another billow came, and even now 
 
 Was dashing at his feet. There was no shade 
 
 Of terror, as the serpent waters play'd 
 
 95
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 Before him, but his eye was calm as death. 
 
 Another, yet another ! and the breath 
 
 Of the wierd wind was with it ; like a rock 
 
 Unriveted it fell — a shroud of smoke 
 
 Pass'd over — there was heard, and died away, 
 
 The voice of one, shrill shrieking, "Agathe! " 
 
 The sea-bird sitteth lonely by the side 
 
 Of the far waste of waters, flapping wide 
 
 His wet and weary wings ; but he is gone, 
 
 The stricken Julio! — a wave-swept stone 
 
 Stands there, on which he sat, and nakedly 
 
 It rises looking to the lonely sea ; 
 
 But Julio is gone, and Agathe! 
 
 The waters swept them madly to their core, — 
 
 The dead and living with a frantic roar! 
 
 And so he died, his bosom fondly set 
 
 On her's ; and round her clay-cold waist were met 
 
 His bare and wither'd arms, and to her brow 
 
 His lipswere press'd. Both, both are perish'd now ! 
 
 He died upon her bosom in a swoon ; 
 And fancied of the pale and silver moon, 
 
 96
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 That went before him in her hall of blue : 
 He died like golden insect in the dew, 
 Calm, calm, and pure ; and not a chord was rung 
 In his deep heart, but love. He perish'd young. 
 But perish'd, wasted by some fatal flame 
 That fed upon his vitals; and there came 
 Lunacy sweeping lightly, like a stream. 
 Along his brain — He perish'd in a dream ! 
 
 In sooth, I marvel not. 
 If death be only a mysterious thought. 
 That Cometh on the heart, and turns the brow 
 Brightless and chill, as Julio's is now ; 
 For only had the wasting struggle been 
 Of one wild feeling, till it rose within 
 Into the form of death, and nature felt 
 The light of the immortal being melt 
 Into its happier home, beyond the sea, 
 And moon, and stars, into eternity! 
 
 The sun broke through his dungeon long enthrall'd 
 By dismal cloud, and on the emerald 
 Of the great living sea was blazing down, 
 To gift the lordly billows with a crown 
 
 97 G
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 Of diamond and silver. From his cave 
 
 The hermit came, and by the dying wave 
 
 Lone wander'd, and he found upon the sand. 
 
 Below a truss of sea-weed, with his hand 
 
 Around the silent waist of Agathe, 
 
 The corse of Julio ! Pale, pale, it lay 
 
 Beside the wasted girl. The fireless eye 
 
 Was open, and a jewell'd rosary 
 
 Hung round the neck ; but it was gone, — the 
 
 cross 
 That Agathe had given. 
 
 Amid the moss, 
 The hermit scoop'd a solitary grave 
 Below the pine-trees, and he sang a stave, 
 Or two, or three, of some old requiem 
 As in their narrow home he buried them. 
 And many a day, before that blessed spot 
 He sate, in lone and melancholy thought, 
 Gazing upon the grave ; and one had guess'd 
 Of some dark secret shadowing his breast. 
 And yet, to see him, with his silver hair 
 Adrift and floating in the sea-borne air, 
 
 98
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 And features chasten'd in the tears of woe. 
 In sooth, 'twas merely sad to see him so ! 
 A wreck of nature, floating far and fast, 
 Upon the stream of Time — to sink at last ! 
 
 And he is wandering by the shore again, 
 Hard leaning on his staff; the azure main 
 Lies sleeping far before him, with his seas 
 Fast folded in the bosom of the breeze. 
 That like the angel Peace hath dropt his wings 
 Around the warring waters. Sadly sings 
 To his own heart that lonely hermit man, 
 A tale of other days, when passion ran 
 Along his pulses, like a troubled stream. 
 And glory was a splendour, and a dream ! 
 He stoop'd to gather up a shining gem, 
 That lay amid the shells, as bright as them, — 
 It was a cross, the cross that Agathe 
 Had given to her Julio : the play 
 Of the fierce sunbeams fell upon its face. 
 And on the glistering jewels — But the trace 
 Of some old thought came burning to the brain 
 Of the pale hermit, and he shrunk in pain 
 
 99
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 Before the holy symbol. It was not 
 Because of the eternal ransom wrought 
 In ages far away, or he had bent 
 In pure devotion sad and reverent ; 
 But now, he started, as he look'd upon 
 That jewell'd thing, and wildly he is gone 
 Back to the mossy grave, away, away : — 
 "My child! my child! my own, own Agathe! ' 
 
 It is her father, — he, — an alter'd man ! 
 His quiet had been wounded, and the ban 
 Of misery came over him, and froze 
 The bright and holy tides, that fell and rose 
 In joy amid his heart. To think of her. 
 That he had injured so, and all so fair, 
 So fond, so like the chosen of his youth, — 
 It was a very dismal thought, in truth, 
 That he had left her hopelessly, for aye. 
 Within the cloister-wall to droop, and die I 
 And so he could not bear to have it be ; 
 But sought for some lone island in the sea. 
 Where he might dwell in doleful solitude, 
 And do strange penance in his mirthless mood, 
 
 lOO
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 For this same crime, unnaturally wild, 
 That he had done unto his saintly child. 
 And ever he did think, when he had laid 
 These lovers in the grave, that, through the 
 
 shade 
 Of ghastly features melting to decay. 
 He saw the image of his Agathc. 
 
 And now the truth had flash'd into his brain : 
 And he is fallen, with a shriek of pain, 
 Upon the lap of pale and yellow moss ; 
 For long ago he gave that blessed cross 
 To his fair girl, and knew the relic still. 
 By many a thousand thoughts, that rose at will 
 Before it, of the one that was not now, 
 But, like a dream, had floated from the brow 
 Of Time, that seeth many a lovely thing 
 Fade by him, like a sea-wave murmuring. 
 
 The heart is burst ! — the heart that stood in steel 
 To woman's earnest tears, and bade her feel 
 The curse of virgin solitude, — a veil ; 
 And saw the gladsome features growing pale 
 
 lOI
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 Unmoved : 'tis rent, like some eternal tower 
 
 The sea hath shaken, and its stately power 
 
 Lies lonely, fallen, scatter'd on the shore : 
 
 'Tis rent, like some great mountain, that, before 
 
 The Deluge, stood in glory and in might, 
 
 But now is lightning-riven, and the night 
 
 Is clambering up its sides, and chasms lie strewn. 
 
 Like coffins, here and there : 'tis rent! the throne 
 
 Where passions, in their awful anarchy. 
 
 Stood sceptred! There was heard an inward 
 
 sigh. 
 That took the being, on its troubled wings, 
 Far to the land of dim imaginings ! 
 
 All three are dead ; that desolate green isle 
 Is only peopled by the passing smile 
 Of sun and moon, that surely have a sense. 
 They look so radiant with intelligence, — 
 So like the soul's own element, — so fair ! 
 The features of a God lie veiled there ! 
 
 And mariners that have been toiling far 
 Upon the deep, and lost the polar star, 
 
 I02
 
 OR LUNACY 
 
 Have visited that island, and have seen 
 
 That lover's grave : and many there have been 
 
 That sat upon the gray and crumbling stone, 
 
 And started, as they saw a skeleton 
 
 Amid the long sad moss, that fondly grew 
 
 Through the white wasted ribs ; but never knew 
 
 Of those who slept below, or of the tale 
 
 Of that brain-stricken man, that felt the pale 
 
 And wandering moonlight steal his soul away, — 
 
 Poor Julio, and the ladye Agathe ! 
 
 We found them, — children of toil and tears, 
 
 Their birth of beauty shaded ; 
 We left them in their early years 
 
 Fallen and faded. 
 
 We found them, flowers of summer hue : 
 
 Their golden cups were lighted 
 With sparkles of the pearly dew — 
 
 We left them blighted! 
 103
 
 THE DEATH-WAKE 
 
 We found them, — like those fairy flowers ; 
 
 And the light of morn lay holy 
 Over their sad and sainted bowers — 
 
 We left them, lowly. 
 
 We found them, — like twin stars, alone, 
 
 In brightness and in feeling ; 
 We left them, — and the curse was on 
 
 Their beauty stealing. 
 
 They rest in quiet, where they are : 
 
 Their lifetime is the story 
 Of some fair flower — some silver star, 
 Faded in glory! 
 
 104
 
 POEMS
 
 THE IRIS 
 
 A PALE and broken Iris in the mirror 
 
 Of a gray cloud, — as gray as death, 
 
 Slow sailing in the breath 
 Of thunder! Like a child, that lies in terror 
 
 Through the dark night, an Iris fair 
 
 Trembled midway in air. 
 The blending of its elfin hues 
 
 Was as the pure enamel on 
 The early morning dews ; 
 
 And gloriously they shone, 
 Waving every one his wing. 
 Like a young aerial thing! 
 
 That Iris came 
 Over the shells of gold, beside 
 The blue and waveless tide ; 
 
 Its girdle, of resplendent flame, 
 107
 
 THE IRIS 
 
 Met shore and sea, afar, 
 Like angel that shall stand 
 On flood and land, 
 Crown'd with a meteor star. 
 
 The sea-bird, from her snowy stone. 
 
 Beheld it floating on. 
 
 Like a bride that bent her way 
 
 To the altar, standing lone. 
 In some cathedral gray. 
 The melancholy wave 
 Started at the cry she gave. 
 
 Hailing the lovely child 
 Of the immortal sun, — 
 A tender and a tearful one, 
 
 Bounding away, with footsteps wild! 
 
 Old Neptune on his silver bed 
 
 The dazzling image threw ; 
 
 It laid like sunbeam on the dew. 
 Its young tress-waving head. 
 
 The god upon the shadow gazed. 
 
 And silently upraised 
 io8
 
 THE IRIS 
 
 A gentle wave, that came and kiss'd 
 Fair Iris in her holy rest. 
 
 Her pearly brow grew pale : 
 It felt the sinful fire, 
 And from her queenly tiar 
 
 She drew the veil. 
 The sun-wing'd steeds her sacred car 
 Wheel'd to her throne of star. 
 
 109
 
 TO A SPIRIT 
 
 Spirit ! in deathless halo zoned, 
 
 A chain of stars with wings of diamond, — 
 
 Is music blended into thee 
 
 With holy light and immortality? 
 
 For, as thy shape of glory swept 
 Through seas of darkness, magic breathings fell 
 
 Around it, like the notes that slept 
 In the wild caverns of a silver shell. 
 
 Thou camest, as a lightning spring 
 
 Through chasms of horrid cloud, on scathless wing ; 
 
 Old Chaos round him, like a tiar. 
 
 Swathed the long rush of immaterial fire ; 
 
 As thou, descending from afar, 
 Wast canopied with living arch of light. 
 
 Pale pillars of immortal star. 
 Burst through the curtains of the moonless night. 
 
 no
 
 TO A SPIRIT 
 
 Phantom of wonder ! over thee. 
 Trembles the shadow of the Deity ; 
 For face to face, on lifted throne. 
 Thou gazest to the glory-shrouded One, 
 
 Where highest in the azure height 
 Of universe, eternally he turns 
 
 Myriads of worlds ; with blaze of light 
 Filling the hollow of their golden urns. 
 
 Why comest thou, with feelings bound 
 
 On thy birth-shore, the long unenter'd ground? 
 
 To visit where thy being first, 
 
 Through the pale shell of embryo nothing, burst ? 
 
 Or, on celestial errand bent. 
 To wan to faith a sin enraptured son, 
 
 And point the angel lineament 
 Of mercy on a cross, — the Bleeding One ? 
 
 Spirit ! I breathe no sad adieu : 
 
 The altars where thou bendest never knew 
 
 Sigh, tear, or sorrow, and the night 
 
 No chariot drives behind the wheel of light ; 
 
 III
 
 TO A SPIRIT 
 
 Where every seraph is a sun, 
 And every soul an everlasting star. — 
 
 Go to thy home, thou peerless one ! 
 Where glory and the Great Immortal are ! 
 
 112
 
 HER, A STATUE 
 
 Her life is in the marble ! yet a fall 
 
 Of sleep lies on the heart's fair arsenal, 
 
 Like new shower'd snow. You hear no whisper 
 
 through 
 Those love-divided lips ; no pearly dew 
 Trembles on her pale orbs, that seem to be 
 Bent on a dream of immortality ! 
 
 She sleeps : her life is sleep, — a holy rest ! 
 Like that of wing-borne cloud, that, in the west 
 Laves his aerial image, till afar 
 The sunlight leaves him, melting into star. 
 Did Phidias from her brow the veil remove. 
 Uncurtaining the peerless queen of love ? 
 The fluent stone in marble waves recoil'd, 
 Touch'd by his hand, and left the wondrous child, 
 
 113 H
 
 HER, A STATUE 
 
 A Venus of the foam ! How softly fair 
 The dove-like passion on the sacred air 
 Floats round her, nesting in her wreathed hair, 
 That tells, though shadeless, of its auburn hue. 
 Bathed in a hoar of diamond-dropping dew! 
 
 How beautiful ! — Was this not one of eld. 
 That Chaos on his boundless bosom held. 
 Till Earth came forward in a rush of storm. 
 Closing his ribs upon her wingless form? 
 How beautiful ! — The very lips do speak 
 Of love, and bid us worship : the pale cheek 
 Seems blushing through the marble — through the 
 
 snow! 
 And the undrap'ried bosom feels a flow 
 Of fever on its brightness; every vein 
 At the blue pulse swells softly, like a chain 
 Of gentle hills. I would not fling a wreath 
 Of jewels on that brow, to flash beneath 
 Those queenly tresses ; for itself is more 
 Than sea-born pearl of some Elysian shore ! 
 
 Such, with a heart like woman! I would cast 
 Life at her foot, and, as she glided past, 
 
 114
 
 HER, A STATUE 
 
 Would bid her trample on the slavish thing — 
 Tell her, I'd rather feel me withering 
 Under her step, than be unknown for aye : 
 
 And, when her pride had crush'd me, she might 
 see 
 A love-wing'd spirit glide in glory by 
 
 Striking the tent of its mortality! 
 
 TI
 
 TO A STORM-STAID BIRD 
 
 Trembler! a month is past, and thou 
 
 Wert singing on the thorn, 
 And shaking dew-drops from the bough 
 
 In the golden haze of morn ! 
 
 My heart was just as thou, as light — 
 
 As loving of the breeze. 
 That kiss'd thee in its elfin flight, 
 
 Through the green acacia trees. 
 
 Andfnow the winter snow-flakes lie 
 
 All on thy widow'd wing; 
 Trembler ! methinks I hear thee sigh 
 
 For the silver days of spring. 
 
 ii6
 
 TO A STORM-STAID BIRD 
 
 But shake thy plume — the world is free 
 
 Before thee — warbler, fly! 
 Blest by a sunbeam and by me, 
 
 Bird of my heart ! good-bye ! 
 
 117
 
 THE WOLF-DROVE 
 
 No night-star in the welkin blue ! no moonshade 
 
 round the trees 
 That grew down to the sea-swept foot of the 
 
 ancient Pyrenees! 
 The cold gray mantle of the mist, along the 
 
 shoulders cast 
 Of those wild mountains, to and fro, hung waving 
 
 in the blast. 
 
 A snow-crown rising on their brows, in royalty 
 
 they stood, 
 As if they vice-reign'd on a throne of winter 
 
 solitude ; 
 Those hills that rose far upward, till in majesty 
 
 they bent 
 Their world's great eye-orb on her own immortal 
 
 lineament ! 
 
 ii8
 
 THE WOLF-DROVE 
 
 The howl, the long deep howl was heard, the 
 rushing like a wave 
 
 Of the wolf train from their forest haunt, in some 
 old mountain cave ; 
 
 Like a sea-wave, when the wind is horsed behind 
 its foamy crest. 
 
 And it lifts upon the shell-built shore, its azure- 
 spotted breast. 
 
 They came with war-whoop, following each other, 
 
 like a thread. 
 Through the long labyrinth of trees, in sunless 
 
 archway spread ; 
 Their gnarled trunks in shadowy lines rose dimly, 
 
 few by few, 
 Mail'd in their mossy armouring, — a pathless 
 
 avenue ! 
 
 In sooth, there was a shepherd girl by her aged 
 
 father's side ; 
 He gazed upon her deep dark eyes, in glory and 
 
 in pride ;
 
 THE WOLF-DROVE 
 
 The mother's soul was living there, — the image 
 
 full and wild. 
 Of one he loved — of one no more, was beaming 
 
 in her child. 
 
 And she was at her father's side, her raven tresses 
 
 felt 
 Upon his care-worn cheek, as gay and joyfully she 
 
 knelt. 
 Kissing the old man's tears away, by the embers 
 
 burning faint, 
 While she sung the holy aves, and a vesper to her 
 
 saint. 
 
 "Now bar the breezy lattice, love! — but hist! 
 
 how fares the night? 
 Methought I heard the wolf abroad. Heaven 
 
 help ! I heard aright — 
 My mantle! — By the Mother Saint! our flock is 
 
 in the fold? 
 How think you, love? wake up the hound, I ween 
 
 the wolf is bold." 
 
 120
 
 THE WOLF-DROVE 
 
 "Stay, stay; 'tis past!" "I hear it still ; to rest, 
 
 I pray, to rest." 
 "Nay, father! hold; thou must not go;" and 
 
 silently she press'd 
 The old man's arm, and bade him stay, for love 
 
 of Heaven and her : 
 His danger was too wild a thought, for so fond a 
 
 girl to bear. 
 
 He kiss'd her, and they parted then ; but, through 
 the lattice low. 
 
 She gazed amid the vine-twigs pale, all cradled 
 to and fro ; 
 
 The holy whisper of the wind stole lightly by the 
 eaves, — 
 
 A sad dirge, sighing to the fall of the winter- 
 blighted leaves. 
 
 He comes not ! 'Tis a dreadful thing to hear them 
 
 as they rave. 
 The savage wolf-train howling, like the near 
 
 burst of a wave. 
 
 121
 
 THE WOLF-DROVE 
 
 She thought it was a father's cry she heard — a 
 
 father's cry! 
 And she flung her from the cottage door, in startled 
 
 agony. 
 
 Good Virgin save thee, gentle girl ! they are no 
 
 knightly train 
 That mark thee for their sinless prey — thou wilt 
 
 not smile again ; 
 The blood is streaming on thy cheek ; the heart 
 
 it ceases slow ; 
 A father gazes on his child — God help a father's 
 
 woe ! 
 
 122
 
 HYMN TO ORION 
 
 Orion ! old Orion ! who dost wait 
 
 Warder at heaven's star-studded gate, 
 
 On a throne where worlds might meet 
 
 At thy silver sandal'd feet, 
 
 All invisible to thee, 
 
 Gazing through immensity ; 
 
 For thy crowned head is higher 
 
 Than the ramparts of earth-searching fire. 
 
 And the comet his blooded banner, there 
 
 Flings back upon the waveless air. 
 
 Old Orion ! holy hands 
 Have knit thy everlasting bands. 
 Belted by the King of kings. 
 Under thy azure-sheathed wings. 
 With a zone of living light. 
 Such as bound the Apostate might, 
 123
 
 HYMN TO ORION 
 
 When from highest tower of heaven, 
 His vaunting shape was wrathly driven 
 To its wane, woe-wall'd abode, 
 Rended from the eye of God ! 
 
 Dost thou, in thy vigils, hail 
 Arcturus on his chariot pale. 
 Leading his sons — a fiery flight — 
 Over the hollow hill of night ? 
 Or tellest of their watches long. 
 To the sleepless, nameless throng. 
 Shoaling in a wond'rous gleam. 
 Like channel through the azure stream 
 Of life reflected, as it flows, 
 In one broad ocean of repose. 
 Gushing from thy lips, Orion 1 
 To the holy walls of Zion ? 
 
 Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson Sc Co. 
 London & Edinburgh
 
 ^m JOHN LANE 
 
 THE ^''l 
 BOD LEY J 
 HEAD^ ^ 
 VIGOS"" ^ 
 
 CATALOCUEs^PUBLICATlONS 
 
 £2 BE LLE S LETTRE S iEElS!!^'
 
 i8gS' 
 
 List of Books 
 
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 5«e Lynch (Hannah). 
 
 EGERTON (GEORGE). 
 
 Keynotes. (5^e Keynotes Series.) 
 
 Discords. (5ee Keynotes Series. ) 
 
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 FARR (FLORENCE). 
 
 The Dancing Faun. (See Keynotes Series.) 
 
 FLEMING (GEORGE). 
 
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 FLETCHER (J. S.). 
 
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 GALE (NORMAN). 
 
 Orchard Songs. With title-page and cover design by J. 
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 Also a special edition limited in number on hand-made 
 paper bound in English vellum. jTt is. net. 
 New York : G. P. Putnam's Sons.
 
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 GAENETT (RICHARD). 
 
 Poems. With title-page by J, Illingworth Kay. 350 
 
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 Bosto7i : Copcland 6^ Day. 
 
 Dante, Petrarch, Camoens. CXXIV Sonnets rendered 
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 GEARY {NEVILL). 
 
 A Lawver'S Wife : A Novel. Cr. 8vo. 4s. 6d. net. 
 
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 GOSSE (EDMUND). 
 
 The Letters of Thomas Lovell Beddoes. Now first 
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 GRAHAME (KENNETH). 
 
 Pagan Papers : A Volume of Essays. With title-page 
 
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 Chicago: Stone b' Kimball. 
 
 The Golden Age. Cr. Svo. 3^. td. net. 
 Chicago : Stone br" Kimball. 
 
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 Italian Lyrists of To-Day. Translations in the original 
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 Imagination in Dreams. Crown Svo. 55. net. 
 
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 HAKE (7. GORDON). 
 
 A Selection from his Poems. Edited by"Mrs. Meynell. 
 
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 by Gleeson White. Cr. Svo. 55. net. 
 Chicago : Stone &» Kimball. 
 
 HANSSON (LAURA MARHOLM). 
 
 Modern Women : Six Psychological Sketches. [Sophia 
 Kovalevsky, George Egerton, Eleonora Duse, 
 Amalie Skram, Marie Bashkirtseff, A. Edgren 
 Leffler.] Translated from the German by Hermione 
 R.\MSDEN. Cr. Svo. 3^. 6d. net. [In preparation.
 
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 HANSSON (OLA). 
 See Egerton, 
 
 HARLAN D (HENRY). 
 
 Grey Roses. (5ee Keynotes Series.) 
 
 HAYES (ALFRED). 
 
 The Vale of Arden, and Other Poems. With a title- 
 page and cover design by E. H. New. Fcap. 8vo. 35. 6d, 
 net. 
 Also 25 copies large paper. 15^. net. 
 
 HEINEMANN (WILLIAM). 
 
 The First Step : A Dramatic Moment. Sm. 410, 35. 6d. net. 
 
 HOPPER (NORA). 
 
 Ballads in Prose. With a title-page and cover by 
 
 Walter West. Sq. i6mo. y. net. 
 Boston : Roberts Bros. 
 
 A Volume of Poems. With title-page designed by Patten 
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 HOUSMAN (CLEMENCE). 
 
 The Were Wolf. With 6 full-page illustrations, title-page, 
 and cover-design by Laurence Housman. Sq. i6mo. 
 4?. net. \In preparation. 
 
 HOUSMAN (LAURENCE). 
 
 Green Arras : Poems. With illustrations by the Author. 
 Cr. 8vo. 5i. net. U>i preparation. 
 
 IRVING (LAURENCE). 
 
 GODEFROi AND YoLANDE : A Plav. With 3 illustrations by 
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 [/n preparation. 
 
 JAMES (W. P.). 
 
 Romantic Professions : A volume of Essays. With title- 
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 New York: Macmillan if Co. 
 
 JOHNSON (LIONEL). 
 
 The Art of Thomas Hardy. Six Essays, with etched 
 portrait by W.M. Strang, and Bibliography by John 
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 Also 150 copies, large paper, with proofs of the portrait, 
 _;^ij. \s. net. 
 New York : Dodd, Mead b' Co.
 
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 JOHNSON {PAULINE). 
 
 The White Wampum : Poems. With title-page and cover 
 
 designs by E. H. New. Cr. 8vo. 5^, )tet. 
 Boston : Lamson , Wolffs ^f Co. 
 
 JOHNSTONE (C. E.). 
 
 Ballads of Boy and Beak, with title-page designed by 
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 [In preparation. 
 KEYNOTES SERIES. 
 
 Each volume with specially designed title-page by AuBREY 
 Beardsley. Cr. 8vo, cloth, y. 6d. vet. 
 
 Vol. I. Keynotes. By George Egerton.' 
 
 [Seventh edition now ready. 
 Vol. n. The Dancing Faun. By Florence Farr. 
 Vol. III. Poor Folk. Translated from the Russian of F. 
 Dostoievsky by Lena Milman, with a preface 
 by George Moore. 
 Vol. IV. A Child of the Age. By Francis Adams. 
 Vol. V. The Great God Pan and the Inmost Light. 
 By Arthur Machen. 
 
 [Second edition now ready. 
 Vol. VI. Discords. By George Egerton. 
 
 [Fourth edition now ready. 
 Prince Zaleskl By M. P. Shiel. 
 VIII. The Woman who Did. By Grant Allen. 
 
 [Eighteenth edition now ready. 
 . Women's Tragedies. By H. D. Lowry. 
 Grey Roses. By Henry Harland. 
 
 At the First Corner, and Other Stories. 
 
 By H. B. Marriott Watson. 
 Monochromes. By Ella D'Arcy. 
 At the Relton Arms. By Evelyn Sharp. 
 The Girl from the Farm. By Gertrude 
 
 Dix. 
 The Mirror of Music. By Stanley V. 
 
 Makower. 
 Yellow and White. By W. Carlton Dawe. 
 , The Mountain Lovers. By Fiona Macleod. 
 The Woman Who Didn't. By Victoria 
 Crosse. 
 
 The folloii'ing are in preparation : 
 The Three Impostors. By Arthur Machen. 
 XX. Nobody's Fault. By Netta Syrett. 
 
 Vol. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Vol. 
 
 VIII, 
 
 Vol. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Vol, 
 
 X. 
 
 Vol. 
 
 XL 
 
 Vol. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Vol. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Vol. 
 
 XIV, 
 
 Vol. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Vol. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Vol. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Vol, 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Vol. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Vol. 
 
 XX.
 
 THE PUBLICATIONS OF JOHN LANE 
 
 KEYNOTES SERIES. 
 
 Vol. XXI. The British Barbarians. By Grant Allen. 
 Vol. XXII. In Homespun. By E. Nesbit. 
 Vol. xxiii. Platonic Affections. By John Smith. 
 Vol. XXIV. Nets for the Wind. By Una Taylor. 
 Vol. XXV. Orange and Green. By Caldwell Lipsett. 
 Boston : \ Roberts Bros, 
 
 KING [MAUDE EGERTON) 
 
 Round About a Brighton Coach Office. With 30 Illus- 
 trations by LbCY Kemp-Welch. Cr. 8vo. 55. net. 
 
 [In preparation. 
 
 LANDER (HARRY). 
 
 Weighed in the Balance : A Novel. Cr. 8vo. 45. 6d. net. 
 
 [In preparation. 
 
 LANG {ANDREW). 
 See Stoddart. 
 
 LEATHER {R. K.). 
 
 Verses. 250 copies, fcap. 8vo. 3^. net. 
 
 Transferred by the A uthor to the present Publisher 
 
 LE G ALLIEN NE [RICHARD). 
 
 Prose Fancies. With portrait of the Author by Wilson 
 Steer. Fourth edition, cr. 8vo, purple cloth. 55. net. 
 Also a limited large paper edition. 125. 6d. net. 
 New York : G. P. Putnam's Sons. 
 
 The Book Bills of Narcissus. An account rendered by 
 Richard LE Gallienne. Third edition, with a new 
 chapter and a frontispiece, cr. 8vo, purple cloth. 35. 6d. 
 net. 
 
 Also 50 copies on large paper. 8vo. 105. 6d. net. 
 
 New York : G. P. Putnam's Sons. 
 
 English Poems. Fourth edition, revised, cr. Bvo, purple cloth. 
 
 4J. 6d. net. 
 Boston : Copeland &= Day. 
 
 George Meredith: some Characteristics; with a Biblio- 
 graphy (much enlarged) by John Lane, portrait, &c 
 Fourth edition, cr. 8vo, purple cloth. 5^^. 6d. net. 
 
 The Religion of a Literary Man. 5th thousand, cr. 8vo, 
 
 purple cloth. 35. 6d. net. 
 Also a special rubricated edition on hand-made paper, 8vo. 
 
 I05. bd. net. 
 New York: G. P. Putnam's Sons.
 
 lO THE PUBLICATIONS OF JOHN LANE 
 
 LE GALLIENNE (RICHARD). 
 
 Robert Louis Stevenson : An Elegy, and Other Poems, 
 mainly personal. With etched title-page by D. Y. 
 Cameron. Cr. 8vo, purple cloth. 4s. 6d. net. 
 Also 75 copies on large paper. 8vo. t2s. 6d. net. 
 Boston: Copeland &= Day. 
 
 Retrospective Reviews : A Literary Log, iSgi-iSgs- 2 
 vols. , cr. 8vo, purple cloth, gs. net. [In preparation. 
 
 New York -. Dodd, Mead &= Co, 
 LIPSETT {CALDWELL). 
 
 Orange and Green. (See Keynotes Series.) 
 
 LOWRY (H. D.). 
 
 Women's Tragedies. (See Keynotes Series.) 
 
 LUCAS (WINIFRED). 
 
 A Volume of Poems. Fcap. Bvo. 45. 6d. net. 
 
 [In preparation. 
 
 LYNCH (HANNAH). 
 
 The Great Galeoto and Folly or Saintliness. Two 
 Plays, from the Spanish of Jose Echegaray, with an 
 Introduction. Sm. 410. 55. 6d. net. 
 Boston: Lajnson, Wolffe if Co. 
 
 MA CHEN (ARTHUR). 
 
 The Great God Pan. (See Keynotes Series. ) 
 The Three Impostors. (See Keynotes Series.) 
 
 MACLEOD (FIONA). 
 
 The Mountain Lovers. (See Keynotes Series.) 
 
 MAKOWER (STANLEY V.). 
 
 1"he Mirror of Music. (See Keynotes Series.) 
 
 MARZIALS (THEO.). 
 
 The Gallery of Pigeons, and Other Poems. Post 8vo. 
 4s. 6d. net. [ Very few remain. 
 
 Transferred by the Author to the present Publisher. _ 
 
 MATHEW (FRANK). 
 
 The Wood of the Brambles : A Novel. Cr. 8vo. 4^. 6d. 
 net. U'^ preparation. 
 
 THE MAY FAIR SET. 
 
 Each volume fcap. 8vo. y. 6d. net. 
 
 Vol. I. The Autobiography of a Boy. Passages selected 
 by his friend G. S. Street. With a title-page 
 designed by C. W. FURSE. 
 
 {Fourth Edition now ready.
 
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 THE MAY FAIR SET. 
 
 Vol. II. The Joneses and the Asterisks : A Stor>- in 
 
 Monologue. By Gerald Campbell. With a 
 
 title-page and 6 illustrations by F. H. Townsend. 
 Vol. III. Select Conversations with an Uncle, now 
 
 Extinct. By H. G. Wells. With a title-page 
 
 by F. H. Townsend. 
 The following are in preparation : 
 Vol. iv. The Fe.^sts of AuTOLYCUs : The Diary of a Greedy 
 
 Woman. Edited by Elizabeth Robins Pennell. 
 Vol. V. Mrs. Albert Grundy : Observations in Philistia. 
 
 By Harold Frederic. 
 Vol. VI. For Plain Women Only. By George Fleming. 
 New York -. The Merriam Co. 
 
 MEREDITH (GEORGE). 
 
 The First Published Portrait of this Author, engraved 
 on the wood by W. Biscombe Gardner, after the painting 
 by G. F. Watts. Proof copies on Japanese vellum, 
 signed by painter and engraver. £i is. net. 
 
 MEYNELL (MRS.), (ALICE C. THOMPSON). 
 
 Poems. Fcap. 8vo. y. 6d.net. (Out of print at present.) A 
 few of the 50 large paper copies (ist edition) remain. 
 I2J. 6d. net. 
 
 The Rhythm of Life, and Other Essays. 2nd edition, 
 fcap. 8vo. y. 6d. net. A few of the 50 large paper copies 
 (ist edition) remain, 12s. 6d. net. 
 
 See also Hake. 
 
 MILLER (JOAQUIN). 
 
 The Building of the City Beautiful. Fcap. 8vo 
 
 With a decorated cover. 51. net, 
 Chicago: Stone 6^ Kimball. 
 
 MILMAN (LENA). 
 
 Dostoievsky's Poor Folk. (See Keynotes Series.) 
 
 MONKHOUSE (ALLAN). 
 
 Books and Plays : A Volume of Essays on Meredith, 
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 55. net. 
 Philadelphia : J. B. Lippincott Co. 
 MOORE (GEORGE). 
 
 (See Keynotes Series, Vol. HI.) 
 NESBIT (E.). 
 
 A Pomander of Verse. With a title-page and cover designed 
 
 by Laurence Housman. Cr. Svo. 5^. net. 
 Chicago: A. C. AlcClurg b' Co. 
 In Homespun, (See Keynotes Series.)
 
 12 THE PUBLICATIONS OF JOHN LANE 
 
 NETTLESHIP [J. T.). 
 
 Robert Browning. Essays and Thoughts. Third edition, 
 
 with a portrait, cr. 8vo, 55. 6d. net. 
 New York : Ckas. Scribner's Sons. 
 
 NOBLE [J AS. ASH CROFT). 
 
 The Sonnet in England, and Other Essays. Title-page 
 and cover design by Austin Young. 600 copies, cr. 8vo. 
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 O'SHAUGHNESSY {ARTHUR). 
 
 His Life and His Work. With selections from his Poems. 
 
 By Louise Chandler Moulton. Portrait and cover 
 
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 Chicago: Stone 6^ Kimball. 
 
 OXFORD CHARACTERS. 
 
 A series of lithographed portraits by Will RoTHENSTElN,with 
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 [/n preparation, 
 
 PIERROTS LIBRARY. 
 
 Each volume with title-page, cover-design, and end papers 
 designed by Aubrey Beardsley. Sq. i6mo. 2s. 6d. net. 
 The folloiving are in preparation -. 
 Vol. L Pierrot. By H. De Vere Stacpoole. 
 Vol. II. My Little Lady Anne. By Mrs. Egerton 
 
 Castle. 
 Vol. in. Death, the Knight, and the Lady. By H. 
 
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 Vol. IV. Simplicity. By A. T. G. Price. 
 Philadelphia -. Henry Altemus. 
 
 PISSARRO [LUC I EN). 
 
 The Queen of the Fishes. A Story of the Valois, adapted 
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 by Lucien Pissarro, and printed by him in divers 
 colours and in gold at his press in Epping. Edition 
 limited to 70 copies for England, each numbered and 
 signed. Crown 8vo, on Japanese hand-made paper, bound 
 in vellum, ;^i net.
 
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 PLARR (VICTOR). 
 
 In the Dorian Mood: Poems. Cr. 8vo. 55. nef. 
 
 [In preparation. 
 PRICE [A. T. G.). 
 
 Simplicity. {See Pierrot's Library.) 
 
 RADFORD (DOLLIE). 
 
 Songs, and Other Verses. With title-page designed by 
 
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 Philadelphia -. J. B. Lippincott Co. 
 
 RAMSDEN (HERMIONE). 
 See Hansson. 
 
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 RHYS [ERNEST). 
 
 A London Rose, and Other Rhymes. With title-page 
 designed by Selwyn Image. 350 copies, cr. 8vo. 
 
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 New York : Dodd, Mead <S^ Co. 
 
 ROBERTSON {JOHN M.). 
 
 Essays Towards a Critical Method. (New Series.) 
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 ROBINSON (C. NEWTON). 
 
 The Viol of Love. With ornaments and cover design by 
 
 Laurence Housman. Cr. 8vo. 55. net. 
 Boston : La?nson , Wolffe £p Co. 
 
 ST. CYRES (LORD). 
 
 The Little Flowers of St. Francis. A new rendering 
 into English of the Fioretti di San Francesco. Cr. 
 8vo. 55. net. [In preparation. 
 
 SHARP (EVELYN). 
 
 At the Relton Arms. (See Keynotes Series.) 
 
 SHIEL (M. P.). 
 
 Prince Zaleski. (See Keynotes Series.) 
 
 SMITH (JOHN). 
 
 Platonic Affections. (See Keynotes Series.)
 
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 STACPOOLE [H. DE VERE). 
 
 Pierrot! a Story. (5^^ Pierrot's Library.) 
 Death, the Knight, and the Lady. [See Pierrot's 
 Library.) 
 
 STEVENSON {ROBERT LOUIS). 
 
 Prince Otto : A Rendering in French by Egerton Castle. 
 Cr. 8vo. 15^. net. \Jn preparation. 
 
 Also 100 copies on large paper, uniform in size with the 
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 A Child's Garden of Verses. With nearly 100 illustra- 
 tions by Charles Robinson. Cr. 8vo. w. net. 
 
 [In preparation. 
 STODDART [THOMAS TOD). 
 
 The Death Wake. With an introduction by Andrew 
 
 Lang. Fcap. 8vo. 55. net. 
 Chicago : Way 5f Williams. 
 
 STREET [G. S.). 
 
 The Autobiography of a Boy. (i:?e Mayfair Set.) 
 Miniatures and Moods. Fcap. 8vo. 3^. net. 
 
 Transferred by the Author to the present Publisher. 
 New York : The Merriam Co. 
 
 SWETTENHAM {F. A.). 
 
 Malay Sketches. With title and cover designs by Patten 
 
 Wilson. Cr. Svo. y. net. 
 New York : Macmillan 5f Co. 
 
 SYRETT (NETTA). 
 
 Nobody's Fault. (5e« Keynotes Series.) 
 
 TABB [JOHN B.). 
 
 Poems. Sq. 32mo. 4J. 6d. net. 
 Boston : Cope land 6^ Day. 
 
 TAYLOR [UNA). 
 
 Nets for the Wind. (5^e Keynotes Series.) 
 
 TENNYSON (FREDERICK). 
 
 Poems of the Day and Year. With a title-page designed 
 
 by Patten Wilson. Cr. 8vo. 55. net. 
 Chicago : Stone dr" Kimball. 
 
 THIMM {€. A.). 
 
 A Complete Bibliography of the Art of Fence, 
 Duelling, &c. With illustrations. [In preparation.
 
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 THOMPSON (FRANCIS). 
 
 Poems. With frontispiece, title-page, and cover design by 
 Laurence HousMAN. Fourth edition, pott 4to. ^s. net. 
 Boston : Copeland &" Day. 
 
 Sister- Songs : An Offering to Two Sisters. With frontis- 
 piece, title-page, and cover design by Laurence Hous- 
 MAN. Pott 4to, buckram. 55. net. 
 
 Boston : Copeland b' Day. 
 
 THOREAU (HENRY DAVID). 
 
 Poems of Nature. Selected and edited by Henry S. Salt 
 and Frank B. Sanborn, with a title-page designed by 
 Patten Wilson, Fcap. 8vo. 4s. 6d. net. 
 
 [/n preparation. 
 Boston and New York: Houghton, Mifflin ^ Co. 
 
 TYNAN HINKSON (KATHARINE). 
 
 Cuckoo Songs. With title-page and cover design by Laur- 
 ence Housman. Fcap. 8vo. 5^. net. 
 Boston : Copeland ^ Day. 
 
 Miracle Plays : Our Lord's Coming and Childhood. 
 
 With 6 illustrations and a title-page by Patten Wilson. 
 
 Fcap. 8vo. s. d. net. {_In preparation. 
 
 Chicago : Stone £r Kimball. 
 
 WATSON (ROSAMUND MARRIOTT). 
 
 Vespertilia, and Other Poems. With title-page designed 
 
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 Chicago : Way &» Williams. 
 
 A Summer Night, and Other Poems. New Edition, with 
 
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 Chicago: Way b^ Williams. [In preparation. 
 
 WATSON (H. B. MARRIOTT). 
 
 The King's Highway. Cr. Svo. 4^. 6d. net. 
 
 [/n preparation. 
 At the First Corner. (5^e Keynotes Series.) 
 
 WATSON (WILLIAM). 
 
 Odes, and Other Poems. Fourth Edition. Fcap. Svo. 
 4J-. 6d. net. 
 
 New York ; Macmillan &= Co. 
 
 The Eloping Angels : a Caprice. Second edition, sq. 
 
 i6mo, buckram. 35. 6d. net. 
 New York: Macmillan &= Co.
 
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 WATSON (WILLIAM). 
 
 Excursions in Criticism; being some Prose Recreations 
 
 OF A Rhymer. Second edition, cr. 8vo. 55. net 
 New York: Alacmillan b' Co. 
 
 The Prince's Quest, and Other Poems. With a biblio- 
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 net. 
 
 WATT (FRANCIS). 
 
 The Law's Lumber Room. Fcap. 8vo. 3^. 6d. net. 
 Chicago: A. C. McClurg &= Co. 
 
 WATTS (THEODORE). 
 
 Poems. Crown 8vo. 5^. net. \_In preparation. 
 
 There will also be an Edition de Luxe of this volume, printed 
 at the Kelmscott Press, 
 
 WELLS (H. G.). 
 
 Select Conversations with an Uncle. [See Mayfair 
 Set.) 
 
 WHARTON {H. T.). 
 
 Sappho. Memoir, text, selected renderings, and a literal trans- 
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 Chicago: A. C. McClurg ti' Co. 
 
 The Yellow Book 
 
 An Illustrated Quarterly. Pott 4to, js. net. 
 
 Volume I. April 1894, 272 pp., 15 Illustrations. {Out of print. 
 Volume II. July 1894, 364 pp., 23 Illustrations. 
 Volume III. October 1894, 280 pp., 15 Illustrations. 
 Volume IV. January 1895, 285 pp., 16 Illustrations. 
 Volume V. April 1895, 317 pp., 14 Illustrations. 
 Volume VI. July 1895, 335 pp. , 16 Illustrations. 
 Boston : Copeland £r» Day. 
 
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