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And all with pearl and ruby glowing
Was the fair palace door,
And sparkling evermore,
Was but to sing,
The wit and wisdom of their king.
Assailed the monarch's high estate. (Ah, let us mourn ! — for never morrow
Shall dawn upon him desolate !) And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed, Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
And travellers, now, within that valley,
Through the red-litten windows see Vast forms, that move fantastically
To a discordant melody,
Through the pale door
And laugh — but smile no more.
THE CONQUEROR WORM. 10! 't is a gala night
Within the lonesome latter years. An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
A play of hopes and fears,
The music of the spheres.
Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low, And hither and thither fly —
Mere puppets they, who come and go At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to and fro, Flapping from out their Condor wings
That motley drama oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot ! With its Phantom chased for evermore,
By a crowd that seize it not, Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot, And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
And Horror the soul of the plot.
But see, anid the mimic rout
A crawling shape intrude!
The scenic solitude !
The mimes become its food,
In human gore imbrued.
And, over each quivering form,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
And its hero the Conqueror Worm.
TO F-S S. 0-D.
HOU wouldst be loved ? then let thy heart
From its present pathway part not! Being everything which now thou art,
Be nothing which thou art not. So with the world thy gentle ways,
Thy grace, thy more than beauty, Shall be an endless theme of praise,
And love - a simple duty.
TO ONE IN PARADISE.
For which my soul did pine -
A fountain and a shrine, All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers,
And all the flowers were mine. Ah, dream too bright to last !
Ah, starry Hope ! that didst arise But to be overcast !
A voice from out the Future cries, “On! on!” but o'er the Past
(Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies
the shore) Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree,
Or the stricken eagle soar ! And all my days are trances,
And all my nightly dreams Are where thy dark eye glances,
And where thy footstep gleams -In what ethereal dances,
By what eternal streams.
THE VALLEY OF UNREST.
INCE it smiled a silent dell
Where the people did not dwell;
They had gone unto the wars,
above a nameless grave !