When to the mightiest man death did draw near,
He shut himself within his bathing hall

And lent to his great admiral his ear;
Who told of voyage on the Indian main,
The first by Grecian captains dared that all
The glamour of unconquered seas might reign
Over the greatest conqueror's spirit failing.
By the bath-side, he, picturing them sailing,
Was as he had been in his youth again,

Conversed of conquest nigh as when unailing,
And pleased his captains; yet grew worse once

more,

Soon in a deep trance sank;

His anxious Macedonians at the door,

Then would not be gainsaid, but, rank by rank,

In single file, were ushered past his bed.
His Indian and Egyptian veterans
Passed mute, were satisfied he was not dead;
Unarmed they passed and many a tear let fall;
Man, he had won more than had erst been man's→
Till each owned him the embodied soul of all :—
And lo! they saw him vanquished, helpless, dying;
So childishly their hearts were in them crying.
He no more moved, nor for one friend did call,
Yet two days lay, as all had seen him lying;
Then on the tenth day of his fever, on

The twenty-eighth of June,

Died; and from what vast schemes the life was

gone,

Which up and down far lands like wrecks lay

strewn !

His end was beautiful, though from vile cause—
A surfeit at a feast-his fever came.

Alaric's grave likewise commands applause
Though he sacked Rome and Italy trod under:
His captives, by those careful of his fame,
Were forced to turn Calabrian torrent's thunder
And in the dry bed delve a sepulchre,

And house his trophies and his ashes there:

But when the stream, which their hard toil did sunder,
Resumed his haughty course, then all they were
Slaughtered in thousands on his rocky shores,
That what they knew might be

Kept by their lips, as by his thund'rous roar's
Blank bellow, secret to eternity.

"The morning after Goethe's death I yearned To look upon his well-known form once more." So writes that friend who to his house returned. "Stretched on his back he seemed to sleep, while, fraught

With peace, profound security reigned o'er

His mien that grand brow still might harbour thought!

By one white sheet the naked form was hidden :
Large lumps of ice lay round it; then, unbidden,
His man the linen from the body caught,

And laid bare what since eighty years was hidden;
I was astounded-so magnificent

The limbs, the breast's broad slant

Was arched and powerful, the arms and thighs

unspent

And muscular, the feet were elegant !

Nowhere was any trace of fat, and none
Of leanness or decay; a perfect man
In all his beauty lay before me; one
Moment, enraptured at the sight, might I
Forget that blood therein no longer ran:

And on his breast my thoughtless hand might lie

Ere me to horror stillness could awaken;

But then I turned away, by sobs rude-shaken,

And gave free course to tears." Ah, wrought so

high,

We, our revered or cherished from us taken,

By eloquent grief's passion rapt, may deem
That beauty finds in death

Merest defeat; yet sometimes tombs will seem
To echo angel voices, hoard swung-censer's breath.

'Tis known how on her bridal morn one died; Greatly beloved, most beautiful and young, She lay there; on the white quilt in their pride Flowers were strewn, fresh opened, scented, glowing!

Purple anemones together flung

With crimson pheasant-eyes; one hand unknowing Oppressed green mignonette; the other fern Embowered; near, forget-me-nots did yearn

'Neath poppies crushed; like mimic sconces blowing, Orange set her brow round with lamps to burn. While, stricken, her poor bridegroom, hour by hour, Tear-blind, stared at her face.

Yet calmed by beauty, awed by sovran power,

One could have thanked death, though one dared not

praise.

Such scenes concern but us who linger here;

What their own death was to themselves none knows.

Heard they our wailing, as the insect's ear

Lists to the children's chaunt, a mere vague sound,
While calmly she, since life within her glows,
Is on her present occupation bound?

Though all death's dreaded pain and hoped-for glory
Be nursed of us as children hug a story,

E'en croon one o'er the beetle they have found, (Fair lie old snows upon the mountains hoary) Imagination must teach us to die,

Must age and death enhance

And give to both a value clear and high :

Or fail and leave us to blank ignorance.

That Land.

Oн, would that I might live for ever
Where those who make me happy dwell!
Because she other place names never
Desire doeth excellently well,

Now, wooing me;

There ease weds grace;

There thought is free,

Born like a smile upon a face,

Expressed as simply as a child

Kisseth its playmate, laughing gaily;

There, there, the courteous, joyous, mild

Train life to beauty daily,

There thought is free; for life is bound
Religiously, and sings while serving;
No hungry loneliness is found

Where beauty's law admits no swerving
But strengthens life;

Could I dwell there,

To me a wife

Were given wise and free and fair,

Not fettered with dead thoughts, not fainting

Because the nightmare world has lain
Athwart her hopes, but love acquainting

With beauty ever again.