LXIX.

ST. PAUL'S AT MIDNIGHT.

The bright round harvest-moon above St. Paul's
Looks down upon its grandeur; while the bell,
Striking the hour of midnight, seems a knell
For all that crowd that passed to-day its walls:
The echo of my lonely footstep falls

Upon the silence with poetic spell,

Leading th' imaginative sense to dwell

Pleased on the city's peaceful intervals!

Bright moon of August! with this same calm brow Thou saw'st the Druid kneel beneath the oak; Or listened as the minstrel-priest awoke

To bounteous Pan his harvest hymn and vow: And when Time's hand this haughty dome shall bow,

Thou wilt as calmly smile upon the stroke.

LXX.

ON THE DEATH OF WILLIAM THOM.

From out a poor man's desolated hearth

A moan of anguish met a stranger's ears, And generous hands dried up the Poet's tears, Nursing his Muse, half strangled in the birth. Then came the Public, lauding up the worth That strove with sickness, poverty, and fears; And, after lionising him a few short years, Let famine kill him by a second dearth. "I'd rather be a kitten, and cry 'mew,''

Than led to dance upon a public stage, “Making myself a motley to the view," Trick'd out in rich men's tinsel patronage: may he be the last that will engage

The public stare, and then its coldness rue!

LXXI.

Nay, do not chide me that I'd keep thee near,
For all the tendrils of my loving heart

Do twine so fondly round thee when thou 'rt here That but to name thy going gives a smart:

I breathe, but live not, when thou dost depart;
Thy presence is mine eyes' true atmosphere-
And when I hear thee then alone mine ear

Is sensible of sound, so dear thou art!

If I did love thee less I'd calmer be;

But calm is passion's cooling-and my brain

Is fever'd by thy kisses. Stay by me!

Take my Endymion, read some touching strain On wasting love—or with some melody

O soothe my bosom into peace again!

LXXII.

On her blue lip, and on her pallid cheek,
The fatal blight of deep consumption sat;
The mother gazed on her with eyelids wet,
And at our entrance scarce had power to speak:
The maiden, to our question, answered meek,—
"That she was better, and the coming Spring
Would quite restore her—for she found it bring
A balm already, though she felt so weak."

The mild Spring came, and brought its balm and flowers-
But ere it issued in the full mid-May,

She lay among its daisies; but the Hours

Seemed not to miss her in their sportive play;

No bird sang less amid the leafy bowers,

And morn and evening made the usual day.

LXXIII.

SUGGESTED IN THE STREET.

These are Eve's daughters, that with naked feet,
With dress disordered, loose neglected hair,

And talk obscene, that you see standing thereAnd could the fabled serpent through this street Glide to behold them, his reward were sweet

To see how fall'n they are! and his despair That Christ had bruised his head melt into air, At triumph of his purpose so complete.

You pass'd just now the palace of St. James,
And saw, in gaudy show and empty pride,
The garter'd lords and diamond-spangled dames
In pompous equipages past you ride :

Can you conceive which most the city shames,

That God seems here unknown! or there denied?