"A Mother, too!" these self-same words

Did Edward mutter plain;

His face was drawn back on itself,
With horror and huge pain.

Both groan'd at once, for both knew well
What thoughts were in his mind;

When he wak'd up, and star'd like one
That hath been just struck blind.

He sat upright; and ere the dream
Had had time to depart,

"O God, forgive me! (he exclaim'd)

"I have torn out her heart."

Then Ellen shriek'd, and forthwith burst

Into ungentle laughter;

And Mary shiver'd, where she sat,

And never she smil'd after.

Carmen religuum in futurum tempus relegatum. To-morrow! and To-morrow and To-morrow!

ODES

AND

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

話

DEJECTION:

An Ode.

Late, late yestreen I saw the new Moon,
With the old Moon in her arms;

And I fear, I fear, my Master dear!

We shall have a deadly storm.

Ballad of Sir PATRICK SPENCE.

I.

WELL! If the Bard was weather-wise, who made

The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence, This night, so tranquil now, will not go hence Unrous'd by winds, that ply a busier trade

Than those which mould yon clouds in lazy flakes, Or the dull sobbing draft, that moans and rakes Upon the strings of this Æolian lute,

Which better far were mute.

For lo! the New-moon winter-bright!

And overspread with phantom-light,

(With swimming phantom-light o'erspread But rimm'd and circled by a silver thread) I see the old Moon in her lap, foretelling

The coming on of rain and squally blast.
And oh! that even now the gust were swelling,

And the slant night-shower driving loud and fast! Those sounds which oft have raised me, whilst they awed,

And sent my soul abroad,

Might now perhaps their wonted impulse give,

Might startle this dull pain, and make it move and live!

II.

A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear,

A stifled, drowsy, unimpassion'd grief,
Which finds no natural outlet, no relief,

In word, or sigh, or tear

O Lady! in this wan and heartless mood,
To other thoughts by yonder throstle woo'd,
All this long eve, so balmy and serene,
Have I been gazing on the western sky,

And it's peculiar tint of yellow green :

And still I gaze- and with how blank an eye!
And those thin clouds above, in flakes and bars,
That give away their motion to the stars;