Into the darkness of a room,

Is by (the very source of gloom)
The moats, and dust, and flies,
On which it trembles and lies
Like joy upon sorrow!

O, when will come the morrow?
Isabel! do you not fear

The night and the wonders here ?
Dim vales! and shadowy floods!
And cloudy-looking woods

Whose forms we can't discover

For the tears that drip all over !

Huge moons-see! wax and wane

Again-again-again

Every moment of the night

Forever changing places!

How they put out the starlight

With the breath from their pale faces !

Lo! one is coming down

With its centre on the crown

Of a mountain's eminence !

Down-still down-and down-
Now deep shall be-O deep!
The passion of our sleep!

For that wide circumference
In easy drapery falls

Drowsily over halls—

Over ruined walls

Over waterfalls,

(Silent waterfalls!)

O'er the strange words-o'er the seaAlas! over the sea!

IRENE.

'Tis now (so sings the soaring moon) Midnight in the sweet month of June,

When winged visions love to lie

Lazily upon beauty's eye,

Or worse-upon her brow to dance

In panoply of old romance,

Till thoughts and locks are left, alas!

A ne'er-to-be untangled mass.

An influence, dewy, drowsy, dim,
Is dripping from that golden rim ;
Gray towers are mouldering into rest,
Wrapping their fog around their breast:

Looking like Lethe, see! the lake
A conscious slumber seems to take,

And would not for the world awake;
The rosemary sleeps upon the grave-
The lily lolls upon the wave--

And million bright pines to and fro,

Are rocking lullabies as they go,

To the lone oak that reels with bliss,
Nodding above the dim abyss.

All beauty sleeps and lo! where lies

:

With casement open to the skies,

Irene, with her destinies !

Thus burns the moon within her ear,

"O lady sweet! how camest thou here? Strange are thine eyelids-strange thy dress!

And strange thy glorious length of tress!

Sure thou art come o'er far-off seas,

A wonder to our desert-trees!

Some gentle wind hath thought it right

To open thy window to the night,

And wanton airs from the tree-top,

Laughingly thro' the lattice drop,
And wave this crimson canopy,

Like a banner o'er thy dreaming eye!
Lady, awake! lady, awake!

For the holy Jesus' sake!

For strangely-fearfully in this hall
My tinted shadows rise and fall!"

The lady sleeps: the dead all sleep-
At least as long as Love doth weep:
Entranc'd the spirit loves to lie

As long as tears on Memory's eye :
But when a week or two goes by,
And the light laughter chokes the sigh,
Indignant from the tomb doth take
Its way to some remember'd lake,
Where oft-in life-with friends-it went

To bathe in the pure element,

And there, from the untrodden grass,

Wreathing for its transparent brow