O'er the strange woods-o'er the sea
Over spirits on the wing-
Over every drowsy thing—
And buries them up quite
In a labyrinth of light-

And then, how deep!-0, deep!
Is the passion of their sleep.
In the morning they arise,
And their moony covering
Is soaring in the skies,
With the tempests as they toss,
Like almost any thing-

Or a yellow Albatross.

They use that moon no more
For the same end as before-
Videlicet a tent-

Which I think extravagant:
Its atomies, however,
Into a shower dissever,
Of which those butterflies,

Of Earth, who seek the skies,
And so come down again
(Never-contented things!)
Have brought a specimen
Upon their quavering wings.

THE LAKE

In spring of youth it was my lot
To haunt of the wide world a spot
The which I could not love the less-
So lovely was the loneliness

Of a wild lake, with black rock bound,
And the tall pines that towered around.

But when the Night had thrown her pall

Upon that spot, as upon all,
And the mystic wind went by
Murmuring in melody-
Then-ah, then, I would awake
To the terror of the lone lake.

TO HELEN

HELEN, thy beauty is to me

Like those Nicean barks of yore, That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, The weary, wayworn wanderer bore To his own native shore.

On desperate seas long wont to roam,
Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,
Thy Naiad airs have brought me home
To the glory that was Greece,
To the grandeur that was Rome.

Lo! in yon brilliant window niche, How statue-like I see thee stand, The agate lamp within thy hand! Ah, Psyche, from the regions which Are the Holy Land!

SPIRITS OF THE DEAD.

(This poem is also called "Visit of the Dead."-Ed.)

THY Soul shall find itself alone
'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-
stone-

Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy.
Be silent in that solitude

Which is not loneliness-for then
The spirits of the dead who stood

In life before thee are again

In death around thee-and their will
Shall overshadow thee: be still.
The night-tho' clear-shall frown-
And the stars shall not look down
From their high thrones in the Heaven,
With light like Hope to mortals given-
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem

As a burning and a fever

Which could cling to thee for ever. Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish

Now are visions ne'er to vanish-
From thy spirit shall they pass
No more-like dew-drops from the
grass.

The breeze-the breath of God--is still

And the mist upon the hill
Shadowy-shadowy-yet unbroken,
Is a symbol and a token-
How it hangs upon the trees,
A mystery of mysteries!

EVENING STAR.

"TWAS noontide of summer, And midtime of night, And stars, in their orbits,

Shone pale, through the light Of the brighter, cold moon. 'Mid planets her slaves, Herself in the Heavens, Her beam on the waves.

I gazed awhile

On her cold smile;
Too cold-too cold for me-
There passed, as a shroud,
A fleecy cloud,

And I turned away to thee,
Proud Evening Star,

In thy glory afar

And dearer thy beam shall be;

For joy to my heart

Is the proud part

Thou bearest in Heaven at night, And more I admire

Thy distant fire,

Than that colder, lowly light.

IMITATION.

A DARK unfathomed tide
Of interminable pride-
A mystery, and a dream,
Should my early life seem;
I say that dream was fraught
With a wild and waking thought
Of beings that have been,
Which my spirit hath not seen,
Had I let them pass me by,
With a dreaming eye!
Let none of earth inherit
That vision on my spirit;
Those thoughts I would control,
As a spell upon his soul:
For that bright hope at last
And that light time have past,
And my worldly rest hath gone
With a sigh as it passed on:
I care not though it perish

With a thought I then did cherish.

"THE HAPPIEST DAY"

I.

THE happiest day-the happiest hour My seared and blighted heart hath known,

The highest hope of pride and power, I feel hath flown.

II.

Of power! said I? Yes! such I ween But they have vanished long, alas! The visions of my youth have beenBut let them pass.

III.

And pride, what have I now with thee?

Another brow may ev'n inherit The venom that hast poured on meBe still my spirit!

IV.

The happiest day-the happiest hour Mine eyes shall see-have ever seen The brightest glance of pride and power I feel have been:

V.

But were that hope of pride and power
Now offered with the pain
Ev'n then I felt-that brightest hour
I would not live again:

VI.

For on its wing was dark alloy And as it fluttered-fell

An essence-powerful to destroy A soul that knew it well.

Translation from the Greek.

HYMN TO ARISTOGEITON AND HARMODIUS

I.

WREATHED in myrtle, my sword I'll conceal

Like those champions devoted and brave,

When they plunged in the tyrant their steel,

And to Athens deliverance gave.

II.

Beloved heroes! your deathless souls

roam

In the joy breathing isles of the blest;

Where the mighty of old have their home

Where Achilles and Diomed rest.