LENORE

Ан, broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown forever!
Let the bell toll!

a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river;

And, Guy De Vere, hast thou no tear?

weep now or never

more! See! on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore! Come! let the burial rite be read the funeral song be sung!

An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so youngA dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so young.

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"Wretches! ye loved her for her wealth and hated her for her pride,

"And when she fell in feeble health, ye blessed her - that she died!

"How shall the ritual, then, be read? the requiem how be

sung

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"By you
by yours, the evil eye, - by yours, the slander-
ous tongue
"That did to death the innocence that died, and died so
young?"

Peccavimus; but rave not thus! and let a Sabbath song
Go up to God so solemnly the dead may feel no wrong!
The sweet Lenore hath " 'gone before," with Hope, that flew
beside,

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Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been thy bride

For her, the fair and debonair, that now so lowly lies,
The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes-
The life still there, upon her hair the death upon her eyes.

"Avaunt°! avaunt! from fiends below, the indignant ghost is riven

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"From Hell unto a high estate far up within the Heaven "From grief and groan, to a golden throne, beside the King

of Heaven."

Let no bell toll then! - lest her soul, amid its hallowed mirth, Should catch the note as it doth float up from the damnéd Earth!

And I!-to-night my heart is light! No dirge will I upraise,25 But waft the angel on her flight with a Pæan° of old days!

THE COLISEUM

TYPE of the antique Rome! Rich reliquary
Of lofty contemplation left to Time

By buried centuries of pomp and power!
At length at length after so many days
Of weary pilgrimage and burning thirst,
(Thirst for the springs of lore that in thee lie,)
I kneel, an altered and an humble man,
Amid thy shadows, and so drink within
My very soul thy grandeur, gloom, and glory!

Vastness! and Age! and Memories of Eld!°
Silence! and Desolation! and dim Night!

I feel ye now I feel ye in your strength -
O spells more sure than e'er Judæan king
Taught in the gardens of Gethsemane !°
O charms more potent than the rapt Chaldee

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Here, where a hero fell, a column falls!
Here, where the mimic eagle glared in gold,
A midnight vigil holds the swarthy bat!

Here, where the dames of Rome their gilded hair
Waved to the wind, now wave the reed and thistle!
Here, where on golden throne the monarch lolled,
Glides, spectre-like, unto his marble home,
Lit by the wan light of the hornéd moon,
The swift and silent lizard of the stones!

But stay! these walls - these ivy-clad arcades
These mouldering plinths- - these sad and blackened shafts -
These vague entablatures - this crumbling frieze -
These shattered cornices - this wreck
These stones alas! these gray stones
All of the famed, and the colossal left
By the corrosive Hours to Fate and me?

this ruin

are they all 30

"not all!

we rule

"Not all" the Echoes answer me
"Prophetic sounds and loud, arise forever
"From us, and from all Ruin, unto the wise,
"As melody from Memnon to the Sun.°
"We rule the hearts of mightiest men
"With a despotic sway all giant minds.
"We are not impotent- we pallid stones.
"Not all our power is gone - not all our fame-
"Not all the magic of our high renown
"Not all the wonder that encircles us
"Not all the mysteries that in us lie
"Not all the memories that hang upon
"And cling around about us as a garment,
"Clothing us in a robe of more than glory."

THE HAUNTED PALACE

IN the greenest of our valleys

By good angels tenanted,"

Once a fair and stately palace-
Radiant palace— reared its head.
In the monarch Thought's dominion -
It stood there!

Never seraph spread a pinion

Over fabric half so fair!

Banners yellow, glorious, golden,

On its roof did float and flow,

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(This all this

was in the olden

Time long ago,)

And every gentle air that dallied,

In that sweet day,

Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,

A wingéd odor went away.

Wanderers in that happy valley,

Through two luminous windows, saw Spirits moving musically,

To a lute's well-tuned law,

Round about a throne where, sitting,

(Porphyrogene!)

In state his glory well befitting,
The ruler of the realm was seen.

And all with pearl and ruby glowing

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Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing
And sparkling evermore,

A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty
Was but to sing,

In voices of surpassing beauty,
The wit and wisdom of their king.

But evil things, in robes of sorrow,
Assailed the monarch's high estate.
(Ah, let us mourn!· for never morrow

Shall dawn upon him desolate!)

And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,

Is but a dim-remembered story

Of the old time entombed.

And travellers, now, within that valley,
Through the red-litten windows see
Vast forms, that move fantastically
To a discordant melody,

While, like a ghastly rapid river,
Through the pale door

A hideous throng rush out forever

And laugh

but smile no more.

TO ONE IN PARADISE

THOU wast all that to me, love,
For which my soul did pine-
A green isle in the sea, love,
A fountain and a shrine,

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