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To Herodias young Salome fondly turns, with grateful

smiles :

Gold of Ophir, pearls of ocean, nard and spice of happier

isles, What of choice and costly treasures, choicest, costliest,

shall she claim?

Then a glare of fiendish triumph in that cruel cold eye


And the queen's heart heaved with vengeance; and she

gasp'd with quicken'd breath Brief words of envenom'd malice, warrant of the prophet's


Why that sudden ashy pallor? why that passionate caress? Bends the sapling in the tempest: weakness yields to


Musing still his past, the captive on his watch nor slept nor


And the dawn drew on unheeded, and the cock crew thrice


Of the sentinels of morning, shining over Abarim,
Only one was left, the day-star; and its lamp was growing

Hark! the bolt is drawn, how slowly: see! the dungeon

door flung wide: Weapons gleam along the passage: armed men are by his


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In their looks he read his sentence, and he knew his hour

was come,

And his proud neck meekly offer'd to the stroke of mar

tyrdom : And, as flash'd the headsman's broadsword, rose the sun on

Pisgah's height; And the morning star was hidden in the flood of golden


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In the evening we can longest tarry by the twilight shore, For at even dreams float on for ever and for evermore :

In the evening stars that glimmer one by one from out the

sky Tell in tones that touch us nearly how in silence time fleets


And a voice like none beside them have the winds of fall

ing night, Hurrying on our spirits with them up to Memory's cloudy

height. In the evening, too, ariseth Hope with all her faëry train, Turning from the roseate Past to tell us such shall come

again. And at chiming of the vespers, as it chanced, my thoughts

I cast,

Half awake and half in dreamings, over my far-crowded


And is’t mine then ? — Some one answers, “How or what

is it to thee?

Nothing but a train of memories like a silver mist at sea : Here and there a glory scatter'd from the starlight or the


Rising like all things of time,- enthusiast! vanishing as


Thine the present is

be said ;

go, grasp it; thine the future may

But the Past is nothing, nothing but the shadow of a


Ceased the voice, and much I wonder'd, but I scarcely

dared to doubt.

When another spirit answer'd from the silence speaking


“ Brother, nay — the Past seems vanish'd save to Memory's

listless eye:


- no

the Past is deathless and its record is on

high.” List! it rose a heaving landscape, scarce defined yet won

drous strange,

Gloom and glory like a moon-trance flitting o'er in cease

less change. There were springs of crystal rapture, rivulets of sorrow

too, Passion with her storm-tost surges, Peace a lake of softest



Long my musings like a wanderer wandering o'er the

haunts of youth, Slow retraced each by-gone feeling in their lucid depths of

truth, Till

upon love's fount they centred, purest of all waves that

flow, Fed itself of heaven, yet feeding all the myriad flowers


Lean thy heart on mine, beloved, — listen

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men say

That the fondnesses of earth will pass with earthly things


All the silent eloquence of clasped hands and falling tears, All the musical low whispers like the music of the spheres, All the thrilling strange entrancement fluttering over cheek

and eye,

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