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THE CONQUEROR WORM.
Lo! 'tis a gala night
Within the lonesome latter years ! An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
A play of hopes and fears,
The music of the spheres.
Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
go At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to and fro, Flapping from out their Condor wings
That motley drama-oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot !
By a crowd that seize it not,
To the self-same spot, And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
And Horror the soul of the plot.
But see, amid the mimic rout
A crawling shape intrude !
The scenic solitude !
pangs The rimes become its food, And the angels sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.
Thou wouldst be loved ?-then let thy heart
From its present pathway part not ! Being everything which now thou art,
Be nothing which thou art not. So with the world thy ge. Atle
ways, Thy grace, thy more than beauty, Shall be an endless theme of praise,
And love-a simple duty.
TO ONE IN PARADISE.
Thou wast that all to me, love,
For which my soul did pineA green
isle in the sea, love, A fountain and a shrine, All wreathed with fairy fruits and Powers,
And all the flowers were minc.
Ah, dream too bright to last !
Ah, starry Hope ! that didst arise But to be overcast !
A voice from out the Future cries, “On! on!"_but o'er the Past
(Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies Mute, motionless, aghast !
For, alas! alas ! with me
The light of Life is o'er!
To the sands upon the shore)
Or the stricken eagle soar !
And all my duys are trances,
And all my nightly dreams
And where thy footstep gleams-
By what eternal streams
THE VALLEY OF UNREST.
Once it smiled a silent dell
THE CITY IN THE SEA,
Lo! Death has reared himself a throne
en come down
the turrets silently-
many a marvellous shrine Whose wreathéd friezes intertwine The viol, the violet, and the vine.