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Whence doubts that came too late, and wishes vain,
Hollow excuses, and triumphant pain;
And oft his cogitations sink as low
As, through the abysses of a joyless heart,
The heaviest plummet of despair can go
But whence that sudden check? that fearful start?
He hears an uncouth sound
Anon his lifted eyes
Saw, at a long-drawn gallery's dusky bound,
And hideous aspect, stalking round and round!
So, but from toil less sign of profit reaping,
No pause admitted, no design avow'd!
The torch that flames with many a lurid flake,
And, in their anguish, bear what other minds have borne!"
But Shapes that come not at an earthly call,
Will not depart when mortal voices bid;
Once raised, remains aghast, and will not fall! Ye gods, thought he, that servile Implement Obeys a mystical intent!
Your Minister would brush away
The spots that to my soul adhere;
But should She labour night and day,
Ill-fated Chief! there are whose hopes are built Upon the ruins of thy glorious name;
Who, through the portal of one moment's guilt, Pursue thee with their deadly aim!
O matchless perfidy! portentous lust
Of monstrous crime! that horror-striking blade,
Of spirit too capacious to require
That Destiny her course should change; too just
That wretched boon, days lengthen'd by mistrust.
INCIDENT AT BRUGES.
IN Brugès town is many a street
The grass-grown pavement tread.
Flung from a convent-tower,
The measure, simple truth to tell,
When silent were both voice and chords,
It was a breezy hour of eve;
Quiver'd and seem'd almost to heave
But, where we stood, the setting sun
Not always is the heart unwise,
If even a passing Stranger sighs
By one soft trickling tear that stole
A JEWISH FAMILY.
IN A SMALL VALLEY OPPOSITE ST. GOAR, UPON THE RHINE.
GENIUS of Raphael! if thy wings
Might bear thee to this glen,
With faithful memory left of things
To pencil dear and pen,
Thou wouldst forego the neighbouring Rhine,
And all his majesty—
A studious forehead to incline
O'er this poor family.
The Mother-her thou must have seen,
In spirit, ere she came
To dwell these rifted rocks between,
An image, too, of that sweet Boy
Of playfulness, and love, and joy,
Predestined here to live.
Downcast, or shooting giances far,
That blend the nature of the star