Fraught with mine earthward clinging happiness, If nature hath rebelled, When the despairing passion of her clasp Of thine Almighty hand-oh, pardon me! The tempests and the waves will know thy voice- [Giving the child to her husband. Farewell, my babe! Go from my bosom now to other rest! With this last kiss on thine unsullied brow, And on thy pale calm cheek these contrite tears, HUSBAND. Now, my wife, Thine own meek holiness beams forth once more AGNES. Where wilt thou lay him? HUSBAND. My Edmund! where Seest thou where the spire Of yon dark cypress reddens in the sun To burning gold?-there-o'er yon willow tuft? Under that native desert monument Lies his lone bed. Our Hubert, since the dawn, With the grey mosses of the wilderness Hath lined it closely through; and there breathed forth, E'en from the fulness of his own pure heart, A wild, sad forest hymn-a song of tears, Which thou wilt learn to love. I heard the boy As wails a wood-bird to the thrilling leaves, Perchance unconsciously. AGNES. My gentle son! Th' affectionate, the gifted!—With what joy— Would spring from rosy sleep, and playfully In that kind youthful breast!-Oh! now no more— For many a blessing left. [Bending over the child.] Once more farewell! Oh! the pale, piercing sweetness of that look! How can it be sustained? Away, away! [After a short pause: Edmund, my woman's nature still is weakI cannot see thee render dust to dust! Go thou, my husband, to thy solemn task ; I will rest here and still my soul with prayer Till thy return. HUSBAND. Then strength be with thy prayer! Peace on thy bosom! Faith and heavenly hope Unto thy spirit! Fare thee well awhile! We must be pilgrims of the woods again, [He goes out with the child. Agnes kneels in prayer. After a time, voices without are heard singing England's field-flowers may not deck his grave, Cyprus shadows o'er him darkly wave. Woods unknown receive him, 'Midst the mighty wild; Yet with God we leave him, Blessed, blessed child! And our tears gush o'er his lonely dust, Though his eye hath brightened Oft our weary way, And his clear laugh lightened Half our hearts' dismay; Still in hope we give back what was given, And to her who bore him, Her who long must weep, Yet shall heaven restore him From his pale sweet sleep! Those blue eyes of love and peace again Where the long reeds quiver, Earth to earth alone! God and Father! may our journeyings on From the exile's sorrow, From the wanderer's dread Of the night and morrow, Early, brightly fled; Thou hast called him to a sweeter home, Than our lost one o'er the ocean's foam. Now let thought behold him Where those arms enfold him, Which benignly took Israel's babes to their good Shepherd's breast, Turn thee now, fond mother! Here to dream and mourn: Only kneel once more around the sod, FROM "PROMETHEUS UNBOUND." SHELLE Y. [EXTRACT.] Within the orb itself, Pillowed upon its alabaster arms, Like to a child o'erwearied with sweet toil, |