And then I pressed her icy hand
Within my burning palm,

And told her tales of that far land,
Of sunshine, flowers, and balm;

I told her of the damp, dark hole,
The fetters and the tree,

And of the slimy things that stole
O'er shuddering flesh so free:
Yea, of the Bearded Ghastliness,
That sat in the sun's loveliness.

I welcomed her, I welcome thee,
To sit upon this stone,

And meditate all night with me,

On ages that are gone:

To dream again each marvellous dream,

Of passion and of truth,

And re-construct each shattered beam

That glorified glad youth.

These were the days!-hearts then could feel,

Eyes weep, and slumbers o'er them steal.

But not so now. The second life

That wearied hearts must live,

Is woven with that thread of strife

Forget not, nor Forgive!

Fires, scorching fires run through our veins,

Our corded sinews crack,

And molten lead boils in our brains,

For marrow to the back.

Ha ha! What's Life? Think of the joke,

The fiercest fire still ends in smoke.

Fill

up the cup! fill up the can!

Drink, drink, sweet Flesh and Blood,

The health of the grim bearded man

That haunteth solitude;

The wood pours forth its melodies,

And stars whirl fast around;

Yon moon-ship scuds before the breeze

Hark, how sky-billows sound!

Drink, Flesh and Blood! then trip with me,

One measure round the Madman's Tree!

HALBERT THE GRIM.

THERE is blood on that brow,

There is blood on that hand;

There is blood on that hauberk, And blood on that brand.

Oh! bloody all o'er is

His war-cloak, I weet;

He is wrapped in the cover
Of murder's red sheet.

There is pity in man—

Is there any in him?

No! ruth were a strange guest To Halbert the Grim.

The hardest may soften,

The fiercest repent;

But the heart of Grim Halbert

May never relent.

Death doing on earth, is
For ever his cry;

And pillage and plunder
His hope in the sky!

'Tis midnight, deep midnight, And dark is the heaven;

Sir Halbert, in mockery,

Wends to be shriven.

He kneels not to stone,

And he bends not to wood;

But he

swung round his brown blade,

And hewed down the Rood!

He stuck his long sword, with

Its point in the earth;

And he prayed to its cross hilt,
In mockery and mirth.

Thus lowly he louteth,

And mumbles his beads;

Then lightly he riseth,

And homeward he speeds.

His steed hurries homewards, Darkling and dim;

Right fearful it prances

With Halbert the Grim.

Still fiercer it tramples,

The spur gores its side;

Now downward and downward

No star lends its taper,
No moon sheds her glow;
For dark is the dull path

That Baron must go.