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A plume waved o'er the noble brow, - the brow | The voice, the glance, the heart I sought, - give was fixed and white;
answer, where are they? He met, at last, his father's eyes, but in them If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, send life was no sight!
through this cold clay;
Up from the ground he sprang and gazed ; but
who could paint that gaze ? They hushed their very hearts that saw its hor
ror and amaze : They might havechained him, as before that stony
form he stood ; For the power was stricken from his arm, and
from his lip the blood.
* Into these glassy eyes put light ;- be still!
keep down thine ire ! Bid these white lips a blessing speak, - this earth
is not my sire : Give me back him for whom I strove, for whom
my blood was shed. Thou canst not ? — and a king !- his dust be
mountains on thy head!"
“Father !” at length, he murmured low, and wept like childhood then :
He loosed the steed, - his slack hand fell; upon Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears of
the silent face warlike men !
He cast one long, deep, troubled look, then turned He thought on all his glorious hopes, and all his
from that sad place. young renown;
His hope was crushed, his after fate untold in He flung his falchion from his side, and in the
martial strain : dust sat down.
His banner led the spears no more amidst the
hills of Spain. VIII. Then covering with his steel-gloved hands his
darkly mournful brow, “No more, there is no more," he said, “to list THE CORONATION OF INEZ DE CASTRO.
the sword for now; My king is false, — my hope betrayed ! My fa THERE was music on the midnight : ther, – 0 the worth,
From a royal fane it rolled,
Sternly and slowly tolled.
It hushed the listener's breath ; “I thought to stand where banners waved, my
For the music spoke of triumph high, sire, beside thee, yet ; I would that there our kindred blood on Spain's
The lonely bell, of death. free soil had met! Thou wouldst have known my spirit, then ; for
There was hurrying through the midnight,
A sound of many feet ; thee my fields were won ;
But they fell with a muffied fearfulness
Along the shadowy street :
As it neared the minster gate,
Whence a broad and solemn light was shed seized the monarch's rein,
From a scene of royal state. Amidst the pale and wildered looks of all the courtier train ;
Full glowed the strong red radiance
In the centre of the nave, And with a fierce, o'ermastering grasp, the rear
Where the folds of a purple canopy ing war-horse led, And sternly set them face to face, the king be
Swept down in many a wave ; fore the dead :
Loading the marble pavement old
With a weight of gorgeous gloom,
For something lay midst their fretted gold “Came I not forth, upon thy pledge, my father's Like a shadow of the tomb.
hand to kiss ? Be still, and gaze thou on, false king! and tell And within that rich pavilion, me what is this?
High on a glittering throne,
She still was young, and she had been fair ;
HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK."
QUEEN. Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted color From the sallow cheek, save over it came
off, The burning flush of the spirit's shame.
And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark.
Do not, forever, with thy veiled lids They were sailing o'er the salt sea-foam,
Seek for thy noble father in the dust : Far from her country, far from her home;
Thou know'st 't is common, — all that live must And all she had left for her friends to keep
die, Was a name to hide and a memory to weep!
Passing through nature to eternity. And her future held forth but the felon's lot,
HAMLET. Ay, madam, it is common. To live forsaken, to die forgot !
If it be, She could not weep, and she could not pray,
Why seems it so particular with thee?
HAM. Seems, madam ! nay, it is; I know not
'T is not alone my inky cloak, good mother, And sometimes I thought her large dark eye
Nor customary suits of solemn black, Had the glisten of red insanity.
Nor windy suspiration of forced breath, She called me once to her sleeping-place,
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, A strange, wild look was upon her face,
Nor the dejected havior of the visage, Her eye flashed over her cheek so white,
Together with all forms, modes, shows of grief, Like a gravestone seen in the pale moonlight,
That can denote me truly : these, indeed, seem, And she spoke in a low, unearthly tone,
For they are actions that a man might play: The sound from mine ear hath never gone !
But I have that within, which passeth show; “ I had last night the loveliest dream :
These, but the trappings and the suits of woe.
SOLILOQUY ON DEATH.
FROM “HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK."
HAMLET. To be, or not to be, – that is the
Whether 't is nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
to He led me next where my mother lay,
And, by opposing, end them ? --- To die,
sleep; And together we knelt by her grave to pray, And heard a hymn it was heaven to hear,
No more ; and, by a sleep, to say we end For it echoed one to my young days dear.
The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks This dream has waked feelings long, long since fled, That flesh is heir to, – 't is a consummation And hopes which I deemed in my heart were dead? | Devoutly to be wished.
to sleep :- We have not spoken, but still I have hung
To sleep! perchance to dream :
- ay, there's the On the Northern accents that dwell on thy tongue.
rub; To me they are music, to me they recall
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, The things long hidden by Memory's pall !
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Take this long curl of yellow hair,
Must give us pause : there's the respect And give it my father, and tell him my prayer,
That makes calamity of so long life; My dying prayer, was for him.".
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Theoppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin ? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
I ATITIA E. LANDON.
That undiscovered country, from whose bourn And do our loves all perish with our frames ? No traveller returns, – puzzles the will, Do those that took their root and put forth buds, And makes us rather bear those ills we have, And then soft leaves unfolded in the warmth Than fly to others that we know not of? Of mutual hearts, grow up and live in beauty, Thus conscience does make cowards of us all ; Then fade and fall, like fair, unconscious flowers ? And thus the native hue of resolution
Are thoughts and passions that to the tongue give Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought;
speech, And enterprises of great pith and moment, And make it set forth winning harmonies, With this regard, their currents turn awry,
That to the cheek do give its living glow,
And vision in the eye the soul intense
To live in it, and when that dies go out
O listen, man ! As once ye did in your young days of love, A voice within us speaks the startling word, On its alarms, its anxious hours, delays,
Man, thou shalt never die !" celestial voices Its silent meditations and glad hopes,
Hymn it around our souls ; according harps, Its fears, impatience, quiet sympathies ; By angel fingers touched when the mild stars Nor do ye speak of joy assured, and bliss Of morning sang together, sound forth still Full, certain, and possessed. Domestic cares The song of our great immortality; Call you not now together. Earnest talk Thick-clustering orbs, and this our fair domain, On what your children may be moves you not. The tall, dark mountains and the deep-toned seas, Ye lie in silence, and an awful silence;
Join in this solemn, universal song, Not like to that in which ye rested once
O listen, ye, our spirits ! drink it in Most happy,
silence eloquent, when heart From all the air ! 'T is in the gentle moonlight; With heart held speech, and your mysterious Is floating in day's setting glories ; Night, frames,
Wrapped in her sable robe, with silent step Harmonious, sensitive, at every beat
Comes to our bed and breathes it in our ears ; Touched the soft notes of love.
Night and the dawn, bright day and thoughtfuleve, A stillness deep,
As one great mystic instrument, are touched Insensible, unheeding, folds you round,
By an unseen, living Hand, and conscious chords
Quiver with joy in this great jubilee. And darkness, as a stone, has sealed you in ;
The dying hear it; and, as sounds of earth Away from all the living, here ye rest,
Grow dull and distant, wake their passing souls In all the nearness of the narrow tomb,
To mingle in this heavenly harmony.
Is this thy prison-house, thy grave, then, Love? What holds it? Dust that cumbered those I
And put on those of light. They're gone to dwell But, self-inspired, rise upward, searching out love, their God's and angels'? Mutual love, The Eternal Mind, the Father of all thought, That bound them here, no longer needs a speech Are they become mere tenants of a tomb ? For full communion ; nor sensations strong, Dwellers in darkness, who the illuminate realms Within the breast, their prison, strive in vain Of uncreated light have visited and lived ? — To be set free, and nieet their kind in joy. Lived in the dreadful splendor of that throne Changed to celestials, thoughts that rise in each Which One, with gentle hand the veil of flesh By natures new impart themselves, though silent. Lifting that hung 'twixt man and it, revealed Each quickening sense, each throb of holy love, In glory! -- throne before which even now Affections sanctified, and the full glow Our souls, moved by prophetic power, bow down Of being, which expand and gladden one, Rejoicing, yet at their own natures awed ? - By union all mysterious, thrill and live Souls that thee know by a mysterious sense,
In both immortal frames ; sensation all, Thou awfulunseen Presence, — are they quenched? And thought, pervading, mingling sense and Or burn they on, hiả from our mortal eyes
thought ! By that bright day which ends not, as the sun Ye paired, yet one ! wrapt in a consciousness His robe of light flings round the glittering stars ? Twofold, yet single, — this is love, this life!