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But dreader sight could such be seen,

His inward mind did lie, Whose long-subjected humanness Gave out its lion cry,

And fiercely rent its tenement

In a mortal agony.


I tell you, friends, had you heard his wail, "Twould haunt you in court and mart, And in merry feast, until you set

Your cup down to depart

That weeping wild of a reckless child
From a proud man's broken heart.


O broken heart, O broken vow,
That wore so proud a feature!
God, grasping as a thunderbolt
The man's rejected nature

Smote him therewith, i' the presence high
Of his so worshipped earth and sky
That looked on all indifferently—

A wailing human creature.


A human creature found too weak
To bear his human pain!

(May Heaven's dear grace have spoken peace

To his dying heart and brain!)

For when they came at dawn of day

To lift the lady's corpse away,

Her bier was holding twain.

VOL. L-16


They dug beneath the kirkyard grass

For both, one dwelling deep,

To which, when years had mossed the stone, Sir Ronald brought his little son

To watch the funeral heap.

And when the happy boy would rather Turn upward his blithe eyes to see

The wood-doves nodding from the tree-
'Nay, boy, look downward,' said his father,
'Upon this human dust asleep.

And hold it in thy constant ken
That God's own unity compresses
(One into one) the human many,
And that his everlastingness is

The bond which is not loosed by any !—
That thou and I this law must keep,
If not in love, in sorrow then!
Though smiling not like other men,
Still, like them, we must weep.'


Can my affections find out nothing best,

But still and still remove?



I PLANT a tree whose leaf

The yew-tree leaf will suit.
But when its shade is o'er you laid,
Turn round and pluck the fruit.
Now reach my harp from off the wall
Where shines the sun aslant!

The sun may shine and we be cold—
O harken, loving hearts and bold,

Unto my wild romaunt,


Margret, Margret.

Sitteth the fair ladye

Close to the river side,

Which runneth on with a merry tone

Her merry thoughts to guide.

It runneth through the trees,
It runneth by the hill,

Nathless the lady's thoughts have found

A way more pleasant still.

Margret, Margret.


The night is in her hair

And giveth shade to shade,

And the pale moonlight on her forehead white
Like a spirit's hand is laid.
Her lips part with a smile
Instead of speakings done.

I ween, she thinketh of a voice,

Albeit uttering none.

Margret, Margret.


All little birds do sit

With heads beneath their wings: Nature doth seem in a mystic dream, Absorbed from her living things.

That dream by that ladye

Is certes unpartook,

For she looketh to the high cold stars

With a tender human look.

Margret, Margret,


The lady's shadow lies

Upon the running river.

It lieth no less in its quietness,

For that which resteth never.

Most like a trusting heart

Upon a passing faith,

Or as, upon the course of life,

The stedfast doom of death.

Margret, Margret.


The lady doth not move,

The lady doth not dream,

Yet she seeth her shade no longer laid
In rest upon the stream.
It shaketh without wind,

It parteth from the tide,

It standeth upright in the cleft moonlight,
It sitteth at her side.

Margret, Margret.


Look in its face, ladye,

And keep thee from thy swound!
With a spirit bold, thy pulses hold,
And hear its voice's sound.
For so will sound thy voice,
When thy face is to the wall;

And such will be thy face, ladye,
When the maidens work thy pall

Margret, Margret.


'Am I not like to thee?'.

The voice was calm and low;

And between each word you might have heard

The silent forests grow.

'The like may sway the like,'

By which mysterious law

Mine eyes from thine and my lips from thine

The light and breath may draw.

Margret, Margret.

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