Sorrows I've had, severe ones Ah! firstborn of thy mother, When life and hope were new; Kind playmate of thy brother, My bird when prison bound,— To say, "He has departed," 66 His voice,"—" his face,"-" is gone;" To feel impatient-hearted, Yet feel we must bear on : Ah, I could not endure To whisper of such wo, Unless I felt this sleep insure That it will not be so. Yes, still he's fix'd, and sleeping! This silence too the while Its very hush and creeping Seem whispering us a smile:— Something divine and dim Seems going by one's ear, Like parting wings of cherubim, Who say, "We've finished here." THE GLOVE AND THE LIONS. KING Francis was a hearty king, and lov'd a royal sport, And truly 'twas a gallant thing to see that crowning show, Valour and love, and a king above, and the royal beasts below. Ramp'd and roar'd the lions, with horrid laughing jaws; They bit, they glared, gave blows like beams, a wind went with their paws; With wallowing might and stifled roar, they roll'd on one another, Till all the pit, with sand and mane, was in a thunderous smother; The bloody foam above the bars came whizzing through the air: Said Francis, then, than there." 66 Faith, gentlemen, we're better here De Lorge's love o'erheard the king, a beauteous, lively dame, With smiling lips and sharp bright eyes, which always seem'd the same; She thought, The count, my lover, is brave as brave can be He surely would do wondrous things to show his love of me: King, ladies, lovers, all look on; the occasion is divine,— I'll drop my glove, to prove his love; great glory will be mine, She dropp'd her glove, to prove his love, then look'd at him and smiled; He bow'd, and in a moment leap'd among the lions wild: The leap was quick, return was quick, he has regain'd the place, Then threw the glove, but not with love, right in the lady's 66 face. By God!" cried Francis, "rightly done!" and he rose from where he sat; "No love," quoth he, "but vanity, sets love a task like that!" THE FISH, THE MAN, AND THE SPIRIT. TO FISH. You strange, astonish'd-looking, angle-faced, Cold-blooded, though with red your blood be graced, O scaly, slippery, wet, swift, staring wights, How pass your Sundays? Are ye still but joggles A FISH ANSWERS. Amazing monster! that, for aught I know, With a split body, and most ridiculous pace O breather of unbreathable, sword-sharp air, Go by! link'd fin by fin! most odiously. THE FISH TURNS INTO A MAN, AND THEN INTO A SPIRIT, AND AGAIN SPEAKS. Indulge thy smiling scorn, if smiling still, O man! and loathe, but with a sort of love; Live in whate'er has life—fish, eagle, dove— Man's life is warm, glad, sad, 'twixt loves and graves, ABOU BEN ADHEM AND THE ANGEL. ABOU BEN ADHEM (may his tribe increase !) "What writest thou?" The vision rais'd its head, And, with a look made of all sweet accord, Answer'd, "The names of those who love the Lord." "And is mine one?" said Abou. 66 Nay, not so;" The angel wrote and vanish'd. The next night It came again, with a great wakening light, And show'd the names whom love of God had bless'd, And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest. |