Ah, let the unloving corpse controul
Thy scorn back from the loving soul,
Whose place of rest is won.

I have prayed for thee with deep sobs,
When passion's course was free:
I have prayed for thee with mute lips,
In the anguish none could see!
They whispered oft, 'She sleepeth soft'-
But I only prayed for thee.

"Go to! I pray for thee no more—
The corpse's tongue is still :
Its folded fingers point to heaven,
But point there stiff and chill:
No farther wrong, no farther woe
Hath licence from the sin below
Its tranquil heart to thrill.

"I charge thee, by the living's prayer,
And the dead's silentness,

To wring from out thy soul a cry,

Which God shall hear and bless! Lest Heaven's own palm droop in my hand, And pale among the saints I stand, A saint companionless."

V.

Bow lower down before the throne,
Triumphant Rosalind !

He boweth on thy corpse his face,

And weepeth as the blind.

'Twas a dread sight to see them so

For the senseless corpse rocked to and fro, With the living wail of his mind.

VI.

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.

VII.

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!

VIII.

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.

IX.

Yes, and a human one 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.

X.

They dug beneath the kirkyard grass,
For both, one dwelling deep:
And, after years had mossed the stone,
Sir Roland 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.
For thou thyself this law must keep,
If not in love, in sorrow then ;
Though smiling not like other men,
Yet, like them, thou must weep."

The Romaunt of Margret.

Can my affections find out nothing best,
But still and still remove?---

QUARLES.

I.

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 hearken, loving hearts and bold, Unto my wild romaunt,

II.

Sitteth the fair ladye

Margret, Margret.

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.

III.

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 doneI ween, she thinketh of a voice, Albeit uttering none.

Margret, Margret.

IV.

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.

V.

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

VI.

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.