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Full oft the riddle of the painful earth

Flash'd thro' her as she sat alone,
Yet not the less held she her solemn mirth,

And intellectual throne.

And so she throve and prosper'd : so three years

She prosperd : on the fourth she fell, Like Herod, when the shout was in his ears,

Struck thro' with pangs of hell.

Lest she should fail and perish utterly,

God, before whom ever lie bare The abysmal deeps of Personality,

Plagued her with sore despair.

When she would think, where'er she turn'd her sight

The airy hand confusion wrought, Wrote “Mene, mene,” and divided quite

The kingdom of her thought.

Deep dread and loathing of her solitude

Fell on her, from which mood was born Scorn of herself ; again, from out that mood

Laughter at her self-scorn.

“What! is not this my place of strength,” she said,

“My spacious mansion built for me, Whereof the strong foundation-stones were laid

Since my first memory ?”

But in dark corners of her palace stood

Uncertain shapes ; and unawares
On white-eyed phantasms weeping tears of blood,

And horrible nightmares,

And hollow shades enclosing hearts of flame,

And, with dim fretted foreheads all,
On corpses three-months-old at noon she came, ,

That stood against the wall.

A spot of dull stagnation, without light

Or power of movement, seem'd my soul, 'Mid onward-sloping motions infinite finden

Making for one sure goal.


A still salt pool, lock'd in with bars of sand;

Left on the shore ; that hears all night
The plunging seas draw backward from the land

Their moon-led waters white.


A star that with the choral starry dance i

Join'd not, but stood, and standing sawan The hollow orb of moving Circumstance Saia

Roll'd round by one fix'd law. - Scaminti

an af Hedina

Back on herself her serpent pride had curl’d.

“No voice,” she shriek’d in that lone hall, “No voice breaks thro' the stillness of this world :

One deep, deep silence all !”

She, mouldering with the dull earth's mouldering sod,

Inwrapt tenfold in slothful shame, Lay there exiled from eternal God,

Lost to her place and name;

And death and life she hated equally,

And nothing saw, for her despair, But dreadful time, dreadful eternity,

No comfort anywhere ;

Remaining utterly confused with fears,

And ever worse with growing time, And ever unrelieved by dismal tears,

And all alone in crime :

Shut up as in a crumbling tomb, girt round

With blackness as a solid wall,
Far off she seem'd to hear the dully sound

Of human footsteps fall.

As in strange lands a traveller walking slow,

In doubt and great perplexity,
A little before moon-rise hears the low

Moan of an unknown sea ;

And knows not if it be thunder or a sound

Of rocks thrown down, or one deep cry Of great wild beasts ; then thinketh, “I have found

A new land, but I die.”

She howlid aloud, “I am on fire within,

There comes no murmur of reply. What is it that will take away my sin,

And save me lest I die ? ”.

So when four years were wholly finished,

She threw her royal robes away. " Make me a cottage in the vale,” she said,

“Where I may mourn and pray.

“Yet pull not down my palace towers, that are

So lightly, beautifully built :
Perchance I may return with others there

When I have purged my guilt."


LADY Clara Vere de Vere,

Of me you shall not win renown : You thought to break a country heart

For pastime, ere you went to town. At me you smiled, but unbeguiled

I saw the snare, and I retired : The daughter of a hundred Earls,

You are not one to be desired.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere,

I know you proud to bear your name, Your pride is yet no mate for mine,

Too proud to care from whence I came Nor would I break for your sweet sake

A heart that doats on truer charms. A simple maiden in her flower

Is worth a hundred coats-of-arms.

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