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Full oft the riddle of the painful earth
Flash'd thro' her as she sat alone,
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
And horrible nightmares,
And hollow shades enclosing hearts of flame,
And, with dim fretted foreheads all,
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
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,
Of human footsteps fall.
As in strange lands a traveller walking slow,
In doubt and great perplexity,
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 :
When I have purged my guilt."
LADY CLARA VERE DE VERE.
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.