sung

Strange songs in a forgotten tongue;
And as my spirit heard, it seemed
To feel what it had lived or dreamed
In other worlds beyond our skies,-
In ancient spheres of Paradise;
And as I gazed upon her face,
It seemed that I could dimly trace
Dear lineaments long lost of yore
Upon some unremembered shore,
Beyond an old and infinite sea,
In the realm of an unknown century.
For very joy I clapped my hands,
And leaped upon the nearer sands!-
A moment, and the maiden glanced
Upon me where I stood entranced;
Then noiselessly as moonshine falls
Adown the ocean's crystal walls,
And with no stir or wave attended,
Slowly through the lake descended;
Till from her hidden form below
The waters took a golden glow,

head bright

Had burst and filled the lake with

THE FROZEN GOBLET.

THE night was dark, the winds were loud,

The storm hung low in a swinging cloud;

The blaze on my chamber lamp was dim,

And athwart my brain began to swim Those visions that only swim and sweep Under the wavering wings of Sleep:And suddenly into my presence came A Spectre, thin as that dismal flame That burns and beams, a moving lamp, Where the dreary fogs of night en

camp.

Her lips were pale, her cheeks were white,

Her eyes were full of phantom light.
Once, twice, thrice,

A goblet wrought to a rare device
She held to fevered lips of mine;
But mocked them with its frozen wine,
Till they were numb on the dusky ice.

I could not speak, I could not stir,
I could do nought but look at her;
Nought but look in her wonderful
eyes,

And lose me in their mysteries.
The goblet shone, the goblet glowed,
But from its rim no liquid flowed.
Its sides were bright with pictures rare
Of demons foul and angels fair,
And Life and Death o'er Youth con-
tending,

And Love on luminous wings descending,

Celestial cities with golden domes,
And caverns full of laboring gnomes.
Once, twice, thrice,
That goblet wrought to a rare device
She held to fevered lips of mine,
But mocked them with its frozen wine,
Till they were numb on the dusky ice.

Loud rang the bell through the stormy air,

And the clock replied on the shadowy

stair,

And Chanticleer awoke and flung
The echo from its silvery tongue.
All nature with a sudden noise
Proclaimed the momentary poise
Of that invisible beam, that weighs
At midnight the divided days.

The Phantom beckoned and turned away,

I had no power to speak or stay
We passed the dusky corridor,
Her sandal gems illumed the floor,
And with a ruddy, phosphor light,
The frozen goblet lit the night.

Once, twice, thrice,

That goblet wrought to a rare device
She held to fevered lips of mine,
But mocked them with its frozen wine,
Till they were numb on the dusky ice.

She led me through enchanted woods,
Through deep and haunted solitudes,
By threatening cataracts, and the
edges

Of high and dizzy mountain ledges,
And over bleak and perilous ridges,
To frail and air-suspended bridges,
Where, in the muffled dark beneath,
Invisible rivers talked of death,
Until, for very sympathy
With the unfathomed mystery,
I cried, "Here I resign my breath,
Here let me taste the cup of Death!"
Once, twice, thrice,

That goblet wrought to a rare device
She held again to lips of mine,
But mocked them with its frozen wine,
Till they were numb on the dusky ice.

And then a voice within me said,
"Wouldst thou journey to the dead?—
Shed this mantle, and pass forever
Into the black, eternal river?—
For very sympathy, depart
From the tumult of this heart?
Know'st thou not that mightier river,
Rolling on in darkness ever,
Ever sweeping, coiling, boiling,
Howling, fretting, wailing, toiling,
Where every wave that breaks on
shore

Is a human heart that can bear no more?"

Once, twice, thrice,

That goblet wrought to a rare device
She held to fevered lips of mine,
But mocked them with the frozen

wine,

Till they were numb on the dusky ice.

And then in sorrow and shame I

cried,

"Oh, take me to that river's side,

And I will shun the languid shore,
And plunge me into the dark uproar,
And drink of the waters till they
impart

A generous sense, and a human heart."
And all at once, around me rose
A mingled mutiny of woes,
And my soul discerned these sounds
to be

The wail of a wide humanity;
Till my bosom heaved responsive
sighs,

And tremulous tears were in my eyes.
Once, twice, thrice,

That goblet wrought to a rare device
She held to fevered lips of mine,
And at their instant touch, the wine
Flowed freely from the dusky ice.

Through gates that are ringing While to and fro swinging, Swinging and ringing ceaselessly, Like delicate hands that are clapped in glee,

Beautiful hands of infancy!

The heart is a city-and gay are the feet

That dance along

To the joyous beat

Of the timbrel that giveth a pulse

to song.

Bright creatures enwreathed With flowers and mirth, Fair maidens bequeathed With the glory of earth, Sweep through the long street, and singing await,

A moment await at the wonderful gate;

Every second of time there comes to depart

Some form that no more shall revisit the heart!

They are gliding away and breathing farewell

How swiftly they pass Through the gates of brass, Through gates that are ringing While to and fro swinging, making deep sounds, like the

And

Of the

half-stifled swell

far-away ring of a gay marriage bell!

The heart is a city with splendor bedight,

Where tread martial armies arrayed for the fight,

Under banner-hung arches,
To war-kindling marches,
To the fife and the rattle
Of drums, with gay colors unfurled,
On, eager for battle,

To smite their bright spears on the spears of the world! Through noontime, through midnight, list, and thou'lt hear The gates swing in front, then clang in the rear.

Like a bright river flowing,
The war host is going,
And like to that river,
Returning, ah, never!

thunder is heard

From the city that flings Her iron-wrought wings, Flapping the air like the wings of a bird!

The heart is a city-how sadly and slow,

To and fro, Covered with rust, the solemn gates go!

With meek folded palms, With heads bending lowly, Strange beings pass slowly Through the dull avenues, chanting their psalms;

Sighing and mourning, they follow the dead

Out of the gates that fall heavy as lead

Passing, how sadly, with echoless tread,

The last one is fled!

No more to be opened, the gates softly close,

And shut in a stranger who loves the repose;

With no sigh for the past, with no countenance of pity, He spreads his black flag o'er the desolate city!

THE BEGGAR OF NAPLES.

THE music of the marriage bell Woke all the morning air to pleasure, And breasts there were that rose and fell

To the delightful measure.

Oh, well it were if they might hear alway

The music of their nuptial day Flowing, as o'er enchanted lakes and

streams

Out of the land of dreams-
Sweet sounds that melt but never

cease,

Dropped from celestial bells of peace. Oh, well it were if those rare bridal flowers

Had drunken deep of life's perpetual dews,

Had drunken of those charméd show

ers

Through the far loving skies,
Beyond the flaming walls of long-lost
Paradise;

Or grown beside that fabled river
Where it is spring-time ever;
Where, when the aged pilgrim stooped
and drank,

He rose again upon that primrose bank

In all the bloom of youth to bloom forever.

Ah, well for Beauty's transient bowers If they might bud and blow in life's

autumnal hours :For she who wore that bridal wreath Was Naples' noblest child; The fairest maid that e'er beguiled An Abbot of a prayerful breath. And he who rode beside her there Was Fame and Fortune's richest heir ;