Here he lives in state and bounty,
Lord of Burleigh, fair and free,
Not a lord in all the county

Is so great a lord as he.
All at once the colour flushes

Her sweet face from brow to chin:
As it were with shame she blushes,
And her spirit changed within
Then her countenance all over

Pale again as death did prove; But he clasped her like a lover,

And he cheered her soul with love. So she strove against her weakness, Though at times her spirit sank: Shaped her heart with woman's meekness To all duties of her rank:

And a gentle consort made he,

And her gentle mind was such

That she grew a noble lady,

And the people loved her much.
But a trouble weighed upon her,
And perplexed her, night and morn,
With the burthen of an honour

Unto which she was not born.
Faint she grew, and ever fainter,
As she murmured, "Oh, that he
Were once more that landscape-painter,
Which did win my heart from me!"
So she drooped and drooped before him,
Fading slowly from his side:

Three fair children first she bore him,
Then before her time she died.

Weeping, weeping late and early,
Walking up and pacing down,
Deeply mourned the Lord of Burleigh,
Burleigh-house, by Stamford-town.
And he came to look upon her,

And he looked at her and said,

Bring the dress, and put it on her, That she wore when she was wed." Then her people, softly treading,

Bore to earth her body, drest In the dress that she was wed in,

That her spirit might have rest.

TENNYSON.

She was a Phantom of Delight.

SHE was a Phantom of delight
When first she gleamed upon my sight;
A lovely Apparition, sent
To be a moment's ornament;

Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair;
Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful Dawn ;
A dancing Shape, an Image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and way-lay.

I saw her upon nearer view,
A Spirit, yet a Woman too!

Her household motions light and free,
And steps of virgin-liberty;

A countenance in which did meet
Sweet records, promises as sweet;
A Creature not too bright or good
For human nature's daily food;
For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

And now I see with eye serene
The very pulse of the machine;
A Being breathing thoughtful breath,
A Traveller between life and death;
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
A perfect Woman, nobly planned,
To warn, to comfort, and command;
And yet a Spirit still, and bright
With something of angelic light.

Love.

ALL thoughts, all passions, all delights,
Whatever stirs this mortal frame,

All are but ministers of Love,

And feed his sacred flame.

WORDSWORTH.