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THE NECROMANCER

221

'Twas silent as a midnight church, that dim and mystic

place,

While shadows cast from many thoughts o'erswept the old man's face.

He spoke at last, and low and deep, yet piercing was the tone,

To one that o'er him long had watched, in reverence and alone.

"I leave," he said, "an empire dread, by mount, and shore, and sea,

Wider than Roman Eagle's wing e'er traversed proudly

free;

Never did King or Kaiser yet such high dominion

boast,

Or Soldan of the sunbeam's clime, girt with a conquering

host.

66 They hear me-they that dwell far down where the sea-serpent lies,

And they, the unseen, on Afric's hills that sport when tempests rise;

And they that rest in central caves, whence fiery streams make way,

My lightest whisper shakes their sleep, they hear me, and obey.

66

They come to me with ancient wealth-with crown and cup of gold,

From cities roofed with ocean-waves, that buried them

of old;

They come from Earth's most hidden veins, which man shall never find,

With gems that have the hues of fire deep at their heart enshrined.

"But

mightier power is on me now-it rules my struggling breath;

I have swayed the rushing elements - but still and strong is Death!

I quit my throne, yet leave I not my vassal-spirits free

Thou hast brave and high aspirings, youth ! — my Sceptre is for thee!

"Now listen! I will teach thee words whose mastery shall compel

The viewless ones to do thy work, in wave, or blood, or

hell!

But never, never mayst thou breathe those words in

human ear,

Until thou'rt laid, as I am now, the grave's dark portals near."

His voice in faintness died away,—and

was seen,

sudden flush

A mantling of the rapid blood o'er the youth's impassioned mien

A mantling and a fading swift, a look with sadness

fraught;

And that too passed-and boldly then rushed forth the ardent thought.

"Must those high words of sovereignty ne'er sound in human ear?

I have a friend-a noble friend-as life or freedom

dear!

Thou offerest me a glorious gift—a proud majestic

throne,

But I know the secrets of his heart - and shall I seal

mine own?

THE DYING GIRL AND FLOWERS

223

"And there is one that loves me well, with yet a gentle love

Oh! is not her full, boundless faith, all power, all wealth above?

Must a deep gulf between the souls, now closely linked, be set?

Keep, keep the Sceptre !-leave me free, and loved and trustful yet!"

Then from the old man's haughty lips was heard the sad reply

"Well hast thou chosen !-I blame thee not-I that unwept must die.

Live thou, beloved and trustful yet!-No more on human head

Be the sorrows of unworthy gifts from bitter vials shed!"

THE DYING GIRL AND FLOWERS

["I DESIRE as I look on these, the ornaments and children of earth, to know whether indeed such things I shall see no more?—whether they have no likeness, no archetype, in the world in which my future home is to be cast?-or whether they have their images above, only wrought in a more wondrous and delightful mould?"-Conversations with an Ambitious Student in Ill Health.]

BEAR them not from grassy dells
Where wild bees have honey-cells;
Not from where sweet water-sounds
Thrill the greenwood to its bounds;
Not to waste their scented breath
On the silent room of Death!

Kindred to the breeze they are,
And the glow-worm's emerald star,
And the bird whose song is free,
And the many-whispering tree:
Oh! too deep a love, and vain,
They would win to earth again.

Spread them not before the eyes
Closing fast on summer skies!
Woo thou not the spirit back
From its lone and viewless track,
With the bright things which have birth
Wide o'er all the coloured earth!

With the violet's breath would rise
Thoughts too sad for her who dies;
From the lily's pearl-cup shed,

Dreams too sweet would haunt her bed;
Dreams of youth-of spring-time's eves-
Music-beauty-all she leaves !

Hush! 'tis thou that dreaming art,

Calmer is her gentle heart.

Yes! o'er fountain, vale, and grove,

Leaf and flower, hath gushed her love;
But that passion, deep and true,
Knows not of a last adieu.

Types of lovelier forms than these
In their fragile mould she sees;
Shadows of yet richer things
Born beside immortal springs,
Into fuller glory wrought,
Kindled by surpassing thought!

DIRGE AT SEA

Therefore in the lily's leaf,

She can read no word of grief;
O'er the woodbine she can dwell,
Murmuring not-Farewell! farewell!
And her dim, yet speaking eye
Greets the violet solemnly.

Therefore once, and yet again,
Strew them o'er her bed of pain;
From her chamber take the gloom
With a light and flush of bloom:
So should one depart, who goes
Where no death can touch the rose.

DIRGE AT SEA

SLEEP!-we give thee to the wave,
Red with life-blood from the brave.
Thou shalt find a noble grave.
Fare-thee-well!

Sleep! thy billowy field is won:
Proudly may the funeral gun,
Midst the hush at set of sun,
Boom thy knell !

Lonely, lonely is thy bed,

Never there may flower be shed,

Marble reared, or brother's head
Bowed to weep.

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