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Thought she as well of smiles, her lips | The wounded with the dead are gone; would pont
But Ocean drowns each frantic groan, With a perpetual simper. Walsingham And, at each plunge into the flood, Hath praised these crying beauties of the Grimly the billow laughs with blood.north,
Then, what although our Plague destroySo whimpering is the fashion. How I hate Seaman and landman, woman, boy? The dim dull yellow of that Scottish hair! When the pillow rests beneath the head, Master of Revels. Hush! hush !is that Like sleep he comes, and strikes us dead. the sound of wheels I hear? What though into yon Pit we go, [The Dead-cart passes by, driven Descending fast, as flakes of snow? by a Negro.
Who matters body without breath?
Then, leaning on this snow-white breast, Throw water on her face. She now revives. If me thou wouldst this night destroy, Mary Gray. O sister of my sorrow and
Come, smite me in the arms of Joy.
No! thrice ten thousand men are lying, With sable visage and white-glaring eyes, Of cold, and thirst, and hunger dying. He beckond on me to ascend a cart
While the wounded soldier rests his head Filld with dead bodies, muttering all the About to die upon the dead, while
What shrieks salute yon dawning light? An unknown language of most dreadful ”Tis Fire that comes to aid the fight!sounds.
All whom our Plague destroys by day, What matters it? I see it was a dream. His chariot drives by night away; -Pray, did the dead-cart pass?
And sometimes o'er a churchyard-wall
And piles them up a trophy high
King of the aisle and churchyard-cell ! To put an end to bickering, and these fits with yellow spots, like lurid stars Of fainting that proceed from female
vapours, Prophetic of throne-shattering wars, Give us a song; – a free and gladsome Bespangled is its night-like gloom,
song ; None of those Scottish ditties
framed of sighs, Thy hand doth grasp no needless dart,
As it sweeps the cold damp from the tomb. But a true English Bacchanalian song,
One finger-touch benumbs the heart.
If thy stubborn victim will not die,
And Madness leaping in his chain
night, After we parted : a strange rhyming-fit
Or Idiocy with drivelling laugh Fell on me; 'twas the first time in my life. And down the drunken wretch doth lie
Holds out her strong-drugg'a bowl to quaff, But you shall have it, though my vile crack'd Unsheeted in the cemetery.
voice Won't mend the matter much.
Many voices. A song on the Plague! Thou! Spirit of the burning breath, A song on the Plague ! Let's have it ! bravo! Alone deservest the name of death! bravo!
Hide, Fever! hide thy scarlet brow;
Till the leach bring water from the spring,
And scare thee off on drenched wing. Two navies meet upon the waves
Consumption! waste away at will! That round them yawn like op’ning graves; In warmer climes thou failst to kill, The battle rages; seamen fall,
And rosy Health is laughing loud And overboard go one and all!
As off thou stealst with empty shroud !
Ha! blundering Palsy! thou art chill! This frame of dust, this feeble breath,
The Plague may soon destroy ;
A deep and awful joy,
In the glory yet to come;
O idle grief! O foolish tears !
When Jesus calls us home.
That weep themselves to rest;
We part with life-awake! and there
Act II. SCENE III.
-Before the Plague burst out, 'Tis ours who bloom in vernal years
All who had eye-sight witness'd in the city To dry the love-sick maiden's tears,
Dread Apparitions, that sent through the soul Who turning from the relics cold,
Forebodings of some wild calamity.
The very day-light seem'd not to be pour'd
face Act II. SCENE II.
Look'd wan and sallow, gliding through the
streets H Y M N.
That echoed in the darkness. When the veil
Of mist was drawn aside, there hung the sun The air of death breathes through our souls, In the unrejoicing atmosphere, blood-red, The dead all round us lie;
And beamless in his wrath. At morn and even, By day and night the death-bell tolls And through the dismal day, that fierce And says: Prepare to die!
Glared on the city, and many a wondering The face that in the morning-sun
group We thought so wondrous fair,
Gazed till they scarce believed it was the sun. Hath faded, ere his course was run,
Did any here behold, as I beheld, Beneath its golden hair.
That phantom who three several nights
appear’d, I see the old man in his grave
Sitting upon a cloud-built throne of state With thin locks silvery gray;
Right o'er St. Paul's Cathedral ? On that I see the child's bright tresses wave
throne In the cold breath of the clay.
At the dead hour of night he took his seat,
And monarch-like stretch'd out his mighty The loving ones we loved the best, Like music all are gone!
That shone like lightning. In that kingly
motion And the wan moonlight bathes in rest Their monumental stone.
There seem'd a steadfast threat'ning-and
his features, But not when the death-prayer is said, Gigantic 'neath their shadowy diadem, The life of life departs :
Frown'd, as the phantom vow'd within his The body in the grave is laid
heart Its beauty in our hearts.
Perdition to the city. Then he rose,
Majestic spectre! keeping still his face At holy midnight voices sweet
Towards the domes beneath, and disappeard, Like fragrance fill the room,
Still threatening with bis outstretch'd arı And happy ghosts with noiseless feet
of light Come bright’ning from the tomb. Into a black abyss behind the clouds. We know who sends the visions bright,
-And saw ye not From whose dear side they came! The sheeted corpses stalking throngh the We veil our eyes before thy light, We bless our Saviour's name!
In long, long troops together-yet all silent
And, unobservant 'of each other, gliding Then rose a direful struggle with the Pest!
Moved onwards with the violence of despair.
Looking in perturbation through the glare They pass us by upon a lonesome road,
Of a convulsive laughter, sat and shouted Bat thousands, tens of thousands moved along There yet was heard parading through the
At obscene ribaldry and mirth profane. In grim procession- a long league of plumes
streets Tossing in the storm that roar'd aloft in heaven,
War-music, and the soldiers' tossing plumes Yet bearing onwards through the hurricane, Moved with their wonted pride. O idle show A black, a silent, a wild cavalcade
Of these poor worthless instruments of death, That nothing might restrain;till in a moment Themselves devoted ! Childish mockery! The heavens were freed, and all the spark- At which the Plague did scoff, who in one ling stars
night Look'd through the blue and empty firma- The trumpet silenced and the plumes laid low. ment!
As yet the Sabbath-day-though truly fear
Rather than piety fill'd the house of God-And I have seen
Received an outward homage. On the street A mighty church -yard spread its dreary
Friends yet met friends, and dared to inter
change realms O'er half the visible heavens
A cautious greeting—and firesides there were
- a churchyard blackend
Where still domestic happiness survived With ceaseless funerals that besieged the In endless schemes to overcome the Plague,
'Mid an unbroken family; while the soul, gates With lamentation and a wailing echo.
In art, skill, zeal, in ruth and charity O'er that aērial cemet'ry hung a bell
Forgot its horrors, and oft seem'd to rise Upon a black and thund'rous-looking cloud, But soon the noblest spirits disappear'd,
More life-like 'mid the ravages of death. And there at intervals it swung and tollid Throughout the startled sky! Not ! alone, Like a beleaguer'd fortress, that hath lost,
None could tell whither-and the city stood But many thousands heard it-leaping up, The flower of its defenders. Then the Plague Not knowing whether it might be a dream, Storm'd, raging like a barbarous conqueror, As if an earthquake shook them from their And, hopeless to find mercy, every one
Fell on his face, and all who rose again
To miss some well-known faces! to behold
The congregation weekly thinn'd by death, Priest. Like a thunder-peal
And empty scats with all their Bibles lying One morn a rumour turn'd the city pale; Cover'd with dust. And the tongues of men, wild-staring on each Priest. Ay-even the house of God other,
Was open to the Plague. Amid their prayers Utter'd with faltering voice one little word, The kneelers sicken'd, and most deadly-pale The Plague! Then many heard within their Rose up with sobs, — and beatings of the dreams
heart At dead of night a voice foreboding woe, That far off might be heard, a hideous knell And rose up in their terror, and forsook That ne'er ceased sounding till the wretches Homes, in the haunted darkness of despair died. No more endurable. As thunder quails Sometimes the silent congregation sat Th' inferior creatures of the air and earth, Waiting for the priest, then stretch'd within So bow'd the Plague at once all human souls, his shroud. And the brave man beside the natural coward Or when he came, he bore within his eyes Walk'd trembling. On the restless multitude, A trouble that disturb’d, and read the service Thonghtlessly toiling through a busy life, With the hollow voice of death. Nor hearing in the tumult of their souls Wilmot. Where was the king, The ordinary language of decay,
The nobles, and the judges of the land ? A voire came down that made itself be heard, Priest. They left the city. WhitherAnd they started from delusion when the none inquired. touch
Who cares now for the empires of the earth, of Death's benumbing fingers suddenly Their peerage or their monarchs? Kingly Swept off whole crowded streets into the
Sit unobserved upon their regal seats,
And the soul looks o'er ocean, earth, and The breathless calm of universal death. air,
Wilmot. How many children Heedless to whom its fields or waves belong, Must have died in beauty and in innocence So that there were some overshadowing This fatal summer! grove
Priest. Many sweet flowers died ! Central amid a mighty continent,
Pure innocents! they mostly sank in peace. Or sacred island in the healthful main, Yet sometimes it was misery to hear them Where men might be transported in a thought Praying their parents to shut out the Plague; Far from the wild dominion of the Plague. Nor could they sleep alone within their beds, Now He is monarch here-nor mortal brow In fear of that dread monster. Childhood lost Durst wear a crown within the fatal sweep Its bounding gladsomeness — its fearless Of his long bony arm.
gleeWilmot. He loves the silence
And infants of five summers walk'd about Of an unpeopled reign.
With restless eyes, or by their parents' sides Priest. Once at noon-day
Crouch'd shuddering, for they ever heard Alone I stood upon a tower that rises
them speaking From the centre of the city. I look'd down or death, or saw them weeping — no one With awe upon that world of misery;
smiled. Nor for a while could say that I beheld Wilmot. Hath not the summer been most Aught save one wide gleam indistinctly flung
beautiful, From that bewildering grandeur; till at once | 'Mid all this misery? The objects all assumed their natural form, Priest. A sunny season! And grew into a City stretching round What splendid days, what nights magnificent On every side, far as the bounding sky. Pass'd in majestic march above the City, Mine eyes first rested on the squares that lay When all below was agony and death! Without one moving figure, with fair trees O peaceful dwellers! in yon silent stars, Lifting their tufted heads unto the light, Burning 80 softly in their happiness! Sweet, sunny spots of rural imagery Our souls exclaim'd, - unknown inhabitants That gave a beauty to magnificence. Of unknown worlds! no misery reaches you, Silent as nature's solitary glens
For bliss is one with immortality! Slept the long streets—and mighty London The very river as it flow'd along seem'd,
Appear'd to come from some delightful land With all its temples, domes, and palaces, Unknown unto the Plague, and hastening on, Like some sublime assemblage of tall cliffs To join the healthful ocean, calmly smiled, That bring down the deep st llness of the A privileged pilgrim through the realms of heavens
death. To shroud them in the desert. Groves of Yea! in the sore disturbance of men's sonls masts
They envied the repose of lifeless things! Rose through the brightness of the sun- And the leafy trees that graced the cityeniote river,
squares, But all their flags were struck, and every Bright with the dews of morning, they seem'd sail
blest! Was lower'd. Many a distant land had felt On them alone th’untainted air of heaven The sudden stoppage of that mighty heart. Shed beauty and delight-all round them died. Then thought I that the vain pursuits of man London alone, of all the world seem'd curst. Possess'd à semblance of sublimity, O happy spots in country-or in town! Thus suddenly o’erthrown; and as I look’a Mid savage wilds — or dark and noisome Down on the courts and markets, where the
Cut off from human intercourse-or haunted of this world's business once roar'd like the By vice and sorrow, penury and guilt, sea,
Ye seem'd to all a blessed Paradise, That sound within my memory strove in vain, Whither on wings of rapture they would fiy, Yet with a mighty power, to break the silence Nor ever leave you more--for nature groans: That like the shadow of a troubled sky Where the Plague is not, there dwells hapOr moveless cloud of thunder lay bcneath me, piness.
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.
SYB I L L I NE LE A V E S.
THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT|The ship was cheer'd, the harbour clear'd,
Merrily did we drop
The Sun came up upon the left, Facile credo, plures esse Naturas invisibiles Out of the sea came he; quam visibiles in rerum universitate. Sed horum omnium familiam quis nobis enarrabit ? et gradus And he shone bright, and on the right et cognationes et discrimina et singulorum munera ? Went down into the sea. Quid agunt ? qnæ loca habitant? Harum rerum notitiam semper ambivit ingenium humanum, nun. quam attigit. Juvat, interea, non diffiteor, quando- Higher and higher every day, que in animo, tanquam in tabula, majoris et me- Till over the mast at noonlioris mundi imaginem contemplari: ne mens as- The wedding-guest here beat his breast, nis, et tota subsidat in pusillas cogitationes. Sed For he heard the loud bassoon. seritati interea invigilandum est, modusque serrandus, ut certa ab incertis, diem a nocte, distin- The bride hath paced into the hall, guamus. BURNET, Archæol. Phil. Red as a rose is she;
Nodding their heads before her goes
The merry minstrelsy.
The wedding-guest he beat his breast, It is an ancient Mariner,
Yet he can not chuse but hear; And he stoppeth one of three.
And thus spake on that ancient man, By thy long gray beard and glittering eye,
The bright-eyed Mariner. Now wherefore stopst thou me?
And now the STORM-BLAST came, and he The Bridegroom's doors are open'd wide,
Was tyrannous and strong : And I am next of kin;
He struck with his o'ertaking wings,
And chased us south along.
With sloping masts and dipping prow,
As who pursued with yell and blow He holds him with his skinny hand,
Still treads the shadow of his foe
And forward bends his head,
The ship drove fast, loud roar'd the blast,
He holds him with his glittering eye-
And now there came both mist and snow,
The wedding-guest sat on a stone:
And through the drifts the snowy clift