Vainly seek the vanished graces—
Smile and rainbow leave no traces:
Out from Nature's lavish spring,

Out from every bud that blows,
Out from every living thing,
Still but the Destroyer grows!

VII.

Woe, I see the wild wind wreak
Its wrath upon thy rosy bloom,
Winter plow thy rounded cheek,
Cloud and darkness close in gloom;
Blackening over, and forever,
Youth's serene and silver river!
Love alike and Beauty o'er,
Lovely and beloved no more!

VIII.

Oh, Maid, as soars an oak on high,

And scorns the whirlwind's breath, Behold thy Poet's youth defy

The blunted dart of Death!

His gaze as ardent as the light

That shoots athwart the Heaven,
His soul yet fiercer than the light
In the Eternal Heaven
Of Him, in whose Creative Sea
Arise or sink the island stars-
Steers Thought along Infinity,
And fears but this-its bars!

IX.

And dost thou glory so to think?
And heaves thy bosom ?-Woe!
This Cup which lures him to the brink,
As if Divinity to drink,

Has poison in its flow!

Wretched, oh, wretched, they who trust
To strike the God spark from the dust!
The mightiest tone the Music knows,

The chords it strains-in shreds will tear;
And Genius wastes, the more it glows,
The light with which it gilds the air.

Vowed on the altar of the abused fire,

The spirits I raised against myself conspire!
Fleet-yes, I feel it-two short springs away,
And oh, for me no spring again shall bloom,
O'er me shall fall this tottering house of clay,
And the same light I kindled shall consume.

X.

And weep'st thou, Laura ?-No! forbid the tears Which mourn redemption from the doom of years! Wrong me not, Sinner!-shed no tears for me! Wouldst thou, whose eyes beheld the eagle wing Of my bold youth through air's dominion spring, Mark my sad age (life's tale of glory done)—

Crawl on the sod and tremble in the sun?

Hear the dull frozen heart condemn the flame

That as from Heaven to youth's blithe bosom came :

And see the blind eyes loathing turn from all
The lovely sins Age curses to recall?

Wrong me not, Sinner!-shed no tears for me! No, let the flower be gathered in its bloom!

And thou, young Genius, with the brows of gloom, Quench thou Life's torch while yet the flame is

strong!

Ev'n as the curtain falls; while still the scene
Most thrills the hearts which have its audience

been;

As fleet the shadows from the stage-and long
When all is o'er, lingers the breathless throng!

THE INFANTICIDE.

I.

HARK

ARK where the bells toll, chiming, dull and steady,

The clock's slow hand hath reached the hour decreed.

Well, be it so!-Lead on-my soul is ready,

Stern Grave-companions-to the Doomsman lead! Now take, O world! my last farewell—receiving My parting kisses-in these tears they dwell! Sweet are thy poisons while we taste believing; Now we are quits!-heart-poisoner, fare thee well!

II.

Farewell, ye suns that once to joy invited,
Changed for the mold beneath the funeral shade,
Farewell, farewell, thou rosy Time delighted,
Luring to soft desire the careless maid.

Pale gossamers of gold, farewell, sweet-dreaming
Fancies-the children that an Eden bore!
Blossoms that died while Dawn itself was gleaming,
Opening in happy sunlight never more.

III.

Swan-like the robe which Innocence, bestowing,
Decked with the virgin favors, rosy fair,
In the gay time when many a young rose glowing
Blushed through the loose train of the amber
hair.

Woe, woe! as white the robe that decks me now—
The shroud-like robe Hell's destined victim

wears;

Still shall the fillet bind this burning brow

That sable braid the Doomsman's hand prepares!

IV.

Weep ye, who never fell-for whom, unerring,
The soul's white lilies keep their virgin hue,
Ye who, when thoughts so danger-sweet are stir
ring,

Take the stern strength that Nature gives the

few!

Woe, for too human was this fond heart's feeling—
Feeling!-my sin's avenger' doomed to be;
Woe-for the false man's arm, around me stealing,
Stole the lulled Virtue, charmed to sleep, from me.

V.

Ah, he perhaps shall, round another sighing,
Of me forgetful, sting some tender breast-
Gayly, when I in the dumb grave am lying,

Pour the warm wish, or speed the wanton jest; Or play, perchance, with his new maiden's tresses, Answer the kiss her lip enamored brings,

When the dread block the head he cradled presses, And high the blood his kiss once fevered springs.

VI.

2

Thee, Francis, Francis, league on league, shall follow

The death-dirge of the Lucy once so dear; From yonder steeple, dismal, dull, and hollow,

Shall knell the warning horror on thy ear.
On thy fresh leman's lips when Love is dawning,
And the lisped music glides from that sweet
well-

Lo, in that breast a red wound shall be yawning,
And, in the midst of rapture, warn of hell!

VII.

Betrayer, what! thy soul relentless closing

To grief-the woman-shame no art can heal—