Upon his pallet, and with unclosed lips

Muttered a curse on death! The silent room
From its dim corners mockingly gave back

His rattling breath; the humming in the fire
Had the distinctness of a knell, and when
Duly the antique horologe beat one,

He drew a phial from beneath his head,
And drank. And instantly his lips compressed,
And with a shudder in his skeleton frame,
He rose with supernatural strength, and sat
Upright, and communed with himself :—

I did not think to die

Till I had finished what I had to do;

I thought to pierce th' eternal secret through
With this my mortal eye;

I felt-Oh God! it seemeth even now

This cannot be the death-dew on my brow.

And yet it is I feel

Of this dull sickness at my heart afraid;

And in my eyes the death-sparks flash and fade; And something seems to steal

Over my bosom like a frozen hand,
Binding its pulses with an icy band.

And this is death! But why

Feel I this wild recoil? It cannot be

Th' immortal spirit shuddereth to be free!
Would it not leap to fly,

Like a chain'd eaglet at its parent's call?
I fear I fear that this poor life is all!

Yet thus to pass away!

To live but for a hope that mocks at last-
To agonize, to strive, to watch, to fast,

To waste the light of day,

Night's better beauty, feeling, fancy, thought, All that we have and are-for this-for nought!

Grant me another year,

God of my spirit!-but a day-to win
Something to satisfy this thirst within!

I would know something here!

Break for me but one seal that is unbroken!

Speak for me but one word that is unspoken!

Vain-vain!-my brain is turning

With a swift dizziness, and my heart grows sick,
And these hot temple-throbs come fast and thick,
And I am freezing-burning-

Dying! Oh God! if I might only live!
My phial-Ha! it thrills me-I revive.

Ay-were not man to die

He were too glorious for this narrow sphere!
Had he but time to brood on knowledge here-
Could he but train his eye-

Might he but wait the mystic word and hour-
Only his Maker would transcend his power!

Earth has no mineral strange

Th' illimitable air no hidden wings-
Water no quality in its covert springs,

And fire no power to change

Seasons no mystery, and stars no spell,
Which the unwasting soul might not compel.

Oh, but for time to track

The upper stars into the pathless sky

To see th' invisible spirits, eye to eye

To hurl the lightning back

To tread unhurt the sea's dim-lighted halls-
To chase Day's chariot to the horizon-walls-

And more, much more-for now

The life-sealed fountains of my nature move-
To nurse and purify this human love-

To clear the god-like brow

Of weakness and mistrust, and bow it down
Worthy and beautiful, to the much-loved one-

This were indeed to feel

The soul-thirst slaken at the living stream-
To live-Oh God! that life is but a dream!

And death- -Aha! I reel

Dim-dim-I faint-darkness comes o'er my eye

Cover nie! save me!

God of heaven! I die!

'Twas morning, and the old man lay alone. No friend had closed his eyelids, and his lips, Open and ashy pale, th' expression wore

Of his death-struggle. His long silvery hair

Lay on his hollow temples thin and wild,
His frame was wasted, and his features wan
And haggard as with want, and in his palm
His nails were driven deep, as if the throe
him sore.

Of the last

had wrung agony

The storm was raging still. The shutters swung
Screaming as harshly in the fitful wind,
And all without went on-as aye it will,
Sunshine or tempest, reckless that a heart
Is breaking, or has broken in its change.

The fire beneath the crucible was out;
The vessels of his mystic art lay round,
Useless and cold as the ambitious hand
That fashioned them, and the small silver rod,
Familiar to his touch for threescore years,
Lay on th' alembic's rim, as if it still
Might vex the elements at its master's will.

And thus had passed from its unequal frame
A soul of fire-a sun-bent eagle stricken
From his high soaring down-an instrument