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 where the bells toll, chiming, dull and steady, The clock's slow hand hath reach'd 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 mould 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,
Deck'd with the virgin favours, rosy fair,
In the gay time when many a young rose glowing

Blush'd through the loose train of the amber hair. Woe, woe! as white the robe that decks me now— The shroud-like robe Hell's destin'd 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 stirring, Take the stern strength that Nature gives the few! Woe, for too human was this fond heart's feeling—

Feeling!-my sin's avenger1 doom'd to be;

Woe-for the false man's arm, around me stealing,
Stole the lull'd Virtue, charm'd to sleep, from me.

V.

Ah, he perhaps shall, round another sighing,
Of me forgetful, sting some tender breast—
Gaily, 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 enamour'd brings,
When the dread block the head he cradled presses,
And high the blood his kiss once fever'd springs.

VI.

Thee, Francis, Francis,2 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 lisp'd 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!

1 Und Empfindung soll mein Richtschwert seyn."

A line of great vigour in the original, but which, if literally translated, would seem extravagant in English.

2 Joseph, in the original.

VII.

Betrayer, what! thy soul relentless closing

To grief-the woman-shame no art can heal-
To that small life beneath my heart reposing!
Man, man, the wild beast for its young can feel!
Proud flew the sails-receding from the land,

I watch'd them waning from the wistful eye; Round the gay maids on Seine's voluptuous strand, Breathes the false incense of his fatal sigh.

VIII.

And there the Babe! there, on the mother's bosom,
Lull'd in its sweet and golden rest it lay,
Fresh in life's morning as a rosy blossom,
It smiled, poor harmless one, my tears away.
Deathlike yet lovely, every feature speaking
In such dear calm and beauty to my sadness,
And my heart cradled,-cradled still, in breaking,
The soft'ning love and the despairing madness.

IX.

"Woman, where is my father?"-freezing through me, Lisp'd the mute Innocence with thunder-sound;

Woman, where is thy husband ?"-call'd unto me,

Mine own stern heart, from out its deeps profound. Alas, for thee there is no father's kiss!—

He fondleth other children on his knee.

How thou wilt curse our momentary bliss,
When Bastard on thy name shall branded be!

X.

Thy mother-oh, a hell her heart concealeth,
Lone-sitting, lone in social Nature's All!
Thirsting for that glad fount thy love revealeth,
While still thy look the glad fount turns to gall.
In every infant cry my soul is heark'ning

The haunting happiness for ever o'er,
And all the bitterness of death is dark'ning
The heavenly looks that smiled mine eyes before.

XI.

Hell, if my sight those looks a moment misses—
Hell, when my sight upon those looks is turn'd—
The furies now avenge in thy pure kisses,

That slept in his what time my lips they burn'd.
Out from their graves his oaths spoke back in thunder!
The perjury stalk'd like murder in the sun-

For ever-God!-sense, reason, soul, sunk under—
The deed was done!

XII.

Francis, O Francis! let the spectre chase thee-
Fly league on league upon thy hurrying flight-
In the dread clasp of icy arms embrace thee,

And mutter thunder in thy dream's delight!
Down from the soft stars, in their tranquil glory,

Let thy dead infant look with ghastly stare; Let the shape haunt thee in its cerements gory,

And scourge thee back from heaven-its home is there!