But at times there were gentler processions of peace
That I watch'd with my soul in my eyes till their cease,
There were women! there men! but to me a third sex
I saw them all dots-yet I loved them as specks:
And oft to assuage a sad yearning of eyes

I stole near the city, but stole covert-wise

Like a wild beast of love, and perchance to be smitten
By some hand that I rather had wept on than bitten!
Oh, I once had a haunt near a cot where a mother
Daily sat in the shade with her child, and would smother
Its eyelids in kisses, and then in its sleep

Sang dreams in its ear of its manhood, while deep
In a thicket of willows I gazed o'er the brooks
That murmur'd between us and kiss'd them with looks;
But the willows unbosom'd their secret, and never

I return'd to a spot I had startled for ever,

Though I oft long'd to know, but could ask it of none,
Was the mother still fair, and how big was her son?

For the haunters of fields they all shunn'd me by flight, The men in their horror, the women in fright; None ever remain'd save a child once that sported Among the wild bluebells, and playfully courted The breeze; and beside him a speckled snake lay Tight strangled, because it had hiss'd him away From the flow'r at his finger; he rose and drew near

Like a Son of Immortals, one born to no fear,

But with strength of black locks and with eyes azure bright

To grow to large manhood of merciful might.

He came, with his face of bold wonder, to feel

The hair of my side, and to lift up my heel,

And question'd my face with wide eyes; but when under

My lids he saw tears, for I wept at his wonder,

He stroked me, and utter'd such kindliness then,

That the once love of women, the friendship of men
In past sorrow, no kindness e'er came like a kiss

On my heart in its desolate day such as this!

And I yearn'd at his cheeks in my love, and down bent, And lifted him up in my arms with intent

To kiss him, but he cruel-kindly, alas!

Held out to my lips a pluck'd handful of grass!
Then I dropt him in horror, but felt as I fled
The stone he indignantly hurl'd at my head,
That dissever'd my ear, but I felt not, whose fate
Was to meet more distress in his love than his hate!

Thus I wander'd, companion'd of grief and forlorn,
Till I wish'd for that land where my being was born,
But what was that land with its love, where my home
Was self-shut against me; for why should I come
Like an after-distress to my grey-bearded father,
With a blight to the last of his sight?-let him rather
Lament for me dead, and shed tears in the urn
Where I was not, and still in fond memory turn

To his son even such as he left him. Oh, how
Could I walk with the youth once my fellows, but now
Like Gods to my humbled estate?—or how bear
The steeds once the pride of my eyes and the care
Of my hands! Then I turn'd me self-banished, and came
Into Thessaly here, where I met with the same
As myself. I have heard how they met by a stream
In games, and were suddenly changed by a scream
That made wretches of many, as she roll'd her wild eyes
Against heav'n, and so vanish'd.-The gentle and wise
Lose their thoughts in deep studies, and others their ill
In the mirth of mankind where they mingle them still.

THE

TWO PEACOCKS OF BEDFONT.

I.

ALAS! that breathing Vanity should go
Where pride is buried,-like its very ghost,
Uprisen from the naked bones below,

In novel flesh, clad in the silent boast
Of gaudy silk that flutters to and fro,

Shedding its chilling superstition most
On young and ignorant natures-as it wont
To haunt the peaceful churchyard of Bedfont!

II.

Each Sabbath morning, at the hour of prayer,
Behold two maidens, up the quiet green

Shining, far distant, in the summer air

That flaunts their dewy robes and breathes between

Their downy plumes,-sailing as if they were

Two far-off ships,-until they brush between

The churchyard's humble walls, and watch and wait
On either side of the wide open'd gate.

I

III.

And there they stand—with haughty necks before God's holy house, that points towards the skiesFrowning reluctant duty from the poor,

And tempting homage from unthoughtful eyes: And Youth looks lingering from the temple door, Breathing its wishes in unfruitful sighs,

With pouting lips,-forgetful of the grace,

Of health, and smiles, on the heart-conscious face;

IV.

Because that wealth, which has no bliss beside,
May wear the happiness of rich attire;

And those two sisters, in their silly pride,

May change the soul's warm glances for the fire Of lifeless diamonds;-and for health deny'd,With art, that blushes at itself, inspire Their languid cheeks-and flourish in a glory That has no life in life, nor after-story.

V.

The aged priest goes shaking his grey hair
In meekest censuring, and turns his eye
Earthward in grief, and heavenward in pray'r,
And sighs and clasps his hands, and passes by.
Good-hearted man! what sullen soul would wear
Thy sorrow for a garb, and constantly

Put on thy censure, that might win the praise
Of one so grey in goodness and in days?

VI.

Also the solemn clerk partakes the shame
Of this ungodly shine of human pride,
And sadly blends his reverence and blame
In one grave bow, and passes with a stride
Impatient:-many a red-hooded dame

Turns her pain'd head, but not her glance, aside
From wanton dress, and marvels o'er again,
That heaven hath no wet judgments for the vain.

VII.

"I have a lily in the bloom at home,"
Quoth one," and by the blessed Sabbath day
I'll pluck my lily in its pride, and come
And read a lesson upon vain array;—

And when stiff silks are rustling up, and some
Give place, I'll shake it in proud eyes and say—
Making my reverence,-' Ladies, an you please,
King Solomon's not half so fine as these.'

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VIII.

Then her meek partner, who has nearly run

His earthly course,- "C

Nay, Goody, let your text

Grow in the garden.-We have only one

Who knows that these dim eyes may see the next? Summer will come again, and summer sun,

And lilies too, but I were sorely vext To mar my garden, and cut short the blow Of the last lily I may live to grow."