'Tis hard for human actions to account, Those gloomy stairs, so dark, and damp, and With odors as from bones and relics carnal, Those dreary stairs, where with the sounding stress Of every step so many echoes blended, That mystic moth, which, with a sense pro- Of all unholy presence, augurs truly; Such omens in the place there seemed to be, For over all there hung a cloud of fear, Yet no portentous Shape the sight amazed; And Faces spectre-pallid. Not merely with the mimic life that lies Their souls were looking through their painted eyes With awful speculation. On every lip a speechless horror dwelt; Such earnest woe their features overcast, spoken: But, save the hollow moaning of the blast, No other sound or stir of life was there, Except my steps in solitary chamber. Deserted rooms of luxury and state, Rich hangings, storied by the needle's art, The silent waste of mildew and the moth The mind, with dark misgivings, feared to guess Each feature stern and savage. The tempest with its spoils had drifted in, The air was thick-and in the upper gloom And on the wall, as chilly as a tomb, The sky was pale; the cloud a thing of doubt; Some hues were fresh, and some decayed and But still the BLOODY HAND shone strangely out The BLOODY HAND that with a lurid stain Perchance, the very race and constant riot And so he might impale a strip of soil, That furnished, by his toil, Some dusty greens, for him and his old woman But, tired of always looking at the coaches, The same to come,-when they had seen them one day! And, used to brisker life, both man and wife Began to suffer N-U-E's approaches, And feel retirement like a long wet Sunday,So, having had some quarters of School-breeding, They turned themselves, like other folk, to reading; But setting out where others nigh have done, Or Paley ethical, or learned Porson,- But chiefly fairy tales they loved to con, Thus reading on-the longer They read of course, their childish faith grew stronger In Gnomes, and Hags, and Elves, and Giants grim, If talking Trees and Birds revealed to him, And magic-fishes swim A FAIRY TALE. 81 In puddle - ponds, and took old crows for | There was no house-no villa there-no noth And being huffed At what he knew was none of Riquet's Tuft, But most unluckily enclosed a morsel And bolting off with speed, increased by pain, Just then, by Fortune's whimsical decree, Was getting up some household herbs for supper; At last, conceive her, rising from the ground, Where rest was to be found, VOL. III.-6 ing! No house! The change was quite amazing; It made her senses stagger for a minute, A NOCTURNAL SKETCH. A NEW STYLE OF BLANK VERSE. EVEN is come; and from the dark Park hark, To go and see the Drury-Lane Dane slain,- Or else to see Ducrow with wide stride ride Anon Night comes, and with her wings brings things Such as, with his poetic tongue, Young sung; Past drowsy Charley, in a deep sleep, creep, Now puss, while folks are in their beds, treads leads, And sleepers waking, grumble-"Drat that cat! Who in the gutter caterwauls, squalls, mauls, Some feline foe, and screams in shrill ill-will. Now Bulls of Bashan, of a prize size, rise Dreameth of one of her old flames, James And that she hears-what faith is man's!--Ann's banns And his, from Reverend Mr. Rice,. twice, thrice; White ribbons flourish, and a stout shout out, That upward goes, shows Rose knows those bows' woes! MRS. F. In vain she was doctored, in vain she was dosed, most, Even salmon she deeply declined. felt such ruts! BOATMAN. For months still I lingered in hope and in doubt, It's neap, ye see, she's heavy lade, and couldn't While her form it grew wasted and thin; But the last dying spark of existence went out, As the oysters were just coming in! She died, and she left me the saddest of men To indulge in a widower's moan, Oh, I felt all the power of solitude then, pass the bar. MRS. F. The bar what, roads with turnpikes too? I wonder where they are! BOATMAN. But when I beheld Virtue's friends in their Ho Brig ahoy! hard up! hard up! that lub cloaks, ber cannot steer! MRS. F. Yes, yes-hard up upon a rock! I know some danger's near! Lord, there's a wave! it's coming in! and roaring like a bull ! BOATMAN. Nothing, Ma'am, but a little slop! go large, Bill! keep her full! MRS. F. What, keep her full! what daring work! when full, she must go down! BOATMAN. Why, Bill, it lulls! ease off a bit-it's coming off the town! She's under what?-I hope she's not! good gra- Steady your helm! we'll clear the Pint! lay cious, what a spray! Run up the jib, and rig the boom! keep clear Be steady-well, I hope they can! but they've of those two brigs! got a pint of drink! |