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ebonboow D'alen odi blo eniva sdt brA MAUD; AND OTHER POEMS

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I HATE the dreadful hollow behind the little wood, Maud Its lips in the field above are dabbled with at blood-red heath,o doinda hoghs illudo sd T The red-ribb'd ledges drip with a silent horror of blood,

And Echo there, whatever is ask'd her, answers 'Death.'

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For there in the ghastly pit long since a body
was found,
His who h had given me
God! was it well?-
Mangled, and flatten'd, and crush'd, and dinted
into the ground: Bas DrogBN BU
There yet lies the rock that fell with him when
he fell.

Toons I do anniswold

3 elsig vont ob

Did he fling himself down?
lown? who knows? for a
vast speculation had fail'd,"



: Wo 8 J00


life father! Ő


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Maud And ever he mutter'd and madden'd, and ever wann'd with despair,

And out he walk'd when the wind like a broken worldling wail'd,

And the flying gold of the ruin'd woodlands 2 drove thro' the airo GUA¡GUAM


I remember the time, for the roots of my hair were stirr'd


By a shuffled step, by a dead weight trail'd, by a whisper'd fright, bnets And my pulses closed their gates with a shock daw on my heart as I heard The shrill-edged shriek of a mother divide the shuddering night.ith abs! B'ddaber sit boold to edil br/

One says, we

erowen; „rod b'dan ei nogold # su

Villainy somewhere! whose?
are villains all.

Not he: his honest fame should at least by me

be maintained:


But that old man, now lord of the broad estate
and the Hall,

Dropt off gorged from a scheme that had left
us flaccid and drain'd.
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gadw mid daw Hot seda doon sift evil dog si



Why do they prate of the blessings of Peace?
have made them a curs for all that is
got we have ma
Pickpockets, each hand lusting for all that is

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not its own;

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And lust of gain, in the spirit of Cain, is it Maud better or worse

Than the heart of the citizen hissing in war on
his own hearthstone? DASA UP 107

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But these are the days of advance, the works
of the men of mind,

When who but a fool would have faith in a
tradesman's ware or his word?
Civil war, as I think, and

Is it peace or war?
that of a kind
The viler, as underhand, not openly bearing
the sword.

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fid-91dmo 200

# Torlons sen?

Sooner or later I too may passively take the print
Of the golden age-why not? I have neither
hope nor trust;
May make my heart as a millstone, set my face
as a flint,

Cheat and be cheated, and die: who knows?
we are ashes and dust,



Peace sitting under her olive, and slurring the days gone by,

When the poor are hovell'd and hustled together, each sex, like swine.erbildo When only the ledger lives, and when only not all men lie;

Peace in her vineyard-yes!but a company forges the wine.


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Andis the vitriol madness flushes sups in the ogotedorsed awo did

ruffian's head,

Till the filthy by-lane rings to the yell of the trampled wife,


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And chalk, and alum and plaster are sold to the
poor for bread,
And the spirit of murder works in the very
means of life,aid no stew efnisme Abuka
bas plaid I 22 Jane fivid brew so soray # al

baid to asda

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And Sleep must lie down arm'd, for the villainous centre-bits

Grind on the wakeful ear in the hush of the nights,

17 100 equil

While another is cheating the sick of a few last
gasps, as he sits
To pestle a poison'd poison behind his crimson
Sew lights.



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When a Mammonite mother kills her babe for
a burial fee,
yd nog

And Timout-Mammon grins on a pile of
children's bones,in 28 dons


Is it peace or war? better, war! loud war by
land and by sea,
War with a thousand battles,
hundred thrones.

if from lis and shaking a

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