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Her lips and cheeks were like things dead—so
pale; Her hands were thin, and through their wan
dering veins And weak articulations might be seen Day's ruddy light. The tomb of thy dead self Which one vexed ghost inhabits, night and day, Is all, lost child, that now remains of thee!
“Inheritor of more than earth can give,
FRAGMENT ON HOME.
DEAR home, thou scene of earliest hopes and
joys, The least of which wronged Memory ever makes Bitterer than all thine unremembered tears.
FRAGMENT OF A GHOST-STORY.
A SHOVEL of his ashes took
And so they followed hard-
POEMS WRITTEN IN 1817.
A PALE dream came to a Lady fair,
And said, “A boon, a boon, I pray!
And things are lost in the glare of day,
And thou shalt know of things unknown,
If thou wilt let me rest between
Over thine eyes so dark and sheen:”
Tumultuously across her sleep,
All ghastly-visaged clouds did sweep;
And, as towards the east she turned,
She saw aloft in the morning air, Which now with hues of sunrise burned,
A great black Anchor rising there; i Mrs. Leigh Hunt, the “ Marianne” of this poem, dreamed the dream in question and related it to Shelley.-ED.
And wherever the Lady turned her eyes.
The sky was blue as the summer sea,
The depths were cloudless over head,
There was no sight or sound of dread,
To see that Anchor ever hanging,
The sound as of a dim low clanging,
There was a mist in the sunless air,
Were moveless, and each mighty rock
But piled around, with summits hid
In lines of cloud at intervals, Stood many a mountain pyramid
Among whose everlasting walls Two mighty cities shone, and ever Through the red mist their domes did quiver.
IX. On two dread mountains, from whose crest
Might seem, the eagle, for her brood,
Those tower-encircled cities stood.
And columns framed of marble white,
And giant fanes, dome over dome Piled, and triumphant gates, all bright
With workmanship, which could not come From touch of mortal instrument, Shot o'er the vales, or lustre lent From its own shapes magnificent.
But still the Lady heard that clang
Filling the wide air far away;
Among the mountains shook alway,
A light that made the earth grow red; Two flames that each with quivering tongue
Licked its high domes, and over head
Had burst its bonds; she looked behind
A raging flood descend, and wind
Where that fair Lady sate, and she
By the wild waves heaped tumultuously;
The flames? were fiercely vomited
From every tower and every dome, And dreary light did widely shed
O'er that vast flood's suspended foam, Beneath the smoke which hung its night On the stained cope of heaven's light.
XVI. The plank whereon that Lady sate Was driven through the chasms, about and
about, Between the peaks so desolate
Of the drowning mountains, in and out, As the thistle-beard on a whirlwind sailsWhile the flood was filling those hollow vales.
i The word waves stood here till Mr. Rossetti substituted flames, which is unquestionably right. -ED.