With linked hands, for unrepelle
Had Helen taken Rosalind's.

Like the autumn wind, when it abinds
The tangled locks of the nightshade's hair,
Which is twined in the sultry summer air
Round the walls of an outworn sepulchre,
Did the voice of Helen, sad and sweet,
And the sound of her heart that ever beat,
As with sighs and words she breathed on her,
Unbind the knots of her friend's despair,
Till her thoughts were free to float and flow;
And from her labouring bosom now,
Like the bursting of a prisoned flame,
The voice of a long pent sorrow came.

Rosalind. I saw the dark earth fall upon
The coffin; and I saw the stone
Laid over him whom this cold breast
Had pillowed to his nightly rest!
Thou knowest not, thou can'st not know
My agony. Oh! I could not weep:
The sources whence such blessings flow
Were not to be approached by me!
But I could smile, and I could sleep,
Though with a self-accusing heart.
In morning's light, and evening's gloom,
I watched, and would not thence depart-
My husband's unlamented tomb.

My children knew their sire was gone,
But when I told them, he is dead,'-
They laughed aloud in frantic glee,

They clapped their hands and leaped about
Answering each other's ecstacy

With many a prank and merry shout;
But I sat silent and alone,

Wrapped in the mock of mourning weed

They laughed, for he was dead: but I
Sate with a hard and tearless eye,
And with a heart which would de ny
The secret joy it could not quell,

Low muttering o'er his loathed name.
Till from that self-contention came
Remorse where sin was none; a hell
Which in pure spirits should not dwe
I'll tell thee truth. He was a man
Hard, selfish, loving only gold,
Yet full of guile: his pale eyes ran

With tears, which each some falsehood told,
And oft his smooth and bridled tongue
Would give the lie to his flushing cheek:
He was a coward to the strong:

He was a tyrant to the weak,

On whom his vengeance he would wreak:
For scorn, whose arrows search the heart,
From many a stranger's eye would dart,
And on his memory cling, and follow
His soul to it's home so cold and hollow
He was a tyrant to the weak,

And we were such, alas the day!
Oft, when my little ones at play,

Were in youth's natural lightness gay,
Or if they listened to some tale

Of travellers, or of fairy land,

When the light from the wood-fire's dying brand
Flashed on their faces,-if they heard
Or thought they heard upon the stair
His footstep, the suspended word
Died on my lips! we all grew pale:

The babe at my bosom was hushed with fear
If it thought it heard its father near;
And my two wild boys would near my knee
Cling, cowed, and cowering fearfully.

I'll tell thee truth. I loved another.
His name in my ear was ever ringing,
His form to my brain was ever clinging;

Yet if some stranger breathed that name,

My lips turned white, and my heart beat fast:

My nights were once haunted by dreams of flame,
My days were dim in the shadow cast,
By the momory of the same!

Day and night, day and night,

He was my breath and life and light,

For three short years, which soon were past:
On the fourth, my gentle mother

Led me to the shrine to be

His sworn bride eternally.

And now we stood on the altar stair,

When my father came from a distant land,
And with a loud and fearful cry

Rushed between us suddenly.

I saw the stream of his thin grey hair,
I saw his lean and lifted hand,

And heard his words,-and live! O God!
Wherefore do I live?- Hold, hold!'

He cried,' I tell thee 'tis her brother!

Thy mother, boy, beneath the sod

Of yon church-yard rests in her shroud so cold: I am now weak, and pale, and old:

We were once dear to one another,

I and that corpse! Thou art our child!'
Then with a laugh both long and wild
The youth upon the pavement fell;
They found him dead! All looked on me,
The spasms of my despair to see ;
But I was calm. I went away;
I was clammy-cold like clay!
I did not weep; I did not speak;
But day by day, week after week,
I walked about like a corpse alive!
Alas, sweet friend, you must believe
This heart is stone: it did not break.

My father lived a little while,
But all might see that he was dying,
He smiled with such a woful smile!
When he was in the church-yard lying
Among the worms, we grew quite poor,
So that no one would give us bread,
My mother looked at me, and said
Faint words of cheer, which only meant
That she could die and be content;

So I went forth from the same church door
To another husband's bed.

And this was he who died at last,

When weeks, and months, and years had past,
Through which I firmly did fulfil

My duties, a devoted wife,

With the stern step of vanquished will,
Walking beneath the night of life,

Whose hours extinguished, like slow rain
Falling for ever, pain, by pain,

The very hope of death's dear rest;
Which, since the heart within my breast
Of natural life was dispossest,

Its strange sustainer there had been.

When flowers were dead, and grass was green
Upon my mother's grave,-that mother
Whom to outlive, and cheer, and make
My wan eyes glitter for her sake,
Was my vowed task, the single care
Which once gave life to my despair,-
When she was a thing that did not stir,
And the crawling worms were cradling her
To a sleep more deep, and so more sweet
Than a baby's rocked on its nurse's knee,
I lived a living pulse then beat
Beneath my heart that awakened me.
What was this pulse so warm and free?
Alas! I knew it could not be

My own dull blood: 'twas like a thought
Of liquid love, that spread and wrought
Under my bosom and in my brain,

And crept with the blood through every vein;
And hour by hour, day after day,
The wonder could not charm away,
But laid in sleep, my wakeful pain,
Until I knew it was a child,

And then I wept. For long, long years
These frozen eyes had shed no tears:
But now-twas the season fair and mild

When April has wept itself to May;
I sate through the sweet sunny day

By my window bowered round with leaves,
And down my cheeks the quick tears ran
Like twinkling rain-drops from the eaves,
When warm spring showers are passing o'er:
O Helen, none can ever tell

The joy it was to weep once more!

I wept to think how hard it were
To kill my babe, and take from it
The sense of light, and the warm air,
And my own fond and tender care,
And love, and smiles; ere I knew yet
That these for it might, as for me,
Be the masks of a grinning mockery.
And haply, I would dream, 'twere sweet
To feed it from my faded breast,
Or mark my own heart's restless beat
Rock it to its untroubled rest,

And watch the growing soul beneath

Dawn in faint smiles; and hear its breath,

Half interrupted by calm sighs,

And search the depth of its fair eyes
For long departed memories!
And so I lived till that sweet load

Was lightened. Darkly forward flowed
The stream of years, and on it bore
Two shapes of gladness to my sight;
Two other babes, delightful more
In my lost soul's abandoned night,
Than their own country ships may be
Sailing towards wrecked mariners,
Who cling to the rock of a wintry sea.
For each, as it came, brought soothing tears,
And a loosening warmth, as each one lay
Sucking the sullen milk away

About my frozen heart, did play,
And weaned it, oh how painfully!

As they themselves were weaned each one