My heart would hear her and beat,
Were it earth in an earthy bed;

My dust would hear her and beat,
Had I lain for a century dead;

Would start and tremble under her feet,
And blossom in purple and red.

G

MAUD.

PART II.

I.

1.

'THE fault was mine, the fault was mine'

Why am I sitting here so stunn'd and still,

Plucking the harmless wild-flower on the hill ?—

It is this guilty hand!—

And there rises ever a passionate cry

From underneath in the darkening land—
What is it, that has been done?

O dawn of Eden bright over earth and sky,
The fires of Hell brake out of thy rising sun,
The fires of Hell and of Hate;

For she, sweet soul, had hardly spoken a word,
When her brother ran in his rage to the gate,