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The world it is empty, the heart will die,
SUGGESTED BY THE LAST WORDS OF BERENGARIUS OB. ANNO DOM. 1088.
O more 'twixt conscience staggering and the
Soon shall I now before my God appear,
By him to be condemned, as I fear.
REFLECTION ON THE ABOVE.
Lynx amid moles! had I stood by thy bed,
Be of good cheer, meek soul! I would have said : I see a hope spring from that humble fear.
All are not strong alike through storms to steer Right onward. What? though dread of threatened
And dungeon torture made thy hand and breath
That truth, from which, through fear, thou twice.
Fear haply told thee, was a learned strife,
Or not so vital as to claim thy life;
And myriads had reached Heaven, who never knew Where lay the difference 'twixt the false and true!
Ye, who secure 'mid trophies not your own,
Like the weak worm that gems the starless night,
The ascending day-star with a bolder eye
SANCTI DOMINICI PALLIUM;
A DIALOGUE BETWEEN POET AND FRIEND, FOUND WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF AT THE BEGINNING OF BUTLER'S BOOK OF THE CHURCH.
NOTE the moods and feelings men betray,
made up of impudence and trick,
Enough of! we're agreed,
Who now defends would then have done the deed.
(Rome's smooth go-between !)
Laments the advice that soured a milky queen—
Who rapt by zeal beyond her sex's bounds,
Yet blames them both-and thinks the Pope might err !
What think you now? Boots it with spear and shield Against such gentle foes to take the field
Whose beck'ning hands the mild Caduceus wield?
What think I now? Ev'n what I thought before ;-
Still I repeat, words lead me not astray
So much for you, my Friend! who own a Church,
An emblem sometimes may comprise a tome!
And who shall blame him that he purrs applause,
Yet not the less, for modern lights unapt,
O Mary! make thy gentle lap our pillow!
A wild-rose roofs the ruined shed, And that and summer well agree; And lo! where Mary leans her head, Two dear names carved upon the tree! And Mary's tears, they are not tears of sorrow; Our sister and our friend will both be here to
'Twas day! But now few, large, and bright The stars are round the crescent moon! And now it is a dark warm night.
The balmiest of the month of June.!
A glow-worm fallen, and on the marge remounting Shines and its shadow shines, fit stars for our sweet fountain.
O ever-ever be thou blest!
For dearly, Asra, love I thee!
This brooding warmth across my breast,
Fount, tree, and shed are gone, I know not whither, But in one quiet room we three are still together.
The shadows dance upon the wall,
By the still dancing fire-flames made; And now they slumber, moveless all ! And now they melt to one deep shade! But not from me shall this mild darkness steal thee:
I dream thee with mine eyes, and at my heart I feel thee!