Were some strange joy for us. Death,

And wind me in thine all-embracing arms!
Like a fond mother hide me in thy bosom,
And rock me to the sleep from which none wake.

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.

OTHELLO'S DESPAIR.

FROM "OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE." THE LAMENTATION.

O, NOW, forever

Farewell the tranquil mind! farewell content! Farewell the pluméd troop, and the big wars, That make ambition virtue! O, farewell! Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump, The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife, The royal banner, and all quality,

Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war! And, O you mortal engines, whose rude throats The immortal Jove's dread clamors counterfeit, Farewell! Othello's occupation 's gone!

Had it pleased Heaven

To try me with affliction; had he rained
All kinds of sores, and shames, on my bare head;
Steeped me in poverty to the very lips;
Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes;
I should have found in some part of my soul
A drop of patience: but, alas, to make me
A fixed figure, for the time of scorn
To point his slow unmoving finger at !
Yet could I bear that too; well, very well:
But there, where I have garnered up my heart,
Where either I must live, or bear no life,
The fountain from the which my current runs,
Or else dries up; to be discarded thence!

THE MURDER.

It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul,
Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars!
It is the cause. - Yet I 'll not shed her blood;
Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow,
And smooth as monumental alabaster.
Yet she must die, else she 'll betray more men.
Put out the light, and then Put out the light!
If I quench thee, thou flaming minister,
I can again thy former light restore,
Should I repent me:- - but once put out thy light,
Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature,
I know not where is that Promethean heat,
That can thy light relume. When I have plucked

thy rose,

I cannot give it vital growth again,

It needs must wither:-I'll smell it on the tree.

[Kissing her.

more:

Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee,
And love thee after:-one more, and this the last:
So sweet was ne'er so fatal.
I must weep,
But they are cruel tears: this sorrow 's heavenly!
It strikes, where it doth love.

THE REMORSE.

Behold, I have a weapon;

A better never did itself sustain
Upon a soldier's thigh: I have seen the day,
That, with this little arm and this good sword,
I have made my way through more impediments
Than twenty times your stop: -but, O vain boast!
Who can control his fate? 't is not so now. —

Be not afraid, though you do see me weaponed;
Here is my journey's end, here is my butt,
And very sea-mark of my utmost sail.
Do you go back dismayed? 't is a lost fear;
Man but a rush against Othello's breast,
And he retires : where should Othello go? -
Now, how dost thou look now? Oill-starred wench!
Pale as thy smock! when we shall meet at compt,
This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven,
Even like thy chastity.
And fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my girl!

THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM.

'T WAS in the prime of summer time,
An evening calm and cool,
And four-and-twenty happy boys

Came bounding out of school;

There were some that ran, and some that leapt Like troutlets in a pool.

Away they sped with gamesome minds

And souls untouched by sin;

To a level mead they came, and there
They drave the wickets in:
Pleasantly shone the setting sun
Over the town of Lynn.

Like sportive deer they coursed about,
And shouted as they ran,
Turning to mirth all things of earth
As only boyhood can;

But the usher sat remote from all,
A melancholy man!

His hat was off, his vest apart,

To catch heaven's blessed breeze;

For a burning thought was in his brow,
And his bosom ill at ease;

So he leaned his head on his hands, and read
The book between his knees.

Leaf after leaf he turned it o'er,

Nor ever glanced aside,

For the peace of his soul he read that book In the golden eventide ;

Much study had made him very lean,

And pale, and leaden-eyed.

At last he shut the ponderous tome;
With a fast and fervent grasp
He strained the dusky covers close,
And fixed the brazen hasp:
"O God! could I so close my mind,
And clasp it with a clasp !"

Then leaping on his feet upright,

Some moody turns he took, Now up the mead, then down the mead,

And past a shady nook,

And, lo he saw a little boy

That pored upon a book.

"My gentle lad, what is 't you read, Romance or fairy fable?

Or is it some historic page,

Of kings and crowns unstable ?"

The young boy gave an upward glance, "It is "The Death of Abel.'"

The usher took six hasty strides,
As smit with sudden pain,
Six hasty strides beyond the place,
Then slowly back again;
And down he sat beside the lad,

And talked with him of Cain;

"My head was like an ardent coal,

My heart as solid ice;

My wretched, wretched soul, I knew,
Was at the Devil's price.

A dozen times I groaned, the dead
Had never groaned but twice.

"And now, from forth the frowning sky,
From the heaven's topmost height,
I heard a voice, the awful voice
Of the blood-avenging sprite :
"Thou guilty man! take up thy dead,

And hide it from my sight!'

"And I took the dreary body up,

And cast it in a stream, -
The sluggish water black as ink,
The depth was so extreme :
My gentle boy, remember, this
Is nothing but a dream!

"Down went the corse with a hollow plunge, And vanished in the pool;

Anon I cleansed my bloody hands,
And washed my forehead cool,
And sat among the urchins young,

That evening, in the school.

"O Heaven! to think of their white souls, And mine so black and grim !

I could not share in childish prayer,
Nor join in evening hymn;
Like a devil of the pit I seemed,

'Mid holy cherubim !

"And Peace went with them, one and all,
And each calm pillow spread;
But Guilt was my grim chamberlain,
That lighted me to bed,

And drew my midnight curtains round
With fingers bloody red!
"All night I lay in agony,

In anguish dark and deep;
My fevered eyes I dared not close,
But stared aghast at Sleep;
For Sin had rendered unto her
The keys of hell to keep!
"All night I lay in agony,
From weary chime to chime;
With one besetting horrid hint
That racked me all the time,
A mighty yearning, like the first
Fierce impulse unto crime, -

"One stern tyrannic thought, that made
All other thoughts its slave!
Stronger and stronger every pulse
Did that temptation crave,-

Still urging me to go and see

The dead man in his grave!

'Heavily I rose up, as soon

As light was in the sky,
And sought the black accursed pool
With a wild, misgiving eye;
And I saw the dead in the river-bed,
For the faithless stream was dry.

"Merrily rose the lark, and shook
The dew-drop from its wing;

But I never marked its morning flight,
I never heard it sing,

For I was stooping once again

Under the horrid thing.

"With breathless speed, like a soul in chase, I took him up and ran; There was no time to dig a grave

Before the day began,

In a lonesome wood, with heaps of leaves, I hid the murdered man!

"And all that day I read in school,

But my thought was otherwhere; As soon as the midday task was done, In secret I was there,

And a mighty wind had swept the leaves,
And still the corse was bare!
"Then down I cast me on my face,

And first began to weep,
For I knew my secret then was one

That earth refused to keep,

Or land or sea, though he should be
Ten thousand fathoms deep.
"So wills the fierce avenging sprite,
Till blood for blood atones!
Ay, though he's buried in a cave,

And trodden down with stones,
And years have rotted off his flesh,
The world shall see his bones!

"O God! that horrid, horrid dream Besets me now awake!

Again again, with dizzy brain,

The human life I take;

And my red right hand grows raging hot, Like Cranmer's at the stake.

"And still no peace for the restless clay Will wave or mould allow ;

The horrid thing pursues my soul,
It stands before me now!"
The fearful boy looked up, and saw
Huge drops upon his brow.

That very night, while gentle sleep

The urchin's eyelids kissed,

Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn Through the cold and heavy mist; And Eugene Aram walked between, With gyves upon his wrist.

THOMAS HOOD.