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Profoundest Fear! who, closing thy wide eyes,
Beholdest God! and two eternities!

And shriek'st. "The One! The sole Infallible!" Brave Trembler! Thou, who seek'st, and fear'st to find,

The Cause Uncaused of mindless things and mind,
The Unapproach'd, Unsearchable, Alone!

If pain thou know'st, if weakness knows thee well,
And if thy weakness is unmeasured might,
Answer me! Why should helpless Death affright
The Lifter of the Veil of the Unknown?

XLIX.

What doth it cover? Mystery and Thee.
Life Everlasting, and All-vital Sleep,
That Mystery is, and evermore will be.
Thou art all passions, all in one, dark Fear!
All passions of all men, the bond and free,
Whether they love, or hate, or laugh, or weep;
For all would have, and all who have would keep.
Then, lift the veil, and thy own features see
Beneath it, thou strong servant of Love's might!
Taught by the Progresser to show Man here
God's face in goodness only, and the right;
Reading his Name in darkness which is light;
And ever summoning the infinite

Of age-long moments, to complete his Year!

L.

And to the Father of Eternal days,

And fairest things, that fairer yet will be,

Shall I no song of adoration raise,

While Passion's world, and Life's great agony,
Are one dread hymn, dread Progresser! to Thee?
Thou, Love, art Progress! And be thine the praise
If I have ever loved thy voice divine,

And o'er the sadness of my slander'd lays
Flings its redeeming charm a note of thine.
Oh, Gentlest Might Almighty! if of mine
One strain shall live, let it thy impress bear;
And please wherever humble virtues twine
The rose and woodbine with the thorns of care,
Thriving because they love! Thy temple, Lord, is

there!

After much theory, and some practice,

venture to propose the measure of this sonnet as a pattern to English sonnetteers; for while, to me, the Petrarchan, in our language, is at once, immelodious and inharmonious, the music of this, in its linked unity, is both sweet and various, and when closed by an alexandrine, majestic.

304

BALLADS.

ONE OF THE HOMES,

A HEALTH OF TOWNS' BALLAD.

THE small boy, in his home of sighs,

As if he hated man,

Died, with raised hand, and open eyes,

Frowning at little Ann.

Then, died his bird: she wept, she sigh'd:

"Twas worn to skin and bone;

But whether it of famine died,

Or fever, is not known.

She wept, but not for John-and yet

She loved her brother well;

She wept-wept for his little pet!

But why she could not tell.

Where frown'd its friend, his bird she put

Within the coffin small;

But then the lid refused to shut!

She thought she heard him call!

The dead hand propp'd the coffin-lid,
Above the dreadful frown;

It would keep up! it would, and did
The joiner screwed it down.
And so, they slept in company;
The blighted feather'd flower!
And poor bud of humanity-

Both blighted in one hour.

Farewell, thou old street-shunning lane,
Where John whole hours would stay,
When welcomed flowers came back again,
To welcome rainbow'd May!

Flowers which by name he once could call!
For he, with childish pride,

Had kept, at home, a funeral

Of flowers, that weekly died.
His father, who loved wild flowers, too,
Had taught the child their names,
Though, with a florist's pride, he grew
Outlandish flowers, in frames.
Where lay the father on the floor,
Was laid the coffin small;
The mother lay behind the door,

So, there were four in all;

The blasted, black, once beauteous thorn.
That never more would grow;

The rose, once sweet as dewy morn;
The blighted bud of woe;

VOL. II.

And, happiest there of all, the bird
That ne'er saw God's bless'd sun,

Or growing flower; ne'er saw, or heard,
Tree wave, or river run.

The rats peep'd out behind the door,
And loth they seem'd to go ;

The rats jumped down beneath the floor,

Into the sewer below.

Men raised, in haste, the coffins three,
In fearful haste were they :
Ann, famish'd, follow'd gloomily,
And heard the parson pray.
Grey-hair'd he was, a grey-hair'd youth,
Kind, humble, just, and wise;

He look'd on woe-worn toil and truth
With pity's tearful eyes ;

For he, a poor man's friendless son,
Once suffer'd long distress,

And hard up-hill his way had won

To honour'd usefulness.

His gown'd back to the wind he turn'd,
And waved the holy book:

On corpses three, by one child mourn'd
He look'd, with solemn look:
Behind him far, two youths well clad
Stood mute, with ladies two :

Before him gasp'd the bann'd and bad,
A poor death-daring crew:

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