(From Canto I.)

“My mother’s grave, my mother’s grave! Oh! dreamless is her slumber there, And drowsily the banners wave O’er her that was so chaste and fair; Yea! love is dead, and memory faded! But when the dew is on the brake, And silence sleeps on earth and sea, And mourners weep, and ghosts awake, Oh! then she cometh back to me, In her cold beauty darkly shaded!

“I cannot guess her face or form; But what to me is form or face? I do not ask the weary worm To give me back each buried grace Of glistening eyes, or trailing tresses! I only feel that she is here, And that we meet, and that we part; And that I drink within mine ear, And that I clasp around my heart, Her sweet still voice, and soft caresses!

“Not in the waking thought by day, Not in the sightless dream by night, Do the mild tones and glances play, Of her who was my cradle’s light! But in some twilight of calm weather She glides, by fancy dimly wrought, A glittering cloud, a darkling beam, With all the quiet of a thought, And all the passion of a dream, Linked in a golden spell together!”

II.

Spirits, that walk and wail to-night, I feel, I feel that ye are near; There is a mist upon my sight, There is a murmur in mine ear, And a dark, dark dread Of the lonely dead Creeps through the whispering atmosphere!

Ye hover o’er the hoary trees, And the old oaks stand bereft and bare; Ye hover o’er the moonlight seas, And the tall masts rot in the poisoned air; Ye gaze on the gate Of earthly state, And the ban dog shivers in silence there.

Come hither to me upon your cloud, And tell me of your bliss or pain, And let me see your shadowy shroud, And colourless lip, and bloodless vein; Where do ye dwell, In heaven or hell? And why do ye wander on earth again?

Tell me where and how ye died, Fell ye in darkness, or fell ye in day, On lorn hill-side, or roaring tide, In gorgeous feast, or rushing fray? By bowl or blow, From friend or foe, Hurried your angry souls away?

Mute ye come, and mute ye pass, Your tale untold, your shrift unshriven; But ye have blighted the pale grass, And scared the ghastly stars from heaven; And guilt hath known Your voiceless moan, And felt that the blood is unforgiven!

III.