OME, be happy!-sit near me,
Shadow-vested Misery:
Coy, unwilling, silent bride,
Mourning in thy robe of pride,

Desolation-deified!

II.

Come, be happy!-sit near me:
Sad as I may seem to thee,
I am happier far than thou,
Lady, whose imperial brow

Is endiademed with woe.

III.

Misery! we have known each other,

Like a sister and a brother

Living in the same lone home,

Many years—we must live some

Hours or ages yet to come.

IV.

'Tis an evil lot, and yet

Let us make the best of it;

If love can live when pleasure dies, We two will love, till in our eyes This heart's Hell seem Paradise.

V.

Come, be happy!-lie thee down
On the fresh grass newly mown,
Where the Grasshopper doth sing
Merrily -one joyous thing
In a world of sorrowing!

VI.

There our tent shall be the willow, And thine arm shall be my pillow;

Sounds and odours sorrowful

Because they once were sweet, shall lull
Us to slumber, deep and dull.

VII.

Ha! thy frozen pulses flutter

With a love thou darest not utter.

Thou art murmuring-thou art weeping

Is thine icy bosom leaping

While my burning heart lies sleeping?

VIII.

Kiss me; — oh! thy lips are cold :
Round my neck thine arms enfold-
They are soft, but chill and dead;
And thy tears upon my head

Burn like points of frozen lead.

IX.

Hasten to the bridal bed

Underneath the grave 'tis spread:

In darkness may our love be hid,

Oblivion be our coverlid

We may rest, and none forbid.

X.

Clasp me till our hearts be grown
Like two shadows into one;

Till this dreadful transport may

We may dream, in that long sleep,
That we are not those who weep;
E'en as Pleasure dreams of thee,
Life-deserting Misery,

Thou mayst dream of her with me.

XII.

Let us laugh, and make our mirth,
At the shadows of the earth,
As dogs bay the moonlight clouds,
Which, like spectres wrapt in shrouds,
Pass o'er night in multitudes.

XIII.

All the wide world beside us

Show like multitudinous

Puppets passing from a scene;

What but mockery can they mean,
Where I am-where thou hast been?

Fragment: The Vine amid

Ruins

LOURISHING vine, whose kindling clusters glow

Beneath the autumnal sun, none

taste of thee;

For thou dost shroud a ruin, and below

The rotting bones of dead antiquity.