Gilbert sprang from his bended knees, By the pale spectre pushed, And, wild as one whom demons seize, Up the hall-staircase rushed; Entered his chamber--near the bed Sheathed steel and fire-arms hung-- Impelled by maniac purpose dread He chose those stores among. Across his throat a keen-edged knife With vigorous hand he drew; The wound was wide--his outraged life Rushed rash and redly through. And thus died, by a shameful death, A wise and worldly man, Who never drew but selfish breath Since first his life began. LIFE. Life, believe, is not a dream So dark as sages say; Oft a little morning rain Foretells a pleasant day. Sometimes there are clouds of gloom, But these are transient all; If the shower will make the roses bloom, O why lament its fall? Rapidly, merrily, Life's sunny hours flit by, Gratefully, cheerily Enjoy them as they fly! What though Death at times steps in, And calls our Best away? What though sorrow seems to win, O'er hope, a heavy sway? Yet Hope again elastic springs, Unconquered, though she fell; Still buoyant are her golden wings, Still strong to bear us well. Manfully, fearlessly, The day of trial bear, For gloriously, victoriously, Can courage quell despair! THE LETTER. What is she writing? Watch her now, How fast her fingers move! How eagerly her youthful brow Is bent in thought above! Her long curls, drooping, shade the light, She puts them quick aside, Nor knows that band of crystals bright, Her hasty touch untied. It slips adown her silken dress, Falls glittering at her feet; Unmarked it falls, for she no less Pursues her labour sweet. The very loveliest hour that shines, Is in that deep blue sky; The golden sun of June declines, It has not caught her eye. The cheerful lawn, and unclosed gate, The white road, far away, In vain for her light footsteps wait, She comes not forth to-day. There is an open door of glass Close by that lady's chair, From thence, to slopes of messy grass, Descends a marble stair. Tall plants of bright and spicy bloom Around the threshold grow; Their leaves and blossoms shade the room From that sun's deepening glow. Why does she not a moment glance Between the clustering flowers, And mark in heaven the radiant dance Of evening's rosy hours? O look again! Still fixed her eye, Unsmiling, earnest, still, And fast her pen and fingers fly, Urged by her eager will.