O most accursèd garden! Ah, No single spot was in thy keeping Wherein my heart had not been sad, Wherein my eye had not known weeping. No single tree did it contain Beneath whose shade affronts injurious Had not against me utter’d been By tongues ironical or furious. The toad that listen’d in the grass Unto the rat hath all confided, Who told his aunt the viper straight The news in which himself he prided. She in her turn told cousin frog,-- And in this manner each relation In the whole filthy race soon learnt My dire affronts and sad vexation. The garden roses were full fair, And sweet the fragrance that they scatter’d; Yet early wither’d they and died, By a mysterious poison shatter’d. And next the nightingale was sick To death,--that songster loved and cherish’d. That sang to every rose her song; Through her own poison’s taste she perish’d. O most accursèd garden! Yea, It was as though a curse oppress’d it; Oft was I seized by ghostly fear, While broad clear daylight still possess’d it. The green-eyed spectre on me grinn’d, Terror with fearful mockery vying, While from the yew-trees straightway rose A sound of groaning, choking, sighing. At the long alley’s end arose The terrace where the Baltic Ocean At time of flood its billows dash’d Against the rocks in wild commotion. There sees one far across the main, There stood I oft, in wild dreams roaming; The breakers fill’d my heart as well With ceaseless roaring, raging, foaming. A foaming, raging, roaring ’twas, As powerless as the billows curling That the hard rock broke mournfully, Proudly as they their shocks were hurling. With envy saw I ships pass by, Some happier country seeking gladly, While I am in this castle chain’d With bonds accurst, and pining sadly. 8. APPENDIX TO “LAZARUS.”[87] I. Holy parables discarding, And each guess, however pious, To these awful questions plainly Seek with answers to supply us:-- Wherefore bends the Just One, bleeding ’Neath the cross’s weight laborious, While upon his steed the Wicked Rides all-proudly and victorious? Wherein lies the fault? It is not That our God is not almighty? Or hath he himself offended?-- Such a thought seems wild and flighty. Thus are we for ever asking, Till at length our mouths securely With a clod of earth are fasten’d,-- That is not an answer, surely? II. My head by the maiden swarthy but fair Was press’d ’gainst her bosom with yearning; But, alas! to grey soon turn’d my hair, Where had fallen her tears so burning.