They loved each other beyond belief, The woman a rogue was, the man was a thief; At each piece of knavery, daily She fell on the bed, laughing gaily. In joy and pleasure they pass’d the day, Upon his bosom all night she lay; When they carried him off to Old Bailey, At the window she stood, laughing gaily. He sent her this message: O come to me, I yearn, my love, so greatly for thee; I want thee, I pine, and look palely,-- Her head she but shook, laughing gaily. At six in the morning they hang’d the knave, At seven they laid him down in his grave; At eight on her ears this fell stalely, And a bumper she drank, laughing gaily. 2. CELEBRATION OF SPRING. O list to this spring time’s terrible jest! In savage troops the maidens fair Are rushing along with fluttering hair, And howls of anguish and naked breast:-- Adonis! Adonis! The night falls fast. By torchlight clear They sadly explore each forest track, Which mournful answers is echoing back Of laughter, sobs, sighs, and cries of fear:-- Adonis! Adonis! That youthful figure, so wondrous fair, Now lies on the ground all pale and dead; His blood has dyed each floweret red, And mournful sighs resound through the air:-- Adonis! Adonis! 3. CHILDE HAROLD. Slow and weary, moves a dreary Stout black bark the stream along; Visors wearing, all-uncaring, Funeral mutes the benches throng. ’Mongst them dumbly, with his comely Face upturn’d, the dead bard lies; Living seeming, toward the beaming Light of heaven still turn his eyes. From the water, like a daughter Of the stream’s voice, comes a sigh, And with wailing unavailing ’Gainst the bark the waves dash high. 4. THE EXORCISM. The young Franciscan friar sits In his cloister silent and lonely; He reads a magical book, which speaks Of exorcisms only. And when the hour of midnight knell’d, An impulse resistless came o’er him; The underground spirits with pallid lips He summon’d to rise up before him: “Ye spirits! Go, fetch me from out of the grave The corpse of my mistress cherish’d; For this one night restore her to life, Rekindling joys long perish’d.” The fearful exorcising word He breathes, and his wish is granted; The poor dead beauty in grave-clothes white Appears to his vision enchanted. Her look is mournful; her ice-cold breast Her sighs of grief cannot smother; The dead one sits herself down by the monk, In silence they gaze on each other. 5. EXTRACT FROM A LETTER. (_The Sun speaks._) What matter all my looks to thee? It is the well-known right of the sun To shed down his rays on ev’ry one; I beam because ’tis proper for me.