ULALUME.

HE skies they were ashen and sober;

THE

The leaves they were crisped and sere—
The leaves they were withering and sere;
It was night in the lonesome October

Of my most immemorial year;
It was hard by the dim lake of Auber,

In the misty mid region of Weir—
It was down by the dank tarn of Auber,
In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.

Here once, through an alley Titanic,

Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul-
Of cypress, with Psyche, my soul.
These were days when my heart was volcanic
As the scoriac rivers that roll-
As the lavas that restlessly roll
Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek
In the ultimate climes of the pole-
That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek
In the realms of the boreal pole.

Our talk had been serious and sober,

But our thoughts they were palsied and sere-
Our memories were treacherous and sere-

For we knew not the month was October,
And we marked not the night of the year-
(Ah, night of all nights in the year!)
We noted not the dim lake of Auber-

(Though once we had journeyed down here)— Remembered not the dank tarn of Auber,

Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.

And now, as the night was senescent
And star-dials pointed to morn—
As the star-dials hinted of morn-
At the end of our path a liquescent
And nebulous lustre was born,
Out of which a miraculous crescent
Arose with a duplicate horn—
Astarte's dediamonded crescent
Distinct with its duplicate horn.

And I said

"She is warmer than Dian: She rolls through an ether of sighs— She revels in a region of sighs :

She has seen that the tears are not dry on

These cheeks, where the worm never dies, And has come past the stars of the Lion To point us the path to the skiesTo the Lethean peace of the skies

Come up, in despite of the Lion,

To shine on us with her bright eyesCome up through the lair of the Lion, With love in her luminous eyes."

But Psyche, uplifting her finger,

Said- "Sadly this star I mistrustHer pallor I strangely mistrust— Oh, hasten !-oh, let us not linger !

Oh, fly! let us fly !-for we must." In terror she spoke, letting sink her

Wings until they trailed in the dust-
In agony sobbed, letting sink her

Plumes till they trailed in the dust-
Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust.

I replied "This is nothing but dreaming:
Let us on by this tremulous light!

Let us bathe in this crystalline light!

Its Sybilic splendour is beaming

With Hope and in Beauty to-night-[night!
See it flickers up the sky through the

Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming,

And be sure it will lead us aright

We safely may trust to a gleaming
That cannot but guide us aright,

[night.'

Since it flickers up to Heaven through the

Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her,
And tempted her out of her gloom—
And conquered her scruples and gloom;
And we passed to the end of the vista,

But were stopped by the door of a tomb-
By the door of a legended tomb;

And I said " What is written, sweet sister,
On the door of this legended tomb?"
She replied " Ulalume-Ulalume—
'Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume!"

Then my heart it grew ashen and sober

As the leaves that were crispèd and sereAs the leaves that were withering and sere, And I cried "It was surely October

On this very night of last year

That I journeyed—I journeyed down hereThat I brought a dread burden down here— On this night of all nights in the year, Ah! what demon has tempted me here? Well I know, now, this dim lake of AuberThis misty mid region of Weir

Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber,

This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir."

BECA

TO MY MOTHER.

ECAUSE I feel that, in the heavens above, The angels, whispering to one another, Can find, among their burning terms of love, None so devotional as that of "Mother," Therefore by that dear name I long have called you— You who are more than mother unto me,

And fill my heart of hearts, where Death installed you

In setting my Virginia's spirit free.

My mother-my own mother, who died early,
Was but the mother of myself; but you

Are mother to the one I loved so dearly,

And thus are dearer than the mother I knew

By that infinity with which my wife
Was dearer to my soul than its soul-life.

THE BELLS.

I.

EAR the sledges with the bells—

HEAR

Silver bells!

What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,