On a Ruined House in a Romantic Country

And this reft house is that the which he built, Lamented Jack! And here his malt he pil’d, Cautious in vain! These rats that squeak so wild, Squeak, not unconscious of their father’s guilt. Did ye not see her gleaming thro’ the glade? Belike, ‘twas she, the maiden all forlorn. What though she milk no cow with crumpled horn, Yet aye she haunts the dale where erst she stray’d; And aye beside her stalks her amorous knight! Still on his thighs their wonted brogues are worn, And thro’ those brogues, still tatter’d and betorn, His hindward charms gleam an unearthly white; As when thro’ broken clouds at night’s high noon Peeps in fair fragments forth the full--orb’d harvest-moon!

1797.

LIMBO

Tis a strange place, this Limbo!--not a Place, Yet name it so;--where Time and weary Space Fettered from flight, with night-mare sense of fleeing, Strive for their last crepuscular half-being;-- Lank Space, and scytheless Time with branny hands Barren and soundless as the measuring sands, Not mark’d by flit of Shades,--unmeaning they As moonlight on the dial of the day! But that is lovely--looks like human Time,-- An old man with a steady look sublime, That stops his earthly task to watch the skies; But he is blind--a statue hath such eyes;-- Yet having moonward turn’d his face by chance, Gazes the orb with moon-like countenance, With scant white hairs, with fore top bald and high, He gazes still,--his eyeless face all eye;-- As ‘twere an organ full of silent sight, His whole face seemeth to rejoice in light! Lip touching lip, all moveless, bust and limb-- He seems to gaze at that which seems to gaze on him! No such sweet sights doth Limbo den immure, Wall’d round, and made a spirit-jail secure, By the mere horror of blank Naught-at-all, Whose circumambience doth these ghosts enthral. A lurid thought is growthless, dull Privation, Yet that is but a Purgatory curse; Hell knows a fear far worse, A fear--a future state;--‘tis positive Negation!

1817.