Of my hands? Then I turn'd me self-banish'd, and came Into Thessaly here, where I met with the same

As myself. I have heard how they met by a stream In games, and were suddenly changed by a scream That made wretches of many, as she roll'd her wild

eyes

Against heav'n, and so vanish'd.-The gentle and wise Lose their thoughts in deep studies, and others their ill In the mirth of mankind where they mingle them still.

THE

TWO PEACOCKS OF BEDFONT.

THE

TWO PEACOCKS OF BEDFONT.

I.

ALAS! that breathing Vanity should go
Where Pride is buried, like its very ghost,

Uprisen from the naked bones below,

In novel flesh, clad in the silent boast Of gaudy silk that flutters to and fro, Shedding its chilling superstition most

On young and ignorant natures as it wont
To haunt the peaceful churchyard of Bedfont!

II.

Each Sabbath morning, at the hour of prayer,
Behold two maidens, up the quiet green

Shining, far distant, in the summer air

That flaunts their dewy robes and breathes between

Their downy plumes, — sailing as if they were

Two far-off ships,

The churchyard's humble walls, and watch and wait

On either side of the wide open'd gate.

And there they stand

III.

- with haughty necks before

God's holy house, that points towards the skiesFrowning reluctant duty from the poor,.

And tempting homage from unthoughtful eyes: And Youth looks lingering from the temple door, Breathing its wishes in unfruitful sighs,

With pouting lips, — forgetful of the grace,

Of health, and smiles, on the heart-conscious face;

IV.

Because that Wealth, which has no bliss beside,
May wear the happiness of rich attire ;
And those two sisters, in their silly pride,
May change the soul's warm glances for the fire
Of lifeless diamonds; and for health deny'd, -

With art, that blushes at itself, inspire

Their languid cheeks — and flourish in a glory
That has no life in life, nor after-story.

V.

-

The aged priest goes shaking his grey hair
In meekest censuring, and turns his eye
Earthward in grief, and heavenward in pray'r,
And sighs, and clasps his hands, and passes by.
Good-hearted man! what sullen soul would wear
Thy sorrow for a garb, and constantly
Put on thy censure, that might win the praise
Of one so grey in goodness and in days?