Therefore thou art not wrong,
    Israfeli, who despisest
  An unimpassioned song;
  To thee the laurels belong,
    Best bard, because the wisest: 
  Merrily live, and long!

  The ecstasies above
    With thy burning measures suit: 
  Thy grief, thy joy, thy hate, thy love,
    With the fervor of thy lute: 
    Well may the stars be mute!

  Yes, Heaven is thine; but this
    Is a world of sweets and sours;
    Our flowers are merely—­flowers,
  And the shadow of thy perfect bliss
  Is the sunshine of ours.

  If I could dwell
  Where Israfel
    Hath dwelt, and he where I,
  He might not sing so wildly well
    A mortal melody,
  While a bolder note than this might swell
    From my lyre within the sky.

E.A.  POE.

Unseen Spirits.

  The shadows lay along Broadway,—­
    ’Twas near the twilight-tide,—­
  And slowly there a lady fair
    Was walking in her pride. 
  Alone walked she; but, viewlessly,
    Walked spirits at her side.

  Peace charmed the street beneath her feet,
    And Honor charmed the air;
  And all astir looked kind on her,
    And called her good as fair—­
  For all God ever gave to her
    She kept with chary care.

  She kept with care her beauties rare
    From lovers warm and true,
  For her heart was cold to all but gold,
    And the rich came not to woo;
  But honored well are charms to sell,
    If priests the selling do.

  Now walking there was one more fair,—­
    A slight girl, lily-pale;
  And she had unseen company
    To make the spirit quail,—­
  ’Twixt Want and Scorn she walked forlorn,
    And nothing could avail.

  No mercy now can clear her brow
    For this world’s peace to pray;
  For, as love’s wild prayer dissolved in air,
    Her woman’s heart gave way! 
  But the sin forgiven by Christ in heaven
    By man is cursed alway.

N.P.  WILLIS.

The Haunted Palace.

  In the greenest of our valleys
    By good angels tenanted,
  Once a fair and stately palace—­
    Radiant palace—­reared its head. 
  In the monarch Thought’s dominion,
    It stood there;
  Never seraph spread a pinion
    Over fabric half so fair.

  Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
    On its roof did float and flow
  (This—­all this—­was in the olden
    Time long ago),
  And every gentle air that dallied,
    In that sweet day,
  Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,
    A winged odor went away.

  Wanderers in that happy valley
    Through two luminous windows saw
  Spirits moving musically,
    To a lute’s well-tuned law,
  Round about a throne where, sitting,
    Porphyrogene,
  In state his glory well befitting,
    The ruler of the realm was seen.