CCCXXXII.

Gold—­still gold! it haunted her yet—­
At the Golden Lion the Inquest met—­
  Its foreman, a carver and gilder—­
And the Jury debated from twelve till three
What the Verdict ought to be,
And they brought it in as Felo de Se,
  “Because her own Leg had kill’d her!”

HER MORAL.

Gold!  Gold!  Gold!  Gold! 
Bright and yellow, hard and cold,
Molten, graven, hammer’d and roll’d;
Heavy to get, and light to hold;
Hoarded, barter’d, bought, and sold,
Stolen, borrow’d, squander’d, doled: 
Spurn’d by the young, but hugg’d by the old
To the very verge of the churchyard mould;
Price of many a crime untold;

Gold!  Gold!  Gold!  Gold: 
Good or bad a thousand-fold! 
  How widely its agencies vary—­
To save—­to ruin—­to curse—­to bless—­
As even its minted coins express,
Now stamp’d with the image of Good Queen Bess,
  And now of a Bloody Mary.

THE LEE SHORE.

Sleet! and Hail! and Thunder! 
  And ye Winds that rave,
Till the sands thereunder
  Tinge the sullen wave—­

Winds, that like a Demon,
  Howl with horrid note
Round the toiling Seaman,
  In his tossing boat—­

From his humble dwelling,
  On the shingly shore,
Where the billows swelling,
  Keep such hollow roar—­

From that weeping Woman,
  Seeking with her cries
Succor superhuman
  From the frowning skies—­

From the Urchin pining
  For his Father’s knee—­
From the lattice shining—­
  Drive him out to sea!

Let broad leagues dissever
  Him from yonder foam—­
Oh, God! to think Man ever
  Comes too near his Home!

SONNET.

The world is with me, and its many cares,
Its woes—­its wants—­the anxious hopes and fears
That wait on all terrestrial affairs—­
The shades of former and of future years—­
Foreboding fancies, and prophetic tears,
Quelling a spirit that was once elate:—­
Heavens! what a wilderness the earth appears,
Where Youth, and Mirth, and Health are out of date! 
But no—­a laugh of innocence and joy
Resounds, like music of the fairy race,
And gladly turning from the world’s annoy
I gaze upon a little radiant face,
And bless, internally, the merry boy
Who “makes a son-shine in a shady-place.”

THE ELM TREE.

A DREAM IN THE WOODS.

   “And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
   Finds tongues in trees.”—­As You Like It.

’Twas in a shady Avenue,
  Where lofty Elms abound—­
    And from a Tree
    There came to me
  A sad and solemn sound,
That sometimes murmur’d overhead,
  And sometimes underground.