256 ASSOCIATIONS. Then, just above that long dark copse, And lights those lonely casement-glasses. Sir Ralph still wears that old grim smile. As I lean from the great south-chamber. And Lady Ruth is just as white. (Ah, still the face seems strangely like her!) Her boudoir-no one enters there: The very flowers which last she gather'd But when along the corridors The last red pause of day is streaming, Owen Meredith (Lord Lytton.) THE RUINED PALACE. 257 THE RUINED PALACE. BROKEN are the Palace windows: The damp wind lifts the arras, And swings the creaking door; But it only startles the white owl From his perch on a monarch's throne, Dare you linger here at midnight And the bat, and the newt, and the viper, Beware of those ghostly chambers! Search not what my heart hath been, Lest you find a phantom sitting Where once there sat a Queen. Owen Meredith (Lord Lytton.) Modern Poets. 17 258 I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER. I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER. I REMEMBER, I remember, He never came a wink too soon, I remember, I remember, The laburnum on his birth-day,— I remember, I remember, Where I was used to swing, And thought the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing; My spirit flew in feathers then, That is so heavy now, And summer pools could hardly cool The fever on my brow! THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS. I remember, I remember, I used to think their slender tops But now 'tis little joy To know I'm farther off from Heav'n Than when I was a boy. T. Hood. THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS. OFT in the stilly night Ere slumber's chain has bound me, The smiles, the tears Of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken The eyes that shone, Now dimm'd and gone, The cheerful hearts now broken! Thus in the stilly night Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Sad Memory brings the light Of other days around me. 259 260 THE RECOLLECTION. Thus in the stilly night Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Sad Memory brings the light Of other days around me. T. Moore. THE RECOLLECTION. Now the last day of many days For now the Earth has changed its face. We wander'd to the Pine Forest The whispering waves were half asleep, It seem'd as if the hour were one We paused amid the pines that stood Tortured by storms to shapes as rude |