d men
Like these, for such an one as I!--No! no!--
Thy life is clean. Thou shalt not cast away
Thy clean life for my soiled one. Go, I pray!"

XXXIV.

She ceased. I spoke--I know not what it was.
Then took her hand and kissed it and so said--
"Thou art my promised wife. Thou hast no cause
That is not mine. I love thee. We will wed.
I love thee. Come!"--A moment did she pause,
Then shook her head and sighed, "My heart is dead.
This can not be. Behold, that way is thine.
I will not let thee share this way that's mine."

XXXV.

Then turning from me ere I could prevent
Passed like a shadow from the shadowy room,
Leaving my soul in shadow ... Naught was meant
By my sweet flower of love then! bloom by bloom
I'd watched it wither; then its fragrance went,
And naught was left now.--It was dark as doom,
And bells were tolling far off through the rain,
When from that house I turned my face again.

XXXVI.

Then in the night a trumpet; and the dull
Close thud of horse and clash of Puritan arms;
And glimmering helms swept by me. Sorrowful
I stood and waited till upon the storm's
Black breast, the Manse, a burning carbuncle,
Blazed like a battle-beacon, and alarms
Of onslaught clanged around it; then, like one
Who bears with him God's curse, I galloped on.

The Forester

I met him here at Ammendorf one Spring.
It was the end of April and the Harz,
Veined to their ruin-crested summits, seemed
One pulse of tender green and delicate gold,
Beneath a heaven that was like the face
Of girlhood waking into motherhood.
Along the furrowed meadow, freshly ploughed,
The patient oxen, loamy to the knees,
Plodded or lowed or snuffed the fragrant soil;
And in each thorntree hedge the wild bird sang
A song to Spring, made of its own wild heart
And soul, that heard the dairy-maiden May's
Heart beating like a star at break of day,
As, kissing ripe the blossoms, she drew near,
Her mouth's sweet rose all dew-drops and perfume.
Here at this inn and underneath this tree
We took our wine, the morning prismed in its
Flame-angled gold.--A goodly vintage that!
Tang with the ripeness of full twenty years.
Rare! I remember!--wine that spurred the blood,
That brought the heart glad to the limbered lip,
And made the eyes unlatticed casements where
A man's true soul you