436 
THE STAKE. 
The misguided multitude ! 
But the world is beautiful, 
All around the land is full 
Of sweet voices, music making, 
In the woodlands, night and day, 
Their deep-breathéd quiet breaking 
With carolling and roundelay. 
And a hard thing surely were it, 
For a young and care-free spirit, 
Thus to hear the heavy knell, 
By malignant powers rung, 
Tolling its forlorn farewell, 
And thus hurriedly be flung 
(Like the recreant angels thrown 
From the heights of their lost heaven) 
Far into that dark unknown, 
Where no face of love to meet me, 
No familiar voice to greet me, 
With foretaste of welcome given, 
Mingles with the awful shade 
That upon my heart is laid, 
Like the ominous shadow cast 
From a vault with dim lamps burning, 
Whose gate with light step may be passed, 
But from whence is no returning. 
Heavy the night’s shadow lies 
On the hush’d abodes of men, 
And the quiet-breathing skies 
Look down peacefully as when 
I have watched their blue vault darkening 
Over my green native dells, 
And, with ear attentive hearkening, 
Have caught the far city’s bells, 
Or the warder’s evening horn, 
On the freshening night breeze borne. 
With a ripple hardly heard 
The still river passeth by ; 
Hardly is the image stirred 
That deep down its bed doth lie. 
The crescent of late-burning lights 
Seen, on dark and quiet nights, 
