THE STAKE. 
Imaged in the shadowy stream, 
By the uncurtained lattices, 
Which, where the long bridgeway lies, 
Over its gray arches gleam. 
The high narrow chink that lighteth 
Dimly these dark turret walls, 
My wearily longing eye inviteth 
To look on the far-stretching plain 
My foot must never tread again, 
And my thirsty ear delighteth 
There to catch the distant falls 
Of the melancholy chime 
That marketh the sweet vesper time, 
Beyond the pageant city’s sway, 
In lonesome hamlets far away. 
Oh ! dispeller of the vapours, 
The thick mists that error raiseth, 
Diming her illusive tapers 
Wheresoe’er thy bright torch blazeth : 
Hast thou, too, no hidden spell, 
Canst thou no sign of power tell, 
To disperse the oppressive gloom 
That doth hover round the tomb? 
Surely in the awful folds 
That from human view have wound thee 
Must the secret knowledge lie 
To thread its vale of mystery, 
And to human queryings fond 
Light up that which lies beyond. 
Oh ! too late, too little shewn thee, 
Would that I had earlier known thee! 
Would that in the page which holds, 
Under every meaning line, 
Some deep-buried gem of thine, 
I had sooner sought and found thee ! 
Come what may, and come what will, 
On and on I follow still ; 
Trusting that who, with true heart bent, 
Thee seeketh with sincere intent, 
Though the path with toils be rife, 
And the struggle be for life, 
437 
