Holding my mother's hand I marvell'd at,

And questioned her of each. And she lies there,

My mother! ay, my mother now; O hair

That once I play'd with in these halls! O eyes

That for a moment knew me as I came,

And lighten'd up, and trembled into love;

The next were darkened by my hand! Ah me!

Ye will not look upon me in that world.

Yet thou, perchance, art happier, if thou go'st

Into some land of wind and drifting leaves,

To sleep without a star; but as for me,

[36]

Hell hungers, and the restless Furies wait.

Then the dark Curse, that sits upon the towers,

Bow'd down her awful head, thus satisfied,

And I fled forth, a murderer, through the world.

Stephen Phillips.

Stephen Phillips.

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[37]

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