I think the ghost of Leerie

Came by with ghostly tread,

And little lighted tapers,

When we had gone to bed,—

Past gravel-walk and garden,

As he was wont to go,

And lit these yellow lanterns,

Burning where thy blow.

[54]

[54]

VALUES

It moves my heart but little to suppose

That planted men, like planted seed, shall rise,

That faulty dust re-blossoms as the rose,

In new perfections for more perfect skies;

Nor should I greatly care if one who knew

Should tell that out beyond the Grievous Gate,

The sleepy country that we travel to,

Has never any waking, soon or late.

But what if I should hear a prophet say:

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