Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/829

 JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN

And he fell far through that pit abysmal,

The gulf and grave of Maginn and Burns, And pawn'd his soul for the devil's dismal Stock of returns.

But yet rcdcem'd it in days of darkness,

And shapes and signs of the final wrath, When death, in hideous and ghastly starkness, Stood on his path.

And tell how now, amid wreck and sorrow,

And want, and bickness, and houseless nights, He bides m calmness the silent morrow, That no ray lights.

And lives he still, then ? Yes 1 Old and hoary

At thirty-nine, from despair and woe, He lives, enduring what future story Will never know.

Him grant a grave to, ye pitying noble,

Deep in your bosoms there let him dwell' He, too, had tears for all souls in trouble, Here and in hell.

��THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES 675 Wolfram's Dirge

"F thou wilt ea:>c thine heart Of love and all its smart, Then sleep, dear, sleep; And not a sorrow

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