PICTURES—II.
A lurid sunset, red as blood,
Firing a sombre, haunted wood;
And from the shadows, dark and fell,
One hurrying with the face of Hell.
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Two at a banquet board alone,
In dalliance, the feast being done.
And one behind the arras stands,
Grasping an axe with quivering hands.
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A high cliff-meadow lush with Spring;
Gay butterflies upon the wing;
Beneath, beyond, unbounded, free,
The foam-flecked, blue, pervading sea.
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A clustering hill-town, climbing white
From the grey olives up the height,
And on the inland summits high
Thin waters spilt as from the sky.
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A rain-swept moor at shut of day,
And by the dead unhappy way
A lonely child untended lies:
Against the West a wretch who flies.
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Cold dawn, which flouts the abandoned hall
And one worn face, which loathes it all;
In his ringed hand a vial, while
The grey lips wear a ghastly smile.
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Corinthian pillars fine, which stand
In moonlight on a desert sand;
Others o'erthrown, in whose dark shade
Some fire-eyed brute its lair has made.
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Mountainous clouds embattled high
Around a dark blue lake of sky;
And from its clear depths, shining far,
The calm eye of the evening star.
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A moonlight chequered avenue;
Above, a starlit glimpse of blue:
Amid the shadows spread between,
The grey ghost of a woman seen.