"This massy trunk that lies along, And many more must fall

For the very knave

Who digs the grave,

The man who spreads the pall,

And he who tolls the funeral bell, –
The elm shall have them all!

"The tall abounding elm that grows
In hedge-rows up and down ;
In field and forest, copse and park,
And in the peopled town,
With colonies of noisy rooks
That nestle on its crown.

"And well the abounding elm may grow
In field and hedge so rife,
In forest, copse, and wooded park,
And mid the city's strife,
For, every hour that passes by

Shall end a human life!"

The phantom ends: the shade is gone; The sky is clear and bright;

On turf, and moss, and fallen tree

There glows a ruddy light;

And bounding through the golden fern The rabbit comes to bite.

The thrush's mate beside her sits

And pipes a merry lay;

The dove is in the evergreens;
And on the larch's spray
The fly-bird flutters up and down

To catch its tiny prey.

The gentle hind and dappled fawn
Are coming up the glade;

Each harmless furred and feathered thing

Is glad, and not afraid,

But on my saddened spirit still

The shadow leaves a shade.

A secret, vague, prophetic gloom,
As though by certain mark
I knew the fore-appointed tree,
Within whose rugged bark

This warm and living frame shall find
Its narrow house and dark.

That mystic tree which breathes to me
A sad and solemn sound,

That sometimes murmured overhead,
And sometimes underground;
Within that shady avenue
Where lofty elms abound.

THE HAUNTED HOUSE.

A ROMANCE.

"A jolly place," said he, "in times of old,
But something ails it now: the place is curst."
Hart-Leap Well, by WORDSWORTH.

PART I.

OME dreams we have are nothing else but dreams,

Unnatural and full of contradictions ; Yet others of our most romantic schemes Are something more than fictions.

It might be only on enchanted ground;
It might be merely by a thought's expansion;

But in the spirit, or the flesh, I found
An old deserted mansion.

A residence for woman, child, and man,
A dwelling-place, and yet no habitation;
A house, — but under some prodigious ban
Of excommunication.

Unhinged the iron gates half open hung, Jarred by the gusty gales of many winters, That from its crumbled pedestal had flung One marble globe in splinters.

No dog was at the threshold, great or small; No pigeon on the roof-no household crea

No cat demurely dozing on the wall,

Not one domestic feature.

No human figure stirred, to go or come,
No face looked forth from shut or open case-

ment;

No chimney smoked-there was no sign of home

From parapet to basement,

With shattered panes the grassy court was starred;

The time-worn coping-stone had tumbled after;

And through the ragged roof the sky shone, barred

With naked beam and rafter.

O'er all there hung a shadow and a fear;
A sense of mystery the spirit daunted,
And said, as plain as whisper in the ear,
The place is haunted!

The flower grew wild and rankly as the weed,
Roses with thistles struggled for espial,
And vagrant plants of parasitic breed
Had overgrown the dial.

But gay or gloomy, steadfast or infirm,

No heart was there to heed the hour's dura

tion;

All times and tides were lost in one long term Of stagnant desolation.

The wren had built within the porch, she found