eak and forlorn.
No ray of light whilst I in thralldom slave?

What good is Fame when I am dead and gone,
When in fenowed abyss', stark and cold,
I wend my solemn footsteps and atone,
Whilst Fame my brow doth crown with its renown?
Who'll know that heart and soul bled on and on,
That storm-swept aches and woes were mine untold,
My life a waste, from which there stole a moan,
No Aureole whilst I in sorrow drown?

What good is Fame when I am dead and gone,
When far and wide my praise is heard and sung,
And busts and marble-heads my deeds unfurl
To multitudes that knew me not in flesh?
Not when I'm gone care I for Renown's dawn,
Now, whilst I labour at Fame's lowest rung,
Let me reap dame Approval's brightest pearl
And sip its olpe as I my battles thresh.

BETELGUESE

Caressed by crystal dews and light
Beyond the realm of scale and fin,
Incarian Thought flits Fancy wings
To hazards where a crimson urn
Makes scarlet this eternal height
Of sunless suns and reigning sin,--
Flame-decked this plain of warring kings
Where poisoned fumes and beacons burn!
And thro' the hyoids, huge and red,
Past portals black and guidons bright
To onyx lees and opal sands,
The Cyclopean vaults of dwale,
And cavern'd shapes that Typhon bled,
Greet each wand'ring spectre's sight;
Where pixies dance on wind-blown strands,
Lurke gyte incubi in a hall.
Here, then, reigns gyving, batter'd Doom!
Where shadows vague and coffined light,
Spit broths from splinter'd wracks and domes.
Where viscid mists and vulpine cries
Rise from the moat of dungeoned gloom
And rasp the stationed walls of night
Until sequestered skulls and bones
Are made to hear the moaning sighs
That some mad Titan, rayed in gold,
Wrests from Damnation's siffling tomb.
And labyrinths of Horror's Home,
'Mid vapours green and aisles unsunned,
Provoke each cursing mattoid's fold
Until the night is changed to noon
By cowled magicians on a dome.
Then wizardry, strange, unsummed,
Reveals each varlet, Figgum's might:
A hemless rabble from the South
That some wild Trojan flayed and curs'd,
Skirr thro' the Cauldron's broken lane
And wing for implex strands and light.
There, where tapers flare on Hell's mouth
This clan damns each giant Soldan first.
And Medeas in this vast plain,
Who blink at yon dysodile lamps,
Slap thenars and each bifurcous
As