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"So this is Heaven,” said I to my conductor,
“And I 'm at last in full and sure possession
Of lífe etérnal; lét me look about me.
Methinks, somehow, it's not what I expected;
Nor cán I say I feel that full delight,
That éxtasy I had anticipated.
Perhaps the reason is, it 's all so new,
And I must hére, as on the Earth below,
Grów by degrees accustomed and inured.”
My guide replied not, but went on before me,
I following: “Are you súre we are in Heaven ?”
Said Í, growing uneasy; for I saw
Neither bright ský, nor sun, nor flowers, nor trees;
Heard nó birds cároling, no gurgling waters;
Far léss saw angel forms, heard angel voices
Singing in chórus praise to the Most High;
But all was blank and desert, dim and dull,
Místy, obscure and undistinguishable,
Fórmless and void as if seen through thick fog
Or not seen through, but only the fog seen,
The fóg alone, monotonous, uniform,
Ráyless, impenetrable, cheerless, dark;
And all was silent as beneath the ocean
Ten thousand thousand fathom, or at the centre
Of the sólid Earth; and when I strove to speak

I started, started when I strove to hear
My guide's responses, for neither my guide
Nor Í spoke húmanly, nor in a human
Lánguage, for I had left my tongue on Earth,
To rót with my body, and had become a spirit
Voiceless and earless, eyeless and etherial,
Ảnd with my guide, for he too was a spirit,
Conversed by consciousness without the aid
Of voice or tongue or ears or signs or sounds:
“If this indeed is Heaven," said I at last
Or stróve or wished to say, “in píty bring me
Out of the waste and horrid wilderness
To where there is some light, some soúnd, some voice,
Some living thing, some stir, some cheerfulness.”
“Spírit, thou talk'st as thou wert still in the flesh,
And still hadst eyes to see, and ears to hear,
And touch wherewith to hold communication
With sólid and material substances.
What úse were light here where there are no eyes?
What úse were sounds here where there are no ears?
What úse were substance where there are no bodies ?
Here cheerful stir or action would but harm
Where évery thing 's already in perfection,
Already in its right, most fitting place.
Nay, sígh not, spirit; this is thy wished Heaven.”
“At least there is communion among spirits,
Spirits know and love each other, spirits hope,
Spírits rejoice together, and together
Sing Hallelujahs to the Lord their God.”
“I said that spírits sing not, when I said
Spírits have neither voices, tongues, nor ears;
And whére 's the room for hope, or love, or knowledge
Whére there 's no heart, brain, ignorance or passion?
With thy conductor there 's indeed communion,

Súch as between us now, till thou 'rt installed
And in complete possession; of itself
Then ceases all communion, useless grown;
And thou art left in thy beatitude,
Untoúched, unstirred, through all eternity;
Without all care, all passion, hope and fear;
Nothing to do or suffer, seek or avoid.”
“Then bring me, ere communion wholly ceases,
Quick bring me to my mother's sainted spirit.
Mainly that I might once more see my mother,
Knów and embrace and to my bosom préss her,
Lónged I for Heaven; quick, kind conductor, quick.”
“Thou hast no mother, spirit; never hadst.
Spírits engender not, nor are engendered.
Shé whom thou call'st thy mother, was the mother
Nót of thy spiritual, but thy fleshly nature.
Thou, spirit, com’st from God, and having dwelt
Some few, brief seasons in the fleshly body
Engendered by the flesh thou call'st thy mother
Retúrn’st, by me conducted, back to Heaven,
Leaving behind thee in the Earth to rot
The consanguineous flesh, mother and son.”
“Then bring me to the spirit that sometime
Dwélt in that flesh which mixed with other flesh
The flesh engendered which, below on Earth,
So long as it líved, afforded me kind shelter.”
“Thou know'st not what thou ask'st, scarce spiritual spirit;
Éven were communion possible in Heaven
Twixt spírits which on Earth had grown acquainted
Through th' accident of having inhabited
Related bodies, such communion were
In this case oút of the question, for the spirit
Which chánced to have its dwelling in that flesh
By which the flesh in which thou dwelt'st on Earth

Was generated, is not here in Heaven,
But dówn, down, dówn at the other side of the Earth,
Dówn in the depths of Hell, for ever there
Condemned by the unchangeable decree
Of the Allmérciful, to writhe in torment.”
He said, or seemed to say; with horror struck
I shriéked, methought, and swooned, and know no more.



By a shállow, púrling streamlet,
Sát a lovely maiden weeping:
“Men are false; I álways thought so;
Nów, alás! at lást I know it.

“Breák, tough heárt; why thrób on longer
Mócked, forsáken and despairing?
In this broók here I would drówn me
Wére there bút enough of water.”

Bý a deep and rápid river
Néxt day síts the weéping maiden,
Eyes the flood a while, then shúddering
Ríses ánd awáy walks slowly:

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“Mén are false; I álways thought so;
Nów, alás! at lást, I know it.
Next time that a mán deceives me

Í 'll know where to find deep water."

“WHAT dóg is thát, Sir, tell me, pray,
That by my side the livelong day,
Where'ér I go

up, down, left, right
Trots steady while the sun shines bright,
But when the sky begins to lower
And gathering clouds portend a shower,
Sneaks prúdent off, and far away
Liés in safe shelter till Sol's ray
Breaks oút once more on hill and plain,
When ló! he 's at my side again ?”

“Your cómrade of the sunny ray,
That leaves you on a cloudy day,
Pácks up his tráps and runs away
I'd not my time hair-splitting spend
Must bé


shadow or

your friend."

Walking from BERTRICH to MEHREN, in the EIFEL (RHENISH Prussia); Octob. 31, 1854.

“IF well thou wouldst get through this troublesome world,” Said once a dying father to his son Who at his bédside weeping asked his counsel, “Thou múst to these two principal points attend: First, thou must never dare to wear thy shoes With broad, square toes while narrow-pointed shoes Are all the fashion. Second, thou must never

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