To that ethereal throng
Have not each one of us the right
To stealthily belong?





XXII.

Upon the gallows hung a wretch,
Too sullied for the hell
To which the law entitled him.
As nature's curtain fell
The one who bore him tottered in,
For this was woman's son.
''T was all I had,' she stricken gasped;
Oh, what a livid boon!





XXIII.

THE LOST THOUGHT.

I felt a clearing in my mind
As if my brain had split;
I tried to match it, seam by seam,