TO NIGHT.

Light and Color.

LIGHT, everlastingly one, dwell above with the One

Everlasting;

Color, thou changeful, descend kindly to dwell among men. F. VON SCHILLER.

To Night.

SWIF

WIFTLY walk over the western wave,
Spirit of Night!

Out of the misty eastern cave,
Where all the long and lone daylight,
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear,
Which make thee terrible and dear,—
Swift be thy flight!

Wrap thy form in a mantle gray,
Star-inwrought!

Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day,
Kiss her until she be wearied out;
Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land,
Touching all with thine opiate wand—
Come, long-sought!

237

When I arose and saw the dawn,

I sighed for thee;

When night rode high, and the dew was gone,
And noon lay heavy on flower and tree,
And the weary Day turned to her rest,
Lingering like an unloved guest,
I sighed for thee.

Thy brother Death came, and cried,
Wouldst thou me?

Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,
Murmured like a noontide bee,
Shall I nestle near thy side?
Wouldst thou me?—and I replied,
'No, not thee!"

66

Death will come when thou art dead,
Soon, too soon-

Sleep will come when thou art fled;
Of neither would I ask the boon
I ask of thee, beloved Night—
Swift be thine approaching flight,
Come soon, soon!

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.

From the Persian.

ΟΝ
ON parent knees, a naked, new-born child,

Weeping thou sat'st while all around thee smiled; So live that, sinking to thy last, long sleep,

Calm thou may'st smile, while all around thee weep! SIR WILLIAM JONES.

To Sleep.

COME,

'OME, gentle sleep! attend thy suppliant's prayer, And, though death's image, to my couch repair ; How sweet, though lifeless, yet in life to lie!

And without dying, O how sweet to die!

ANONYMOUS.

CHARADE.--(CAMPBELL.)

Charade.-(Campbell.)

OME from my First-ay, come!

COME

The battle-dawn is nigh;

And the screaming trump and thundering drum
Are calling thee to die!

Fight as thy father fought;

Fall as thy father fell:

Thy task is taught; thy shroud is wrought:
So forward, and farewell!

Toll ye, my Second, toll!

Fling high the flambeau's light; And sing the hymn for a parted soul

Beneath the silent night!

The wreath upon his head,

The cross upon his breast,

Let the prayer be said, and the tear be shed,
So, take him to his rest!

Call ye, my Whole, ay, call
The Lord of lute and lay;
And let him greet the sable pall

With a noble song to-day!
Go, call him by his name!

No fitter hand may crave
To light the flame of a soldier's fame
On the turf of a soldier's grave.

239

WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED

The Two Armies.

A

S life's unending column pours, Two marshaled hosts are seenTwo armies on the trampled shores That death flows black between.

One marches to the drum-beat's roll,

The wide-mouthed clarion's bray, And bears upon a crimson scroll, "Our purpose is to slay."

One moves in silence by the stream,
With sad, yet watchful eyes,
Calm as the patient planet's gleam
That walks the clouded skies.

Along its front no sabers shine,

No blood-red pennons wave: Its banner bears the single line, "Our duty is to save."

For those no death-bed's lingering shade;
At honor's trumpet-call,

With knitted brow and lifted blade,
In glory's arms they fall.

For these no flashing falchions bright,
No stirring battle-cry;

The bloodless stabber calls by night-
Each answers, "Here am I!"

For those the sculptor's laureled bust,
The builder's marble piles,
The anthems pealing o'er their dust
Through long cathedral aisles.

ODE.

For these the blossom-sprinkled turf
That floods the lonely graves,
When Spring rolls in her sea-green surf
In flowery foaming waves.

Two paths lead upward from below,
And angels wait above,

Who count each burning life-drop's flow,
Each falling tear of love.

Though from the hero's bleeding breast
Her pulses Freedom drew,

Though the white lilies in her crest
Sprang from the scarlet dew-

While valor's haughty champions wait
Till all their scars are shown,
Love walks unchallenged through the gate,
To sit beside the throne !

Ode.

OLIVER W. HOLMES.

INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY

CHILDHOOD.

241

I.

THER

HERE was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth and every common sight,

To me did seem

Appareled in celestial light

The glory and the freshness of a dreain.

It is not now as it hath been of yore:

Turn wheresoe'er I may,

By night or day,

The things which I have seen I now can see no more.