As a bright image of the light and beauty That stain the wild bird's wing, and flush the clouds The heaven of April, with its changing light, And when it wears the blue of May, is hung, And on her lip the rich, red rose. Her hair Is like the summer tresses of the trees, When twilight makes them brown, and on her cheek Blushes the richness of an autumn sky, With ever-shifting beauty. Then her breath, It is so like the gentle air of Spring, As, from the morning's dewy flowers, it comes To have it round us,-and her silver voice Is the rich music of a summer bird, Heard in the still night, with its passionate cadence. PRELUDE. PLEASANT it was, when woods were green, And winds were soft and low, To lie amid some sylvan scene, Where, the long drooping boughs between, Alternate come and go; Or where the denser grove receives With one continuous sound; A slumberous sound, -a sound that brings As of innumerable wings, As, when a bell no longer swings, O'er meadow, lake, and stream. And dreams of that which cannot die, Where the sailing clouds went by, Like ships upon the sea; Dreams that the soul of youth engage And chronicles of Eld. And, loving still these quaint old themes, Even in the city's throng I feel the freshness of the streams, That, crossed by shades and sunny gleams, Water the green land of dreams, The holy land of song. Therefore, at Pentecost, which brings I sought the woodlands wide. The green trees whispered low and mild; They were my playmates when a child And ever whispered, mild and low, Into the woodlands hoar; Into the blithe and breathing air, Into the solemn wood, Solemn and silent everywhere! Nature with folded hands seemed there, Kneeling at her evening prayer! Like one in prayer I stood. Before me rose an avenue Of tall and sombrous pines; Abroad their fan-like branches grew, And, where the sunshine darted through, Spread a vapour soft and blue, In long and sloping lines. And, falling on my weary brain, Like a fast-falling shower, The dreams of youth came back again, Low lispings of the summer rain, Dropping on the ripened grain, As once upon the flower. Visions of childhood! Stay, oh stay! "The land of Song within thee lies, "Learn that henceforth thy song shall be, The bending heavens below. Then comes the fearful wintry blast; Our hopes, like withered leaves, fall fast; Pallid lips say, 'It is past! We can return no more!' "Look, then, into thine heart, and write! Yes, into Life's deep stream! All forms of sorrow and delight, HYMN TO THE NIGHT. I HEARD the trailing garments of the Night I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light I felt her presence by its spell of might, The calm, majestic presence of the Night, I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight, The manifold, soft chimes, That fill the haunted chambers of the Night, From the cool cisterns of the midnight air The fountain of perpetual peace flows there,- O holy Night! from thee I learn to bear Thou layst thy finger on the lips of Care, And they complain no more. Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer! The welcome, the thrice-prayed-for, the most fair, A PSALM OF LIFE. WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST. TELL me not, in mournful numbers, "Life is but an empty dream!" For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest ! And the grave is not its goal; Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. In the world's broad field of battle, Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! Heart within, and God o'erhead! |