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We have short time to stay, as you;
As your hours do; and dry
Like to the summer's rain;
THE HERMIT. -- Beattie.
Ar the close of the day, when the hamlet is still,
And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove;
"Ah! why thus abandoned to darkness and woe, Why thus, lonely Philomel, flows thy sad strain? For spring shall return, and a lover bestow,
And thy bosom no trace of misfortune retain. Yet, if pity inspire thee, O, cease not thy lay!
Mourn, sweetest companion! man calls thee to
O, soothe him, whose pleasures, like thine, pass away, Full quickly they pass, but they never return!
Now, gliding remote on the verge of the sky, The moon, half extinct, a dim crescent displays; But lately I marked when, majestic, on high
She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze. Roll on, then, fair orb, and with gladness pursue
The path that conducts thee to splendor again; But man's faded glory no change shall renew;
Ah, fool! to exult in a glory so vain!
""Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more;
I mourn; but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you; For morn is approaching, your charms to restore, Perfumed with fresh fragrance, and glittering with dew.
Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn;
Kind Nature the embryo-blossom shall save; But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn? O, when shall it dawn on the night of the grave?"
"T was thus, by the glare of false science betrayed, That leads to bewilder and dazzles to blind; My thoughts wont to roam from shade onward to shade,
Destruction before me, and sorrow behind.
"O, pity, great Father of light!" then I cried,
Thy creature, who fain would not wander from thee;
Lo! humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride;
From doubt and from darkness thou only canst free."
And darkness and doubt are now flying away;
See Truth, Love, and Mercy, in triumph descending,
SONG OF THE SILENT LAND.
And Beauty immortal awakes from the tomb.
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF SALIS, BY LONGFELLOW.
INTO the Silent Land!
Ah! who shall lead us thither?
Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather,
Who leads us with a gentle hand
Thither, O thither,
Into the Silent Land?
Into the Silent Land!
To you, ye boundless regions
Of all perfection! Tender morning-visions
Of beauteous souls! The Future's pledge and band! Who in Life's battle firm doth stand
Shall bear Hope's tender blossoms
O Land O Land!
For all the broken-hearted
The mildest herald by our fate allotted
To lead us with a gentle hand
Into the land of the great departed,
Into the Silent Land
How sleep the brave, who sink to rest
By fairy hands their knell is rung,
DEEM not that our eldest heir
See in yonder plot of flowers.
Which the heavens are shedding.
She that latest leaves the nest,
Though the most protected;
Or in thought neglected.
'Gainst the islet's rocky shore
THE HUSBANDMAN. — Sterling. EARTH, of man the bounteous mother, Feeds him still with corn and wine; He who best would aid a brother
Shares with him these gifts divine.
Many a power within her bosom
Noiseless, hidden, works beneath; Hence are seed, and leaf, and blossom, Golden ear and clustered wreath.
These to swell with strength and beauty