Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth, To some good angel leave the rest; For Time will teach thee soon the truth, There are no birds in last year's nest ! GOD'S-ACRE. I LIKE that ancient Saxon phrase which calls The burial-ground God's-Acre! It is just ; It consecrates each grave within its walls, And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust. God's-Acre! Yes, that blessed name imparts Comfort to those who in the grave have sown The seed that they had garnered in their hearts, Their bread of life-alas! no more their own. Into its furrows shall we all be cast, In the sure faith that we shall rise again At the great harvest, when the archangel's blast Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain. Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom, In the fair gardens of that second birth; And each bright blossom mingle its perfume With that of flowers which never bloomed on earth. With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn up the sod, And spread the furrow for the seed No purple flowers, no garlands green, Conceal the goblet's shade or sheen, Nor maddening draughts of Hippo crene, Like gleams of sunshine, flash between Thick leaves of mistletoe. This goblet, wrought with curious art, Is filled with waters, that upstart When the deep fountains of the heart, By strong convulsions rent apart, Are running all to waste. And as it mantling passes round, It gave new strength and fearless mood; A wreath of fennel wore. New light and strength they give! He has not learned to live. The prayer of Ajax was for light; Through all that dark and desperate fight, The blackness of that noonday night, He asked but the return of sight, To see his foeman's face. Let our unceasing earnest prayer One half the human race. Patient, though sorely tried! U I pledge you in this cup of grief, BLIND BARTIMEUS. He hears the crowd;-he hears a breath The thronging multitudes increase; Then saith the Christ, as silent stands The crowd, "What wilt thou at my hands?" And he replies, "O give me light! Rabbi, restore the blind man's sight!" And Jesus answers, "Yπaуe' Η πίστις σου σέσωκέ σε! Ye that have eyes, yet cannot see, TO THE RIVER CHARLES. RIVER that in silence windest Through the meadows bright and free, Till at length thy rest thou findest Four long years of mingled feeling, Onward, like the stream of life. I have watched thy current glide And in better hours and brighter, Nor because thy waves of blue Take their own celestial hue. Where yon shadowy woodlands hide thee, And thy waters disappear, Friends I love have dwelt beside thee, And have made thy margin dear. More than this;-thy name reminds me Of three friends, all true and tried; And that name, like magic, binds me Closer, closer to thy side. Friends my soul with joy remembers! How like quivering flames they start, When I fan the living embers On the hearth-stone of my heart! "Tis for this, thou Silent River! That my spirit leans to thee; Thou hast been a generous giver, Take this idle song from me. EXCELSIOR. THE shades of night were falling fast, His brow was sad; his eye beneath, The accents of that unknown tongue, Excelsior! In happy homes he saw the light Above, the spectral glaciers shone, "Try not the Pass!" the old man said; "Dark lowers the tempest overhead, The roaring torrent is deep and wide!" And loud that clarion voice replied, Excelsior! "O stay," the maiden said, "and rest Thy weary head upon this breast!" A tear stood in his bright blue eye, "Beware the pine-tree's withered branch! Beware the awful avalanche!" At break of day, as heavenward A voice cried through the startled air, A traveller, by the faithful hound, There in the twilight cold and gray, MAIDENHOOD. MAIDEN! with the meek, brown eyes In whose orbs a shadow lies, Like the dusk in evening skies! Thou whose locks outshine the sun, Golden tresses, wreathed in one, As the braided streamlets run! Standing, with reluctant feet, Where the brook and river meet, Womanhood and childhood fleet! Gazing, with a timid glance, On the brooklet's swift advance, On the river's broad expanse! Deep and still, that gliding stream Beautiful to thee must seem, As the river of a dream. Then why pause with indecision, When bright angels in thy vision Beckon thee to fields Elysian? Seest thou shadows sailing by, As the dove, with startled eye, Sees the falcon's shadow fly? Hearest thou voices on the shore, That our ears perceive no more, Deafened by the cataract's roar? Care and age come unawares! Like the swell of some sweet tune, Morning rises into noon, hath May glides onward into June. Childhood is the bough, where slumbered Birds and blossoms many-numbered;Age, that bough with snows encumbered. Gather, then, each flower that grows, O, that dew, like balm, shall steal THE BELFRY OF BRUGES. CARILLON. IN the ancient town of Bruges, In the quaint old Flemish city, As the evening shades descended Low and loud and sweetly blended, Low at times and loud at times, And changing like a poet's rhymes, Rang the beautiful wild chimes From the belfry in the market Of the ancient town of Bruges. Then, with deep sonorous clangour Calmly answering their sweet anger, When the wrangling bells had ended, Slowly struck the clock eleven, And, from out the silent heaven, Silence on the town descended. Silence, silence everywhere, On the earth and in the air, Save that footsteps here and there Of some burgher home returning, By the street lamps faintly burning, For a moment woke the echoes i Hearing the music as they pass, Of daylight and its toil and strife, Till he hears, or dreams he hears, Thoughts that he has cherished long; Wet with most delicious tears. To the chimes that, through the night, THE BELFRY OF BRUGES. IN the market-place of Bruges stands the belfry old and brown; At my feet the city slumbered. From its chimneys, here and there, From their nests beneath the rafters sang the swallows wild and high; I beheld the pageants splendid, that adorned those days of old; Stately dames, like queens attended, (25) knights who bore the Fleece of Gold;* I beheld proud Maximilian, kneeling humbly on the ground; I beheld the gentle Mary, (26) hunting with her hawk and hound; * Philippe de Bourgogne, surnamed Le Bon, espoused Isabella of Portugal, on the 10th of January, 1430; and on the same day instituted the famous order of the Fleece of Gold. The Golden Dragon, taken from the church of St. Sophia, at Constantinople, in one of the Crusades, and placed on the belfry of Bruges, was afterwards trans ported to Ghent, by Philip van Artevelde, and still adorns the belfry of that city. The inscription on the alarm-bell at Ghent is, "Mynen naem is Roland; als ik klep is er brand, and als ik luy is er victorie in het land." "My name is Roland; when I toll there is fire, and when I ring there is victory in the land." |