Aftermath
1 When the summer
fields are mown,
2 When the birds
are fledged and flown,
3
And the dry leaves strew the path;
4 With the falling
of the snow,
5 With the cawing
of the crow,
6 Once again the
fields we mow
7
And gather in the aftermath.
8 Not the sweet,
new grass with flowers
9 Is this harvesting
of ours;
10 Not
the upland clover bloom;
11 But the rowen mixed with
weeds,
12 Tangled tufts from marsh
and meads,
13 Where the poppy drops its
seeds
14 In
the silence and the gloom.
The Arsenal At Springfield
1
This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling,
2
Like a huge organ, rise the burnished arms;
3 But from their
silent pipes no anthem pealing
4
Startles the villages with strange alarms.
5 Ah! what a sound
will rise, how wild and dreary,
6
When the death-angel touches those swift keys!
7 What loud lament
and dismal Miserere
8
Will mingle with their awful symphonies!
9 I hear even now
the infinite fierce chorus,
10 The
cries of agony, the endless groan,
11 Which, through the ages that
have gone before us,
12 In
long reverberations reach our own.
13 On helm and harness rings
the Saxon hammer,
14 Through
Cimbric forest roars the Norseman's song,
15 And loud, amid the universal
clamor,
16 O'er
distant deserts sounds the Tartar gong.
17 I hear the Florentine, who
from his palace
18 Wheels
out his battle-bell with dreadful din,
19 And Aztec priests upon their
teocallis
20 Beat
the wild war-drums made of serpent's skin;
21 The tumult of each sacked
and burning village;
22 The
shout that every prayer for mercy drowns;
23 The soldiers' revels in the
midst of pillage;
24 The
wail of famine in beleaguered towns;
25 The bursting shell, the gateway
wrenched asunder,
26 The
rattling musketry, the clashing blade;
27 And ever and anon, in tones
of thunder
28 The
diapason of the cannonade.
29 Is it, O man, with such discordant
noises,
30 With
such accursed instruments as these,
31 Thou drownest Nature's sweet
and kindly voices,
32 And
jarrest the celestial harmonies?
33 Were half the power, that
fills the world with terror,
34 Were
half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts,
35 Given to redeem the human
mind from error,
36 There
were no need of arsenals or forts:
37 The warrior's name would be
a name abhorred!
38 And
every nation, that should lift again
39 Its hand against a brother,
on its forehead
40 Would
wear forevermore the curse of Cain!
41 Down the dark future, through
long generations,
42 The
echoing sounds grow fainter and then cease;
43 And like a bell, with solemn,
sweet vibrations,
44 I
hear once more the voice of Christ say, "Peace!"
45 Peace! and no longer from
its brazen portals
46 The
blast of War's great organ shakes the skies!
47 But beautiful as songs of
the immortals,
48 The
holy melodies of love arise.
The Building of The Ship
1
"Build me straight, O worthy Master!
2 Stanch and strong,
a goodly vessel,
3 That shall laugh
at all disaster,
4 And with wave
and whirlwind wrestle!"
5 The merchant's
word
6 Delighted the
Master heard;
7 For his heart
was in his work, and the heart
8 Giveth grace unto
every Art.
9 A quiet smile
played round his lips,
10 As the eddies and dimples
of the tide
11 Play round the bows of ships,
12 That steadily at anchor ride.
13 And with a voice that was
full of glee,
14 He answered, "Erelong we
will launch
15 A vessel as goodly, and strong,
and stanch,
16 As ever weathered a wintry
sea!"
17 And first with nicest skill
and art,
18 Perfect and finished in every
part,
19 A little model the Master
wrought,
20 Which should be to the larger
plan
21 What the child is to the
man,
22 Its counterpart in miniature;
23 That with a hand more swift
and sure
24 The greater labor might be
brought
25 To answer to his inward thought.
26 And as he labored, his mind
ran o'er
27 The various ships that were
built of yore,
28 And above them all, and strangest
of all
29 Towered the Great Harry,
crank and tall,
30 Whose picture was hanging
on the wall,
31 With bows and stern raised
high in air,
32 And balconies hanging here
and there,
33 And signal lanterns and flags
afloat,
34 And eight round towers, like
those that frown
35 From some old castle, looking
down
36 Upon the drawbridge and the
moat.
37 And he said with a smile,
"Our ship, I wis,
38 Shall be of another form
than this!"
39 It was of another form, indeed;
40 Built for freight, and yet
for speed,
41 A beautiful and gallant craft;
42 Broad in the beam, that the
stress of the blast,
43 Pressing down upon sail and
mast,
44 Might not the sharp bows
overwhelm;
45 Broad in the beam, but sloping
aft
46 With graceful curve and slow
degrees,
47 That she might be docile
to the helm,
48 And that the currents of
parted seas,
49 Closing behind, with mighty
force,
50 Might aid and not impede
her course.
51 In the ship-yard stood the
Master,
52 With the model of the vessel,
53 That should laugh at all
disaster,
54 And with wave and whirlwind
wrestle!
55 Covering many a rood of ground,
56 Lay the timber piled around;
57 Timber of chestnut, and elm,
and oak,
58 And scattered here and there,
with these,
59 The knarred and crooked cedar
knees;
60 Brought from regions far
away,
61 From Pascagoula's sunny bay,
62 And the banks of the roaring
Roanoke!
63 Ah! what a wondrous thing
it is
64 To note how many wheels of
toil
65 One thought, one word, can
set in motion!
66 There 's not a ship that
sails the ocean,
67 But every climate, every
soil,
68 Must bring its tribute, great
or small,
69 And help to build the wooden
wall!
70 The sun was rising o'er the
sea,
71 And long the level shadows
lay,
72 As if they, too, the beams
would be
73 Of some great, airy argosy,
74 Framed and launched in a
single day.
75 That silent architect, the
sun,
76 Had hewn and laid them every
one,
77 Ere the work of man was yet
begun.
78 Beside the Master, when he
spoke,
79 A youth, against an anchor
leaning,
80 Listened, to catch his slightest
meaning.
81 Only the long waves, as they
broke
82 In ripples on the pebbly
beach,
83 Interrupted the old man's
speech.
84 Beautiful they were, in sooth,
85 The old man and the fiery
youth!
86 The old man, in whose busy
brain
87 Many a ship that sailed the
main
88 Was modelled o'er and o'er
again; --
89 The fiery youth, who was
to be
90 The heir of his dexterity,
91 The heir of his house, and
his daughter's hand,
92 When he had built and launched
from land
93 What the elder head had planned.
94 "Thus," said he, "will we
build this ship!
95 Lay square the blocks upon
the slip,
96 And follow well this plan
of mine.
97 Choose the timbers with greatest
care;
98 Of all that is unsound beware;
99 For only what is sound and
strong
100 To this vessel shall belong.
101 Cedar of Maine and Georgia
pine
102 Here together shall combine.
103 A goodly frame, and a goodly
fame,
104 And the Union be her name!
105 For the day that gives her
to the sea
106 Shall give my daughter unto
thee!"
107 The Master's word
108 Enraptured the young man
heard;
109 And as he turned his face
aside,
110 With a look of joy and a
thrill of pride
111 Standing before
112 Her father's door,
113 He saw the form of his promised
bride.
114 The sun shone on her golden
hair,
115 And her cheek was glowing
fresh and fair,
116 With the breath of morn
and the soft sea air.
117 Like a beauteous barge was
she,
118 Still at rest on the sandy
beach,
119 Just beyond the billow's
reach;
120 But he
121 Was the restless, seething,
stormy sea!
122 Ah, how skilful grows the
hand
123 That obeyeth Love's command!
124 It is the heart, and not
the brain,
125 That to the highest doth
attain,
126 And he who followeth Love's
behest
127 Far excelleth all the rest!
128 Thus with the rising of the
sun
129 Was the noble task begun,
130 And soon throughout the
ship-yard's bounds
131 Were heard the intermingled
sounds
132 Of axes and of mallets,
plied
133 With vigorous arms on every
side;
134 Plied so deftly and so well,
135 That, ere the shadows of
evening fell,
136 The keel of oak for a noble
ship,
137 Scarfed and bolted, straight
and strong,
138 Was lying ready, and stretched
along
139 The blocks, well placed
upon the slip.
140 Happy, thrice happy, every
one
141 Who sees his labor well
begun,
142 And not perplexed and multiplied,
143 By idly waiting for time
and tide!
144 And when the hot, long day
was o'er,
145 The young man at the Master's
door
146 Sat with the maiden calm
and still,
147 And within the porch, a
little more
148 Removed beyond the evening
chill,
149 The father sat, and told
them tales
150 Of wrecks in the great September
gales,
151 Of pirates coasting the
Spanish Main,
152 And ships that never came
back again,
153 The chance and change of
a sailor's life,
154 Want and plenty, rest and
strife,
155 His roving fancy, like the
wind,
156 That nothing can stay and
nothing can bind,
157 And the magic charm of foreign
lands,
158 With shadows of palms, and
shining sands,
159 Where the tumbling surf,
160 O'er the coral reefs of
Madagascar,
161 Washes the feet of the swarthy
Lascar,
162 As he lies alone and asleep
on the turf.
163 And the trembling maiden
held her breath
164 At the tales of that awful,
pitiless sea,
165 With all its terror and
mystery,
166 The dim, dark sea, so like
unto Death,
167 That divides and yet unites
mankind!
168 And whenever the old man
paused, a gleam
169 From the bowl of his pipe
would awhile illume
170 The silent group in the
twilight gloom,
171 And thoughtful faces, as
in a dream;
172 And for a moment one might
mark
173 What had been hidden by
the dark,
174 That the head of the maiden
lay at rest,
175 Tenderly, on the young man's
breast!
176 Day by day the vessel grew,
177 With timbers fashioned strong
and true,
178 Stemson and keelson and
sternson-knee,
179 Till, framed with perfect
symmetry,
180 A skeleton ship rose up
to view!
181 And around the bows and
along the side
182 The heavy hammers and mallets
plied,
183 Till after many a week,
at length,
184 Wonderful for form and strength,
185 Sublime in its enormous
bulk,
186 Loomed aloft the shadowy
hulk!
187 And around it columns of
smoke, upwreathing,
188 Rose from the boiling, bubbling,
seething
189 Caldron, that glowed,
190 And overflowed
191 With the black tar, heated
for the sheathing.
192 And amid the clamors
193 Of clattering hammers,
194 He who listened heard now
and then
195 The song of the Master and
his men: --
196 "Build me straight, O worthy
Master,
197
Staunch and strong, a goodly vessel,
198 That shall laugh at all
disaster,
199
And with wave and whirlwind wrestle!"
200 With oaken brace and copper
band,
201 Lay the rudder on the sand,
202 That, like a thought, should
have control
203 Over the movement of the
whole;
204 And near it the anchor,
whose giant hand
205 Would reach down and grapple
with the land,
206 And immovable and fast
207 Hold the great ship against
the bellowing blast!
208 And at the bows an image
stood,
209 By a cunning artist carved
in wood,
210 With robes of white, that
far behind
211 Seemed to be fluttering
in the wind.
212 It was not shaped in a classic
mould,
213 Not like a Nymph or Goddess
of old,
214 Or Naiad rising from the
water,
215 But modelled from the Master's
daughter!
216 On many a dreary and misty
night,
217 'T will be seen by the rays
of the signal light,
218 Speeding along through the
rain and the dark,
219 Like a ghost in its snow-white
sark,
220 The pilot of some phantom
bark,
221 Guiding the vessel, in its
flight,
222 By a path none other knows
aright!
223 Behold, at last,
224 Each tall and tapering mast
225 Is swung into its place;
226 Shrouds and stays
227 Holding it firm and fast!
228 Long ago,
229 In the deer-haunted forests
of Maine,
230 When upon mountain and plain
231 Lay the snow,
232 They fell, -- those lordly
pines!
233 Those grand, majestic pines!
234 'Mid shouts and cheers
235 The jaded steers,
236 Panting beneath the goad,
237 Dragged down the weary,
winding road
238 Those captive kings so straight
and tall,
239 To be shorn of their streaming
hair,
240 And naked and bare,
241 To feel the stress and the
strain
242 Of the wind and the reeling
main,
243 Whose roar
244 Would remind them forevermore
245 Of their native forests
they should not see again.
246 And everywhere
247 The slender, graceful spars
248 Poise aloft in the air,
249 And at the mast-head,
250 White, blue, and red,
251 A flag unrolls the stripes
and stars.
252 Ah! when the wanderer, lonely,
friendless,
253 In foreign harbors shall
behold
254 That flag unrolled,
255 'T will be as a friendly
hand
256 Stretched out from his native
land,
257 Filling his heart with memories
sweet and endless!
258 All is finished! and at length
259 Has come the bridal day
260 Of beauty and of strength.
261 To-day the vessel shall
be launched!
262 With fleecy clouds the sky
is blanched,
263 And o'er the bay,
264 Slowly, in all his splendors
dight,
265 The great sun rises to behold
the sight.
266 The ocean old,
267 Centuries old,
268 Strong as youth, and as
uncontrolled,
269 Paces restless to and fro,
270 Up and down the sands of
gold.
271 His beating heart is not
at rest;
272 And far and wide,
273 With ceaseless flow,
274 His beard of snow
275 Heaves with the heaving
of his breast.
276 He waits impatient for his
bride.
277 There she stands,
278 With her foot upon the sands,
279 Decked with flags and streamers
gay,
280 In honor of her marriage
day,
281 Her snow-white signals fluttering,
blending,
282 Round her like a veil descending,
283 Ready to be
284 The bride of the gray old
sea.
285 On the deck another bride
286 Is standing by her lover's
side.
287 Shadows from the flags and
shrouds,
288 Like the shadows cast by
clouds,
289 Broken by many a sunny fleck,
290 Fall around them on the
deck.
291 The prayer is said,
292 The service read,
293 The joyous bridegroom bows
his head;
294 And in tears the good old
Master
295 Shakes the brown hand of
his son,
296 Kisses his daughter's glowing
cheek
297 In silence, for he cannot
speak,
298 And ever faster
299 Down his own the tears begin
to run.
300 The worthy pastor --
301 The shepherd of that wandering
flock,
302 That has the ocean for its
wold,
303 That has the vessel for
its fold,
304 Leaping ever from rock to
rock --
305 Spake, with accents mild
and clear,
306 Words of warning, words
of cheer,
307 But tedious to the bridegroom's
ear.
308 He knew the chart
309 Of the sailor's heart,
310 All its pleasures and its
griefs,
311 All its shallows and rocky
reefs,
312 All those secret currents,
that flow
313 With such resistless undertow,
314 And lift and drift, with
terrible force,
315 The will from its moorings
and its course.
316 Therefore he spake, and
thus said he: --
317 "Like unto ships far off
at sea,
318 Outward or homeward bound,
are we.
319 Before, behind, and all
around,
320 Floats and swings the horizon's
bound,
321 Seems at its distant rim
to rise
322 And climb the crystal wall
of the skies,
323 And then again to turn and
sink,
324 As if we could slide from
its outer brink.
325 Ah! it is not the sea,
326 It is not the sea that sinks
and shelves,
327 But ourselves
328 That rock and rise
329 With endless and uneasy
motion,
330 Now touching the very skies,
331 Now sinking into the depths
of ocean.
332 Ah! if our souls but poise
and swing
333 Like the compass in its
brazen ring,
334 Ever level and ever true
335 To the toil and the task
we have to do,
336 We shall sail securely,
and safely reach
337 The Fortunate Isles, on
whose shining beach
338 The sights we see, and the
sounds we hear,
339 Will be those of joy and
not of fear!"
340 Then the Master,
341 With a gesture of command,
342 Waved his hand;
343 And at the word,
344 Loud and sudden there was
heard,
345 All around them and below,
346 The sound of hammers, blow
on blow,
347 Knocking away the shores
and spurs.
348 And see! she stirs!
349 She starts, -- she moves,
-- she seems to feel
350 The thrill of life along
her keel,
351 And, spurning with her foot
the ground,
352 With one exulting, joyous
bound,
353 She leaps into the ocean's
arms!
354 And lo! from the assembled
crowd
355 There rose a shout, prolonged
and loud,
356 That to the ocean seemed
to say,
357 "Take her, O bridegroom,
old and gray,
358 Take her to thy protecting
arms,
359 With all her youth and all
her charms!"
360 How beautiful she is! How
fair
361 She lies within those arms,
that press
362 Her form with many a soft
caress
363 Of tenderness and watchful
care!
364 Sail forth into the sea,
O ship!
365 Through wind and wave, right
onward steer!
366 The moistened eye, the trembling
lip,
367 Are not the signs of doubt
or fear.
368 Sail forth into the sea
of life,
369 O gentle, loving, trusting
wife,
370 And safe from all adversity
371 Upon the bosom of that sea
372 Thy comings and thy goings
be!
373 For gentleness and love
and trust
374 Prevail o'er angry wave
and gust;
375 And in the wreck of noble
lives
376 Something immortal still
survives!
377 Thou, too, sail on, O Ship
of State!
378 Sail on, O Union, strong
and great!
379 Humanity with all its fears,
380 With all the hopes of future
years,
381 Is hanging breathless on
thy fate!
382 We know what Master laid
thy keel,
383 What Workmen wrought thy
ribs of steel,
384 Who made each mast, and
sail, and rope,
385 What anvils rang, what hammers
beat,
386 In what a forge and what
a heat
387 Were shaped the anchors
of thy hope!
388 Fear not each sudden sound
and shock,
389 'T is of the wave and not
the rock;
390 'T is but the flapping of
the sail,
391 And not a rent made by the
gale!
392 In spite of rock and tempest's
roar,
393 In spite of false lights
on the shore,
394 Sail on, nor fear to breast
the sea!
395 Our hearts, our hopes, are
all with thee,
396 Our hearts, our hopes, our
prayers, our tears,
397 Our faith triumphant o'er
our fears,
398 Are all with thee, -- are
all with thee!
Chaucer
1
An old man in a lodge within a park;
2
The chamber walls depicted all around
3
With portraitures of huntsman, hawk, and hound,
4
And the hurt deer. He listeneth to the lark,
5 Whose song comes
with the sunshine through the dark
6
Of painted glass in leaden lattice bound;
7
He listeneth and he laugheth at the sound,
8
Then writeth in a book like any clerk.
9 He is the poet
of the dawn, who wrote
10 The
Canterbury Tales, and his old age
11 Made
beautiful with song; and as I read
12 I hear the crowing cock,
I hear the note
13 Of
lark and linnet, and from every page
14 Rise
odors of ploughed field or flowery mead.
The Cross of Snow
1
In the long, sleepless watches of the night,
2
A gentle face -- the face of one long dead --
3
Looks at me from the wall, where round its head
4
The night-lamp casts a halo of pale light.
5 Here in this room
she died; and soul more white
6
Never through martyrdom of fire was led
7
To its repose; nor can in books be read
8
The legend of a life more benedight.
9 There is a mountain
in the distant West
10 That,
sun-defying, in its deep ravines
11 Displays
a cross of snow upon its side.
12 Such is the cross I wear
upon my breast
13 These
eighteen years, through all the changing scenes
14 And
seasons, changeless since the day she died.
Divina Commedia
I.
Written March 29, 1864.
1.1
Oft have I seen at some cathedral door
1.2
A laborer, pausing in the dust and heat,
1.3
Lay down his burden, and with reverent feet
1.4
Enter, and cross himself, and on the floor
1.5 Kneel to repeat
his paternoster o'er;
1.6
Far off the noises of the world retreat;
1.7
The loud vociferations of the street
1.8
Become an undistinguishable roar.
1.9 So, as I enter
here from day to day,
1.10
And leave my burden at this minster gate,
1.11
Kneeling in prayer, and not ashamed to pray,
1.12 The tumult of the time
disconsolate
1.13
To inarticulate murmurs dies away,
1.14
While the eternal ages watch and wait.
II.
2.1 How strange the
sculptures that adorn these towers!
2.2
This crowd of statues, in whose folded sleeves
2.3
Birds build their nests; while canopied with leaves
2.4
Parvis and portal bloom like trellised bowers,
2.5 And the vast
minster seems a cross of flowers!
2.6
But fiends and dragons on the gargoyled eaves
2.7
Watch the dead Christ between the living thieves,
2.8
And, underneath, the traitor Judas lowers!
2.9 Ah! from what
agonies of heart and brain,
2.10
What exultations trampling on despair,
2.11
What tenderness, what tears, what hate of wrong,
2.12 What passionate outcry
of a soul in pain,
2.13
Uprose this poem of the earth and air,
2.14
This mediæval miracle of song!
III.
Written December 22, 1865.
3.1 I enter, and
I see thee in the gloom
3.2
Of the long aisles, O poet saturnine!
3.3
And strive to make my steps keep pace with thine.
3.4
The air is filled with some unknown perfume;
3.5 The congregation
of the dead make room
3.6
For thee to pass; the votive tapers shine;
3.7
Like rooks that haunt Ravenna's groves of pine
3.8
The hovering echoes fly from tomb to tomb.
3.9 From the confessionals
I hear arise
3.10
Rehearsals of forgotten tragedies,
3.11
And lamentations from the crypts below;
3.12 And then a voice celestial
that begins
3.13
With the pathetic words, "Although your sins
3.14
As scarlet be," and ends with "as the snow."
IV.
Written May 5, 1867.
4.1 With snow-white
veil and garments as of flame,
4.2
She stands before thee, who so long ago
4.3
Filled thy young heart with passion and the woe
4.4
From which thy song and all its splendors came;
4.5 And while with
stern rebuke she speaks thy name,
4.6
The ice about thy heart melts as the snow
4.7
On mountain heights, and in swift overflow
4.8
Comes gushing from thy lips in sobs of shame.
4.9 Thou makest
full confession; and a gleam,
4.10
As of the dawn on some dark forest cast,
4.11
Seems on thy lifted forehead to increase;
4.12 Lethe and Eunoë --
the remembered dream
4.13
And the forgotten sorrow -- bring at last
4.14
That perfect pardon which is perfect peace.
V.
Written January 16, 1866.
5.1 I lift mine eyes,
and all the windows blaze
5.2
With forms of Saints and holy men who died,
5.3
Here martyred and hereafter glorified;
5.4
And the great Rose upon its leaves displays
5.5 Christ's Triumph,
and the angelic roundelays,
5.6
With splendor upon splendor multiplied;
5.7
And Beatrice again at Dante's side
5.8
No more rebukes, but smiles her words of praise.
5.9 And then the
organ sounds, and unseen choirs
5.10
Sing the old Latin hymns of peace and love
5.11
And benedictions of the Holy Ghost;
5.12 And the melodious bells
among the spires
5.13
O'er all the house-tops and through heaven above
5.14
Proclaim the elevation of the Host!
VI.
Written March 7, 1866.
6.1 O star of morning
and of liberty!
6.2
O bringer of the light, whose splendor shines
6.3
Above the darkness of the Apennines,
6.4
Forerunner of the day that is to be!
6.5 The voices of
the city and the sea,
6.6
The voices of the mountains and the pines,
6.7
Repeat thy song, till the familiar lines
6.8
Are footpaths for the thought of Italy!
6.9 Thy fame is
blown abroad from all the heights,
6.10
Through all the nations, and a sound is heard,
6.11
As of a mighty wind, and men devout,
6.12 Strangers of Rome, and
the new proselytes,
6.13
In their own language hear thy wondrous word,
6.14
And many are amazed and many doubt.
The Evening Star
1
Lo! in the painted oriel of the West,
2
Whose panes the sunken sun incarnadines,
3
Like a fair lady at her casement, shines
4
The evening star, the star of love and rest!
5 And then anon
she doth herself divest
6
Of all her radiant garments, and reclines
7
Behind the sombre screen of yonder pines,
8
With slumber and soft dreams of love oppressed.
9 O my beloved,
my sweet Hesperus!
10 My
morning and my evening star of love!
11 My
best and gentlest lady! even thus,
12 As that fair planet in the
sky above,
13 Dost
thou retire unto thy rest at night,
14 And
from thy darkened window fades the light.
The Fire of Drift-Wood
DEVEREUX FARM, NEAR MARBLEHEAD.
1
We sat within the farm-house old,
2
Whose windows, looking o'er the bay,
3 Gave to the sea-breeze
damp and cold,
4
An easy entrance, night and day.
5 Not far away we
saw the port,
6
The strange, old-fashioned, silent town,
7 The lighthouse,
the dismantled fort,
8
The wooden houses, quaint and brown.
9 We sat and talked
until the night,
10 Descending,
filled the little room;
11 Our faces faded from the sight,
12 Our
voices only broke the gloom.
13 We spake of many a vanished
scene,
14 Of
what we once had thought and said,
15 Of what had been, and might
have been,
16 And
who was changed, and who was dead;
17 And all that fills the hearts
of friends,
18 When
first they feel, with secret pain,
19 Their lives thenceforth have
separate ends,
20 And
never can be one again;
21 The first slight swerving
of the heart,
22 That
words are powerless to express,
23 And leave it still unsaid
in part,
24 Or
say it in too great excess.
25 The very tones in which we
spake
26 Had
something strange, I could but mark;
27 The leaves of memory seemed
to make
28 A
mournful rustling in the dark.
29 Oft died the words upon our
lips,
30 As
suddenly, from out the fire
31 Built of the wreck of stranded
ships,
32 The
flames would leap and then expire.
33 And, as their splendor flashed
and failed,
34 We
thought of wrecks upon the main,
35 Of ships dismasted, that
were hailed
36 And
sent no answer back again.
37 The windows, rattling in their
frames,
38 The
ocean, roaring up the beach,
39 The gusty blast, the bickering
flames,
40 All
mingled vaguely in our speech;
41 Until they made themselves
a part
42 Of
fancies floating through the brain,
43 The long-lost ventures of
the heart,
44 That
send no answers back again.
45 O flames that glowed! O hearts
that yearned!
46 They
were indeed too much akin,
47 The drift-wood fire without
that burned,
48 The
thoughts that burned and glowed within.
Hymn To The Night
Aspasie, trillistos.
1
I heard the trailing garments of the Night
2
Sweep through her marble halls!
3 I saw her sable
skirts all fringed with light
4
From the celestial walls!
5 I felt her presence,
by its spell of might,
6
Stoop o'er me from above;
7 The calm, majestic
presence of the Night,
8
As of the one I love.
9 I heard the sounds
of sorrow and delight,
10 The
manifold, soft chimes,
11 That fill the haunted chambers
of the Night,
12 Like
some old poet's rhymes.
13 From the cool cisterns of
the midnight air
14 My
spirit drank repose;
15 The fountain of perpetual
peace flows there, --
16 From
those deep cisterns flows.
17 O holy Night! from thee I
learn to bear
18 What
man has borne before!
19 Thou layest thy finger on
the lips of Care,
20 And
they complain no more.
21 Peace! Peace! Orestes-like
I breathe this prayer!
22 Descend
with broad-winged flight,
23 The welcome, the thrice-prayed
for, the most fair,
24 The
best-beloved Night!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
(1807-1882)
The Jewish Cemetery at Newport
1
How strange it seems! These Hebrews in their graves,
2
Close by the street of this fair seaport town,
3 Silent beside
the never-silent waves,
4
At rest in all this moving up and down!
5 The trees are white
with dust, that o'er their sleep
6
Wave their broad curtains in the south-wind's breath,
7 While underneath
these leafy tents they keep
8
The long, mysterious Exodus of Death.
9 And these sepulchral
stones, so old and brown,
10 That
pave with level flags their burial-place,
11 Seem like the tablets of
the Law, thrown down
12 And
broken by Moses at the mountain's base.
13 The very names recorded here
are strange,
14 Of
foreign accent, and of different climes;
15 Alvares and Rivera interchange
16 With
Abraham and Jacob of old times.
17 "Blessed be God! for he created
Death!"
18 The
mourners said, "and Death is rest and peace;"
19 Then added, in the certainty
of faith,
20 "And
giveth Life that nevermore shall cease."
21 Closed are the portals of
their Synagogue,
22 No
Psalms of David now the silence break,
23 No Rabbi reads the ancient
Decalogue
24 In
the grand dialect the Prophets spake.
25 Gone are the living, but the
dead remain,
26 And
not neglected; for a hand unseen,
27 Scattering its bounty, like
a summer rain,
28 Still
keeps their graves and their remembrance green.
29 How came they here? What burst
of Christian hate,
30 What
persecution, merciless and blind,
31 Drove o'er the sea -- that
desert desolate --
32 These
Ishmaels and Hagars of mankind?
33 They lived in narrow streets
and lanes obscure,
34 Ghetto
and Judenstrass, in mirk and mire;
35 Taught in the school of patience
to endure
36 The
life of anguish and the death of fire.
37 All their lives long, with
the unleavened bread
38 And
bitter herbs of exile and its fears,
39 The wasting famine of the
heart they fed,
40 And
slaked its thirst with marah of their tears.
41 Anathema maranatha! was the
cry
42 That
rang from town to town, from street to street;
43 At every gate the accursed
Mordecai
44 Was
mocked and jeered, and spurned by Christian
feet.
45 Pride and humiliation hand
in hand
46 Walked
with them through the world where'er they
went;
47 Trampled and beaten were
they as the sand,
48 And
yet unshaken as the continent.
49 For in the background figures
vague and vast
50 Of
patriarchs and of prophets rose sublime,
51 And all the great traditions
of the Past
52 They
saw reflected in the coming time.
53 And thus forever with reverted
look
54 The
mystic volume of the world they read,
55 Spelling it backward, like
a Hebrew book,
56 Till
life became a Legend of the Dead.
57 But ah! what once has been
shall be no more!
58 The
groaning earth in travail and in pain
59 Brings forth its races, but
does not restore,
60 And
the dead nations never rise again.
Keats
1
The young Endymion sleeps Endymion's sleep;
2
The shepherd-boy whose tale was left half told!
3
The solemn grove uplifts its shield of gold
4
To the red rising moon, and loud and deep
5 The nightingale
is singing from the steep;
6
It is midsummer, but the air is cold;
7
Can it be death? Alas, beside the fold
8
A shepherd's pipe lies shattered near his sheep.
9 Lo! in the moonlight
gleams a marble white,
10 On
which I read: "Here lieth one whose name
11 Was
writ in water." And was this the meed
12 Of his sweet singing? Rather
let me write:
13 "The
smoking flax before it burst to flame
14 Was
quenched by death, and broken the bruised
reed."
The Landlord's Tale. Paul Revere's Ride
1
Listen, my children, and you shall hear
2 Of the midnight
ride of Paul Revere,
3 On the eighteenth
of April, in Seventy-five;
4 Hardly a man is
now alive
5 Who remembers
that famous day and year.
6 He said to his
friend, "If the British march
7 By land or sea
from the town to-night,
8 Hang a lantern
aloft in the belfry arch
9 Of the North Church
tower as a signal light,--
10 One, if by land, and two,
if by sea;
11 And I on the opposite shore
will be,
12 Ready to ride and spread
the alarm
13 Through every Middlesex village
and farm,
14 For the country folk to be
up and to arm."
15 Then he said, "Good night!"
and with muffled oar
16 Silently rowed to the Charlestown
shore,
17 Just as the moon rose over
the bay,
18 Where swinging wide at her
moorings lay
19 The Somerset, British man-of-war;
20 A phantom ship, with each
mast and spar
21 Across the moon like a prison
bar,
22 And a huge black hulk, that
was magnified
23 By its own reflection in
the tide.
24 Meanwhile, his friend, through
alley and street,
25 Wanders and watches with
eager ears,
26 Till in the silence around
him he hears
27 The muster of men at the
barrack door,
28 The sound of arms, and the
tramp of feet,
29 And the measured tread of
the grenadiers,
30 Marching down to their boats
on the shore.
31 Then he climbed the tower
of the Old North Church,
32 By the wooden stairs, with
stealthy tread,
33 To the belfry-chamber overhead,
34 And startled the pigeons
from their perch
35 On the sombre rafters, that
round him made
36 Masses and moving shapes
of shade, --
37 By the trembling ladder,
steep and tall,
38 To the highest window in
the wall,
39 Where he paused to listen
and look down
40 A moment on the roofs of
the town,
41 And the moonlight flowing
over all.
42 Beneath, in the churchyard,
lay the dead,
43 In their night-encampment
on the hill,
44 Wrapped in silence so deep
and still
45 That he could hear, like
a sentinel's tread,
46 The watchful night-wind,
as it went
47 Creeping along from tent
to tent,
48 And seeming to whisper, "All
is well!"
49 A moment only he feels the
spell
50 Of the place and the hour,
and the secret dread
51 Of the lonely belfry and
the dead;
52 For suddenly all his thoughts
are bent
53 On a shadowy something far
away,
54 Where the river widens to
meet the bay, --
55 A line of black that bends
and floats
56 On the rising tide, like
a bridge of boats.
57 Meanwhile, impatient to mount
and ride,
58 Booted and spurred, with
a heavy stride
59 On the opposite shore walked
Paul Revere.
60 Now he patted his horse's
side,
61 Now gazed at the landscape
far and near,
62 Then, impetuous, stamped
the earth,
63 And turned and tightened
his saddle girth;
64 But mostly he watched with
eager search
65 The belfry-tower of the Old
North Church,
66 As it rose above the graves
on the hill,
67 Lonely and spectral and sombre
and still.
68 And lo! as he looks, on the
belfry's height
69 A glimmer, and then a gleam
of light!
70 He springs to the saddle,
the bridle he turns,
71 But lingers and gazes, till
full on his sight
72 A second lamp in the belfry
burns!
73 A hurry of hoofs in a village
street,
74 A shape in the moonlight,
a bulk in the dark,
75 And beneath, from the pebbles,
in passing, a spark
76 Struck out by a steed flying
fearless and fleet:
77 That was all! And yet, through
the gloom and the light,
78 The fate of a nation was
riding that night;
79 And the spark struck out
by that steed, in his flight,
80 Kindled the land into flame
with its heat.
81 He has left the village and
mounted the steep,
82 And beneath him, tranquil
and broad and deep,
83 Is the Mystic, meeting the
ocean tides;
84 And under the alders, that
skirt its edge,
85 Now soft on the sand, now
loud on the ledge,
86 Is heard the tramp of his
steed as he rides.
87 It was twelve by the village
clock,
88 When he crossed the bridge
into Medford town.
89 He heard the crowing of the
cock,
90 And the barking of the farmer's
dog,
91 And felt the damp of the
river fog,
92 That rises after the sun
goes down.
93 It was one by the village
clock,
94 When he galloped into Lexington.
95 He saw the gilded weathercock
96 Swim in the moonlight as
he passed,
97 And the meeting-house windows,
blank and bare,
98 Gaze at him with a spectral
glare,
99 As if they already stood
aghast
100 At the bloody work they
would look upon.
101 It was two by the village
clock,
102 When he came to the bridge
in Concord town.
103 He heard the bleating of
the flock,
104 And the twitter of birds
among the trees,
105 And felt the breath of the
morning breeze
106 Blowing over the meadows
brown.
107 And one was safe and asleep
in his bed
108 Who at the bridge would
be first to fall,
109 Who that day would be lying
dead,
110 Pierced by a British musket-ball.
111 You know the rest. In the
books you have read,
112 How the British Regulars
fired and fled, --
113 How the farmers gave them
ball for ball,
114 From behind each fence and
farm-yard wall,
115 Chasing the red-coats down
the lane,
116 Then crossing the fields
to emerge again
117 Under the trees at the turn
of the road,
118 And only pausing to fire
and load.
119 So through the night rode
Paul Revere;
120 And so through the night
went his cry of alarm
121 To every Middlesex village
and farm, --
122 A cry of defiance and not
of fear,
123 A voice in the darkness,
a knock at the door,
124 And a word that shall echo
forevermore!
125 For, borne on the night-wind
of the Past,
126 Through all our history,
to the last,
127 In the hour of darkness
and peril and need,
128 The people will waken and
listen to hear
129 The hurrying hoof-beats
of that steed,
130 And the midnight message
of Paul Revere.
Mezzo Cammin
1
Half of my life is gone, and I have let
2
The years slip from me and have not fulfilled
3
The aspiration of my youth, to build
4
Some tower of song with lofty parapet.
5 Not indolence,
nor pleasure, nor the fret
6
Of restless passions that would not be stilled,
7
But sorrow, and a care that almost killed,
8
Kept me from what I may accomplish yet;
9 Though, half-way
up the hill, I see the Past
10 Lying
beneath me with its sounds and sights, --
11 A
city in the twilight dim and vast,
12 With smoking roofs, soft
bells, and gleaming lights, --
13 And
hear above me on the autumnal blast
14 The
cataract of Death far thundering from the heights.
Milton
1 I pace the sounding
sea-beach and behold
2
How the voluminous billows roll and run,
3
Upheaving and subsiding, while the sun
4
Shines through their sheeted emerald far unrolled,
5 And the ninth
wave, slow gathering fold by fold
6
All its loose-flowing garments into one,
7
Plunges upon the shore, and floods the dun
8
Pale reach of sands, and changes them to gold.
9 So in majestic
cadence rise and fall
10 The
mighty undulations of thy song,
11 O
sightless bard, England's Mæonides!
12 And ever and anon, high over
all
13 Uplifted,
a ninth wave superb and strong,
14 Floods
all the soul with its melodious seas.
Morituri Salutamus
Poem For The Fiftieth
Anniversary Of The
Class Of 1825 In Bowdoin
College
Tempora labuntur, tacitisque
senescimus annis,
Et fugiunt freno non remorante dies.
Ovid, Fastorum, Lib. vi.
1
"O Cæsar, we who are about to die
2 Salute you!" was
the gladiators' cry
3 In the arena,
standing face to face
4 With death and
with the Roman populace.
5 O ye familiar scenes,--ye
groves of pine,
6 That once were
mine and are no longer mine,--
7 Thou river, widening
through the meadows green
8 To the vast sea,
so near and yet unseen,--
9 Ye halls, in whose
seclusion and repose
10 Phantoms of fame, like exhalations,
rose
11 And vanished,--we who are
about to die,
12 Salute you; earth and air
and sea and sky,
13 And the Imperial Sun that
scatters down
14 His sovereign splendors upon
grove and town.
15 Ye do not answer us! ye do
not hear!
16 We are forgotten; and in
your austere
17 And calm indifference, ye
little care
18 Whether we come or go, or
whence or where.
19 What passing generations
fill these halls,
20 What passing voices echo
from these walls,
21 Ye heed not; we are only
as the blast,
22 A moment heard, and then
forever past.
23 Not so the teachers who in
earlier days
24 Led our bewildered feet through
learning's maze;
25 They answer us--alas! what
have I said?
26 What greetings come there
from the voiceless dead?
27 What salutation, welcome,
or reply?
28 What pressure from the hands
that lifeless lie?
29 They are no longer here;
they all are gone
30 Into the land of shadows,--all
save one.
31 Honor and reverence, and
the good repute
32 That follows faithful service
as its fruit,
33 Be unto him, whom living
we salute.
34 The great Italian poet, when
he made
35 His dreadful journey to the
realms of shade,
36 Met there the old instructor
of his youth,
37 And cried in tones of pity
and of ruth:
38 "Oh, never from the memory
of my heart
39 Your dear, paternal image
shall depart,
40 Who while on earth, ere yet
by death surprised,
41 Taught me how mortals are
immortalized;
42 How grateful am I for that
patient care
43 All my life long my language
shall declare."
44 To-day we make the poet's
words our own,
45 And utter them in plaintive
undertone;
46 Nor to the living only be
they said,
47 But to the other living called
the dead,
48 Whose dear, paternal images
appear
49 Not wrapped in gloom, but
robed in sunshine here;
50 Whose simple lives, complete
and without flaw,
51 Were part and parcel of great
Nature's law;
52 Who said not to their Lord,
as if afraid,
53 "Here is thy talent in a
napkin laid,"
54 But labored in their sphere,
as men who live
55 In the delight that work
alone can give.
56 Peace be to them; eternal
peace and rest,
57 And the fulfilment of the
great behest:
58 "Ye have been faithful over
a few things,
59 Over ten cities shall ye
reign as kings."
60 And ye who fill the places
we once filled,
61 And follow in the furrows
that we tilled,
62 Young men, whose generous
hearts are beating high,
63 We who are old, and are about
to die,
64 Salute you; hail you; take
your hands in ours,
65 And crown you with our welcome
as with flowers!
66 How beautiful is youth! how
bright it gleams
67 With its illusions, aspirations,
dreams!
68 Book of Beginnings, Story
without End,
69 Each maid a heroine, and
each man a friend!
70 Aladdin's Lamp, and Fortunatus'
Purse,
71 That holds the treasures
of the universe!
72 All possibilities are in
its hands,
73 No danger daunts it, and
no foe withstands;
74 In its sublime audacity of
faith,
75 "Be thou removed!" it to
the mountain saith,
76 And with ambitious feet,
secure and proud,
77 Ascends the ladder leaning
on the cloud!
78 As ancient Priam at the Scæan
gate
79 Sat on the walls of Troy
in regal state
80 With the old men, too old
and weak to fight,
81 Chirping like grasshoppers
in their delight
82 To see the embattled hosts,
with spear and shield,
83 Of Trojans and Achaians in
the field;
84 So from the snowy summits
of our years
85 We see you in the plain,
as each appears,
86 And question of you; asking,
"Who is he
87 That towers above the others?
Which may be
88 Atreides, Menelaus, Odysseus,
89 Ajax the great, or bold Idomeneus?"
90 Let him not boast who puts
his armor on
91 As he who puts it off, the
battle done.
92 Study yourselves; and most
of all note well
93 Wherein kind Nature meant
you to excel.
94 Not every blossom ripens
into fruit;
95 Minerva, the inventress of
the flute,
96 Flung it aside, when she
her face surveyed
97 Distorted in a fountain as
she played;
98 The unlucky Marsyas found
it, and his fate
99 Was one to make the bravest
hesitate.
100 Write on your doors the saying
wise and old,
101 "Be bold! be bold!" and
everywhere, "Be bold;
102 Be not too bold!" Yet better
the excess
103 Than the defect; better
the more than less;
104 Better like Hector in the
field to die,
105 Than like a perfumed Paris
turn and fly.
106 And now, my classmates; ye
remaining few
107 That number not the half
of those we knew,
108 Ye, against whose familiar
names not yet
109 The fatal asterisk of death
is set,
110 Ye I salute! The horologe
of Time
111 Strikes the half-century
with a solemn chime,
112 And summons us together
once again,
113 The joy of meeting not unmixed
with pain.
114 Where are the others? Voices
from the deep
115 Caverns of darkness answer
me: "They sleep!"
116 I name no names; instinctively
I feel
117 Each at some well-remembered
grave will kneel,
118 And from the inscription
wipe the weeds and moss,
119 For every heart best knoweth
its own loss.
120 I see their scattered gravestones
gleaming white
121 Through the pale dusk of
the impending night;
122 O'er all alike the impartial
sunset throws
123 Its golden lilies mingled
with the rose;
124 We give to each a tender
thought, and pass
125 Out of the graveyards with
their tangled grass,
126 Unto these scenes frequented
by our feet
127 When we were young, and
life was fresh and sweet.
128 What shall I say to you?
What can I say
129 Better than silence is?
When I survey
130 This throng of faces turned
to meet my own,
131 Friendly and fair, and yet
to me unknown, 132 Transformed the very
landscape seems to be;
133 It is the same, yet not
the same to me.
134 So many memories crowd upon
my brain,
135 So many ghosts are in the
wooded plain,
136 I fain would steal away,
with noiseless tread,
137 As from a house where some
one lieth dead.
138 I cannot go;--I pause;--I
hesitate;
139 My feet reluctant linger
at the gate;
140 As one who struggles in
a troubled dream
141 To speak and cannot, to
myself I seem.
142 Vanish the dream! Vanish
the idle fears!
143 Vanish the rolling mists
of fifty years!
144 Whatever time or space may
intervene,
145 I will not be a stranger
in this scene.
146 Here every doubt, all indecision,
ends;
147 Hail, my companions, comrades,
classmates, friends!
148 Ah me! the fifty years since
last we met
149 Seem to me fifty folios
bound and set
150 By Time, the great transcriber,
on his shelves,
151 Wherein are written the
histories of ourselves.
152 What tragedies, what comedies,
are there;
153 What joy and grief, what
rapture and despair!
154 What chronicles of triumph
and defeat,
155 Of struggle, and temptation,
and retreat!
156 What records of regrets,
and doubts, and fears!
157 What pages blotted, blistered
by our tears!
158 What lovely landscapes on
the margin shine,
159 What sweet, angelic faces,
what divine
160 And holy images of love
and trust,
161 Undimmed by age, unsoiled
by damp or dust!
162 Whose hand shall dare to
open and explore
163 These volumes, closed and
clasped forevermore?
164 Not mine. With reverential
feet I pass;
165 I hear a voice that cries,
"Alas! alas!
166 Whatever hath been written
shall remain,
167 Nor be erased nor written
o'er again;
168 The unwritten only still
belongs to thee:
169 Take heed, and ponder well
what that shall be."
170 As children frightened by
a thunder-cloud
171 Are reassured if some one
reads aloud
172 A tale of wonder, with enchantment
fraught,
173 Or wild adventure, that
diverts their thought,
174 Let me endeavor with a tale
to chase
175 The gathering shadows of
the time and place,
176 And banish what we all too
deeply feel
177 Wholly to say, or wholly
to conceal.
178 In mediæval Rome, I
know not where,
179 There stood an image with
its arm in air,
180 And on its lifted finger,
shining clear,
181 A golden ring with the device,
"Strike here!"
182 Greatly the people wondered,
though none guessed
183 The meaning that these words
but half expressed,
184 Until a learned clerk, who
at noonday
185 With downcast eyes was passing
on his way,
186 Paused, and observed the
spot, and marked it well,
187 Whereon the shadow of the
finger fell;
188 And, coming back at midnight,
delved, and found
189 A secret stairway leading
underground.
190 Down this he passed into
a spacious hall,
191 Lit by a flaming jewel on
the wall;
192 And opposite, in threatening
attitude,
193 With bow and shaft a brazen
statue stood.
194 Upon its forehead, like
a coronet,
195 Were these mysterious words
of menace set:
196 "That which I am, I am;
my fatal aim
197 None can escape, not even
yon luminous flame!"
198 Midway the hall was a fair
table placed,
199 With cloth of gold, and
golden cups enchased
200 With rubies, and the plates
and knives were gold,
201 And gold the bread and viands
manifold.
202 Around it, silent, motionless,
and sad,
203 Were seated gallant knights
in armor clad,
204 And ladies beautiful with
plume and zone,
205 But they were stone, their
hearts within were stone;
206 And the vast hall was filled
in every part
207 With silent crowds, stony
in face and heart.
208 Long at the scene, bewildered
and amazed
209 The trembling clerk in speechless
wonder gazed;
210 Then from the table, by
his greed made bold,
211 He seized a goblet and a
knife of gold,
212 And suddenly from their
seats the guests upsprang,
213 The vaulted ceiling with
loud clamors rang,
214 The archer sped his arrow,
at their call,
215 Shattering the lambent jewel
on the wall,
216 And all was dark around
and overhead;--
217 Stark on the floor the luckless
clerk lay dead!
218 The writer of this legend
then records
219 Its ghostly application
in these words:
220 The image is the Adversary
old,
221 Whose beckoning finger points
to realms of gold;
222 Our lusts and passions are
the downward stair
223 That leads the soul from
a diviner air;
224 The archer, Death; the flaming
jewel, Life;
225 Terrestrial goods, the goblet
and the knife;
226 The knights and ladies,
all whose flesh and bone
227 By avarice have been hardened
into stone;
228 The clerk, the scholar whom
the love of pelf
229 Tempts from his books and
from his nobler self.
230 The scholar and the world!
The endless strife,
231 The discord in the harmonies
of life!
232 The love of learning, the
sequestered nooks,
233 And all the sweet serenity
of books;
234 The market-place, the eager
love of gain,
235 Whose aim is vanity, and
whose end is pain!
236 But why, you ask me, should
this tale be told
237 To men grown old, or who
are growing old?
238 It is too late! Ah, nothing
is too late
239 Till the tired heart shall
cease to palpitate.
240 Cato learned Greek at eighty;
Sophocles
241 Wrote his grand Oedipus,
and Simonides
242 Bore off the prize of verse
from his compeers,
243 When each had numbered more
than fourscore years,
244 And Theophrastus, at fourscore
and ten,
245 Had but begun his "Characters
of Men."
246 Chaucer, at Woodstock with
the nightingales,
247 At sixty wrote the Canterbury
Tales;
248 Goethe at Weimar, toiling
to the last,
249 Completed Faust when eighty
years were past.
250 These are indeed exceptions;
but they show
251 How far the gulf-stream
of our youth may flow
252 Into the arctic regions
of our lives,
253 Where little else than life
itself survives.
254 As the barometer foretells
the storm
255 While still the skies are
clear, the weather warm
256 So something in us, as old
age draws near,
257 Betrays the pressure of
the atmosphere.
258 The nimble mercury, ere
we are aware,
259 Descends the elastic ladder
of the air;
260 The telltale blood in artery
and vein
261 Sinks from its higher levels
in the brain;
262 Whatever poet, orator, or
sage
263 May say of it, old age is
still old age.
264 It is the waning, not the
crescent moon;
265 The dusk of evening, not
the blaze of noon;
266 It is not strength, but
weakness; not desire,
267 But its surcease; not the
fierce heat of fire,
268 The burning and consuming
element,
269 But that of ashes and of
embers spent,
270 In which some living sparks
we still discern,
271 Enough to warm, but not
enough to burn.
272 What then? Shall we sit idly
down and say
273 The night hath come; it
is no longer day?
274 The night hath not yet come;
we are not quite
275 Cut off from labor by the
failing light;
276 Something remains for us
to do or dare;
277 Even the oldest tree some
fruit may bear;
278 Not Oedipus Coloneus, or
Greek Ode,
279 Or tales of pilgrims that
one morning rode
280 Out of the gateway of the
Tabard Inn,
281 But other something, would
we but begin;
282 For age is opportunity no
less
283 Than youth itself, though
in another dress,
284 And as the evening twilight
fades away
285 The sky is filled with stars,
invisible by day.
My Lost Youth
1
Often I think of the beautiful town
2
That is seated by the sea;
3 Often in thought
go up and down
4 The pleasant streets
of that dear old town,
5
And my youth comes back to me.
6
And a verse of a Lapland song
7
Is haunting my memory still:
8
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
9 And the thoughts
of youth are long, long thoughts."
10 I can see the shadowy lines
of its trees,
11 And
catch, in sudden gleams,
12 The sheen of the far-surrounding
seas,
13 And islands that were the
Hesperides
14 Of
all my boyish dreams.
15
And the burden of that old song,
16
It murmurs and whispers still:
17 "A
boy's will is the wind's will,
18 And the thoughts of youth
are long, long thoughts."
19 I remember the black wharves
and the slips,
20 And
the sea-tides tossing free;
21 And Spanish sailors with
bearded lips,
22 And the beauty and mystery
of the ships,
23 And
the magic of the sea.
24
And the voice of that wayward song
25
Is singing and saying still:
26 "A
boy's will is the wind's will,
27 And the thoughts of youth
are long, long thoughts."
28 I remember the bulwarks by
the shore,
29 And
the fort upon the hill;
30 The sunrise gun, with its
hollow roar,
31 The drum-beat repeated o'er
and o'er,
32 And
the bugle wild and shrill.
33
And the music of that old song
34
Throbs in my memory still:
35 "A
boy's will is the wind's will,
36 And the thoughts of youth
are long, long thoughts."
37 I remember the sea-fight far
away,
38 How
it thundered o'er the tide!
39 And the dead captains, as
they lay
40 In their graves, o'erlooking
the tranquil bay,
41 Where
they in battle died.
42
And the sound of that mournful song
43
Goes through me with a thrill:
44 "A
boy's will is the wind's will,
45 And the thoughts of youth
are long, long thoughts."
46 I can see the breezy dome
of groves,
47 The
shadows of Deering's Woods;
48 And the friendships old and
the early loves
49 Come back with a Sabbath
sound, as of doves
50 In
quiet neighborhoods.
51
And the verse of that sweet old song,
52
It flutters and murmurs still:
53 "A
boy's will is the wind's will,
54 And the thoughts of youth
are long, long thoughts."
55 I remember the gleams and
glooms that dart
56 Across
the school-boy's brain;
57 The song and the silence
in the heart,
58 That in part are prophecies,
and in part
59 Are
longings wild and vain.
60
And the voice of that fitful song
61
Sings on, and is never still:
62 "A
boy's will is the wind's will,
63 And the thoughts of youth
are long, long thoughts."
64 There are things of which
I may not speak;
65 There
are dreams that cannot die;
66 There are thoughts that make
the strong heart weak,
67 And bring a pallor into the
cheek,
68 And
a mist before the eye.
69
And the words of that fatal song
70
Come over me like a chill:
71 "A
boy's will is the wind's will,
72 And the thoughts of youth
are long, long thoughts."
73 Strange to me now are the
forms I meet
74 When
I visit the dear old town;
75 But the native air is pure
and sweet,
76 And the trees that o'ershadow
each well-known street,
77 As
they bala