SONNETS AND TRANSLATIONS. SONNETS. THE EVENING STAR. Lo! in the painted oriel of the West, AUTUMN. THOU Comest, Autumn, heralded by the rain, DANTE. TUSCAN, that wanderest through the realms of gloom, With thoughtful pace, and sad, majestic eyes, Thy sacred song is like the trump of doom; As up the convent-walls, in golden streaks, And, as he asks what there the stranger seeks, Thy voice along the cloister whispers, "Peace!" TRANSLATIONS. THE HEMLOCK-TREE. FROM THE GERMAN.. O HEMLOCK-TREE! O hemlock-tree! how faithful are thy branches; Green not alone in summer time, But in the winter's frost and rime! O hemlock-tree! O hemlock-tree! how faithful are thy branches! O maiden fair! O maiden fair! how faithless is thy bosom! To love me in prosperity, And leave me in adversity! O maiden fair! O maiden fair! how faithless is thy bosom! The nightingale, the nightingale, thou tak'st for thine example, So long as summer laughs she sings, But in the autumn spreads her wings. The nightingale, the nightingale, thou tak'st for thine example! The meadow brook, the meadow brook, is mirror of thy falsehood! It flows so long as falls the rain, In drought its springs soon dry again. The meadow brook, the meadow brook, is mirror of thy falsehood! We will stand by each other, however it blow So love in our hearts shall grow mighty and Through crosses, through sorrows, through manifold wrong. Shouldst thou be torn from me to wander alene In a desolate land where the sun is scarce known, Through forests I'll follow, and where the sea roars. Through ice, and through iron, through armies of foes. Annie of Tharaw, my light and my sun, The threads of our two lives are woven in one. Some seek for dissension, and trouble, and strife; Annie of Tharaw, such is not ovr love; I am king of the household, and thou art its queen. It is this, O my Annie, my heart's sweetest rest, That makes of us twain but one soul in one breast. This turns to a heaven the hut where we dwell: While wrangling soon changes a home to a hell. THE STATUE OVER THE CATHEDRAL DOOR. FROM THE GERMAN OF JULIUS MOSEX. FORMS of saints and kings are standing The cathedral door above; Yet I saw but one among them Who hath soothed my soul with love. As their robes the sowers wind.- And my songs,-green leaves and blossoms,- THE LEGEND OF THE CROSSBILL. Sees he how with zealous care A little bird is striving there. Stained with blood and never tiring, With its beak it doth not cease, From the cross 'twould free the Saviour, Its Creator's Son release. And the saviour speaks in mildness: Marks of blood and holy rood!" THE SEA HATH ITS PEARLS. FROM THE GERMAN OF HEINRICH HEINE. THE sea hath its pearls, The heaven hath its stars But my heart, my heart, My heart hath its love. Great are the sea and the heaven; Thou little, youthful maiden, My heart, and the sea, and the heaven, VOICES OF THE NIGHT. PRELUDE. PLEASANT it was, when woods were green, Or where the denser grove receives A slumbering sound,-a sound that brings As of innumerable wings, O'er meadow, lake, and stream. And dreams of that which cannot die, Dreams that the soul of youth engage, And, loving still these quaint old themes I feel the freshness of the streams, That, crossed by shades and sunný gleams, 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, And beckoned solemnly and slow; Into the woodlands hoar; Into the blithe and breathing air, Solemn and silent everywhere! 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; Vision of childhood! Stay. oh, stay! Thou art no more a child!" "The land of Song within thec lies, "Learn, that henceforth thy song shall be, A mighty river roars between, "Athwart the swinging branches cast, Then comes the fearful wintry blast: We can return no more!' "Look then, into thine heart and write! HYMN TO THE NIGHT. I HEARD the trailing garments of the Night I saw her sable skirt 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 My spirit drank repose; The fountain of perpetual peace flows there,- O holy Night! from thee I learn to bear Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care, Peace! peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer! Descend with broad-winged flight, The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair, The best-beloved Night! 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; Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, 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! We can make our lives sublime, THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS. THERE is a Reaper, whose name is Death, And, with his sickle keen, He reaps the bearded grain at a breath And the flowers that grow between. "Shall I have nought that is fair ?" saith he: "Have nought but the bearded grain? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, I will give them all back again." He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, He kissed their drooping leaves; It was for the Lord of Paradise He bound them in his sheaves. "My Lord has need of these flowerets gay," The Reaper said, and smiled; Dear tokens of the earth are they, "They shall all bloom in fields of light, And saints upon their garments white, And the mother gave, in tears and pain, Oh. not in cruelty, not in pain, The Reaper came that day; "Twas an angel visited the green earth, And took the flowers away. THE night is come. but not too soon; All silently the little moon Drops down behind the sky. There is no light in earth or heaven, And the first watch of night is given Is it the tender star of love? The star of love and dreams? Oh. no! from that blue tent above, And earnest thoughts within me rise, Suspended in the evening skies O star of strength! I see thee stand Thou beckonest with thy mailed hand, Within my breast there is no light, I give the first watch of the night The star of the unconquered will, Oh, fear not in a world like this, FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS. Ere the evening lamps are lighted. |