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Πότνια, πότνια νυξ,
HYMN TO THE NIGHT.
I HEARD the trailing garments of the Night
Sweep through her marble halls !
From the celestial walls !
I felt her presence, by its spell of might,
Stoop o'er me from above;
As of the one I love.
I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight,
The manifold, soft chimes, That fill the haunted chambers of the Night,
Like some old poet's rhymes.
From the cool cisterns of the midnight air
My spirit drank repose; The fountain of perpetual peace flows there,-
From those deep cisterns flows.
O holy Night! from thee I learn to bear
What man has borne before !
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.
WIIAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO TUR
TELL me not, in mournful numbers,
“Life is but an enpty 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;
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
Find us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave.
Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead !
Heart within, and God o'erhead!
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
Footprints on the sands of time;
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Learn to labor and to wait.
THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS.
THERE is a Reaper, whose name is Death,
And, with his sickle keen,
And the flowers that grow between.
Shall I have nought that is fair ?” saith he;
“ Ilave 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 ; 6 Dear tokens of the earth are they,
Where he was once a child.
They shall all bloom in fields of light,
Transplanted by my care,
These sacred blossoms wear."
And the mother gave, in tears and pain,
The flowers she most did love;
In the fields of light above.
O, not in cruelty, not in wrath,
The Reaper came that day; ’T was an angel visited the green earth,
And took the flowers away.
THE LIGHT OF STARS.
The night is come, but not too soon;
And sinking silently,
Drops down behind the sky
There is no light in earth or heaven,
But the cold light of stars;
To the red planet Mars.
Is it the tender star of love?
The star of love and dreams? O no! from that blue tent above,
A hero's armour gleams.