« AnteriorContinuar »
The night-bird sang, and the stars above
Told many a touching story,
Where the soul wears its mantle of glory.
We parted in silence—our cheeks were wet
With the tears that were past controlling; We vowed we would never, no, never forget,
And those vows at the time were consoling;
Are as cold as that lonely river;
Has shrouded its fires forever.
And now on the midnight sky I look,
And my heart grows full of weeping; Each star is to me a sealed book,
Some tale of that loved one keeping.
On the banks of that lonely river;
The stream that hurries by your fixed shore.
Returns no more;
Breathes and is gone;
No more shall blow;
For aye are dead;
Naught shall remain;
We heave a sigh;
On, ever on, with unexhausted breath,
Time hastes to death;
Is born and dies;
Naught shall return;
And so hath death;
Can fetter time;
Youth comes no more;
Life's early hue;
Can wake the dead.
If thus through lesser nature's empire wide
Have all their hour-
To earthly things;
Is fixed above:
Chilling and drear;
Of pleasure's knell.
Not all be vain;
MOURNFULLY listening to the waves' strange talk,
away, Return. The rugged steersman at the wheel Softens into a cloudy shape. The sails Move to a music of their own. Brave bark, Speed well, and bear us unto Wonderland! Leave far behind thee the vext earth, where men Spend their dark days in weaving their own shrouds And Fraud and Wrong are crowned kings; and Toil Hath chains for Hire; and all Creation groans, Crying, in its great bitterness, to God; And Love can never speak the thing it feels, Or save the thing it loves,-is succorless. For if one say, “I love thee,” what poor
words They are! Whilst they are spoken, the beloved Traveleth as a doomed lamb the road of death;
And sorrow blanches the fair hair, and pales
There larger natures sport themselves at ease
To drum-beat and heart-beat,
A soldier marches by :
There is courage in his eye,
By starlight and moonlight,
He seeks the Briton's camp; He hears the rustling flag,
And the armed sentry's tramp; And the starlight and moonlight
His silent wanderings lamp.
With slow tread and still tread,
He scans the tented line;
By the gaunt and shadowy pine;
Gives no warning sign.
The dark wave, the plumed wave,
It meets his eager glance; And it sparkles 'neath the stars,
Like the glimmer of a lanceA dark wave, a plumed wave,
On an emerald expanse.
A sharp clang, a steel clang,
And terror in the sound! For the sentry, falcon-eyed,
In the camp a spy hath found; With a sharp clang, a steel clang,
The patriot is bound.
With calm brow, steady brow,
He listens to his doom; In his look there is no fear,
Nor a shadow-trace of gloom; But with calm brow and steady brow
He robes him for the tomb.
In the long night, the still night,
He kneels upon the sod;