Therefore, at Pentecost, which brings The Spring, clothed like a bride, When nestling buds unfold their wings, And bishop's-caps have golden rings, Musing upon many things, 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, Into the blithe and breathing air, Into the solemn wood, Solemn and silent every where ! Like one in prayer I stood. Before me rose an avenue Of tall and sombrous pines; Abroad their fan-like branches grew, Spread a vapour soft and blue, In long and sloping lines. And, falling on my weary brain, The dreams of youth come back again; Visions of childhood! Stay, oh, stay! "The land of Song within thee lies, "Learn, that henceforth thy song shall be, The bending heavens below. "There is a forest where the din "Athwart the swinging branches cast, Soft rays of sunshine pour ; Then comes the fearful wintry blast; Our hopes, like withered leaves, fall fast; We can return no more!' “Look, then, into thine heart, and write! Yes, into Life's deep stream! All forms of sorrow and delight, HYMN TO THE NIGHT. Ασπασίη, τρίλλιστος. I HEARD the trailing garments of the Night Sweep through her marble halls! I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light From the celestial walls! I felt her presence, by its spell of might, The calm majestic presence of the Night, I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight, That fill the haunted chambers of the Night, 8 From the cool cisterns of the midnight air 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; The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair, A PSALM OF LIFE. WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST. TELL me not, in mournful numbers, Life is real! Life is earnest ! 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! Lives of great men all remind us Footprints, that perhaps another, Let us, then, be up and doing, |