Poetry E-Book

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

• Herausgeber: DigiCat
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

In his collection "Poetry," Henry Wadsworth Longfellow masterfully weaves together personal reflection and universal themes, utilizing a lyrical style that resonates with emotion and clarity. His works draw upon a rich tapestry of influences, including Romanticism and New England transcendentalism, exploring subjects of love, nature, loss, and the profound connection between the human experience and the natural world. Longfellow's adept use of meter, rhyme, and vivid imagery creates verses that invite readers into contemplative spaces, embodying the spirit of 19th-century American poetry while echoing classical traditions. As one of America's most celebrated poets, Longfellow was deeply influenced by his scholarly background and personal experiences, including the loss of his wife, which profoundly shaped his views on love and sorrow. His travels across Europe and his engagement with various literary traditions enriched his poetic voice, allowing him to bridge cultural divides and address themes that resonate with a wide audience. Longfellow's commitment to social issues, such as abolition and education, also infuses his work with a sense of moral urgency that remains relevant. "Poetry" is a must-read for anyone interested in the evolution of American literature and the depth of human emotion. Longfellow's accessible yet profound exploration of life's complexities makes this collection an essential addition to both literary studies and personal libraries. Readers will find themselves captivated by the beauty of his language and the timelessness of his themes, making this work a treasure for both scholars and casual readers alike.

Leseprobe

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Poetry

 

EAN 8596547403258

DigiCat, 2022 Contact: [email protected]

Table of Contents

HYMN TO THE NIGHT.

[Greek quotation]

A PSALM OF LIFE.

WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST.

THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS.

THE LIGHT OF STARS.

FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS.

FLOWERS.

THE BELEAGUERED CITY.

MIDNIGHT MASS FOR THE DYING YEAR

**********

EARLIER POEMS

AN APRIL DAY

AUTUMN

WOODS IN WINTER.

HYMN OF THE MORAVIAN NUNS OF BETHLEHEM

AT THE CONSECRATION OF PULASKI'S BANNER.

SUNRISE ON THE HILLS

THE SPIRIT OF POETRY

BURIAL OF THE MINNISINK

L' ENVOI

****************

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS

THE SKELETON IN ARMOR

THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS

THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH

ENDYMION

IT IS NOT ALWAYS MAY

THE RAINY DAY

GOD'S-ACRE.

TO THE RIVER CHARLES.

BLIND BARTIMEUS

THE GOBLET OF LIFE

MAIDENHOOD

EXCELSIOR

**************

POEMS ON SLAVERY.

TO WILLIAM E. CHANNING

THE SLAVE'S DREAM

THE GOOD PART

THAT SHALL NOT BE TAKEN AWAY

THE SLAVE IN THE DISMAL SWAMP

THE SLAVE SINGING AT MIDNIGHT

THE WITNESSES

THE QUADROON GIRL

THE WARNING

*******************

THE SPANISH STUDENT

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

ACT I.

SERENADE.

ACT II.

SCENE I. — PRECIOSA'S chamber. Morning. PRECIOSA and ANGELICA.

SCENE III. — The Prado. A long avenue of trees leading to the

SCENE IV. — PRECIOSA'S chamber. She is sitting, with a book in

SCENE V. — The COUNT OF LARA'S rooms. Enter the COUNT.

SCENE VIII. — The Theatre. The orchestra plays the cachucha.

SONG.

SCENE XI. — PRECIOSA'S bedchamber. Midnight. She is sleeping in

ACT III.

SONG.

SCENE VI. — A pass in the Guadarrama mountains. Early morning.

SONG.

SONG.

****************

THE BELFRY OF BRUGES AND OTHER POEMS

THE BELFRY OF BRUGES

A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE

THE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD

NUREMBERG

RAIN IN SUMMER

TO A CHILD

THE OCCULTATION OF ORION

THE BRIDGE

TO THE DRIVING CLOUD

SONGS

THE DAY IS DONE

AFTERNOON IN FEBRUARY

TO AN OLD DANISH SONG-BOOK

WALTER VON DER VOGELWEID

DRINKING SONG

INSCRIPTION FOR AN ANTIQUE PITCHER

THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS

THE ARROW AND THE SONG

SONNETS

MEZZO CAMMIN

THE EVENING STAR

AUTUMN

DANTE

CURFEW

I.

II.

************

EVANGELINE

A TALE OF ACADIE

PART THE FIRST

I

II

III

IV

V

PART THE SECOND

I

II

III

IV

V

**************

THE SEASIDE AND THE FIRESIDE

BY THE SEASIDE

THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP

SEAWEED

CHRYSAOR

THE SECRET OF THE SEA

TWILIGHT

SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT

THE LIGHTHOUSE

THE FIRE OF DRIFT-WOOD

DEVEREUX FARM, NEAR MARBLEHEAD

BY THE FIRESIDE

RESIGNATION

THE BUILDERS

SAND OF THE DESERT IN AN HOUR-GLASS

THE OPEN WINDOW

KING WITLAF'S DRINKING-HORN

GASPAR BECERRA

PEGASUS IN POUND

TEGNER'S DRAPA

SONNET

ON MRS. KEMBLE'S READINGS FROM SHAKESPEARE

THE SINGERS

SUSPIRIA

HYMN

FOR MY BROTHER'S ORDINATION

***************

INTRODUCTION

I

THE PEACE-PIPE

II

The Four Winds

III

HIAWATHA'S CHILDHOOD

IV

HIAWATHA AND MUDJEKEEWIS

V

HIAWATHA'S FASTING

VI

HIAWATHA'S FRIENDS

VII

HIAWATHA'S SAILING

VIII

HIAWATHA'S FISHING

IX

HIAWATHA AND THE PEARL-FEATHER

X

HIAWATHA'S WOOING

XI

HIAWATHA'S WEDDING-FEAST

XII

THE SON OF THE EVENING STAR

XIII

BLESSING THE CORNFIELDS

XIV

PICTURE-WRITING

XV

HIAWATHA'S LAMENTATION

XVI

PAU-PUK-KEEWIS

XVII

THE HUNTING OF PAU-PUK-KEEWIS

XVIII

THE DEATH OF KWASIND

IX

THE GHOSTS

XX

THE FAMINE

XXI

THE WHITE MAN'S FOOT

XXII

HIAWATHA'S DEPARTURE

NOTES

THE SONG OF HIAWATHA.

VOCABULARY

[END HIAWATHA NOTES]

*************

THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH

I

MILES STANDISH

II

LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP

III

THE LOVER'S ERRAND

IV

JOHN ALDEN

V

THE SAILING OF THE MAYFLOWER

VI

PRISCILLA

VII

THE MARCH OF MILES STANDISH

VIII

THE SPINNING-WHEEL

IX

THE WEDDING-DAY

**************

BIRDS OF PASSAGE.

FLIGHT THE FIRST

BIRDS OF PASSAGE

PROMETHEUS

OR THE POET'S FORETHOUGHT

EPIMETHEUS

OR THE POET'S AFTERTHOUGHT

THE LADDER OF ST. AUGUSTINE

THE PHANTOM SHIP

THE WARDEN OF THE CINQUE PORTS

HAUNTED HOUSES

IN THE CHURCHYARD AT CAMBRIDGE

THE EMPEROR'S BIRD'S-NEST

THE TWO ANGELS

DAYLIGHT AND MOONLIGHT

THE JEWISH CEMETERY AT NEWPORT

OLIVER BASSELIN

VICTOR GALBRAITH

MY LOST YOUTH

THE ROPEWALK

THE GOLDEN MILE-STONE

CATAWBA WINE

SANTA FILOMENA

THE DISCOVERER OF THE NORTH CAPE

A LEAF FROM KING ALFRED'S OROSIUS

DAYBREAK

THE FIFTIETH BIRTHDAY OF AGASSIZ

MAY 28, 1857

CHILDREN

SANDALPHON

FLIGHT THE SECOND

THE CHILDREN'S HOUR

ENCELADUS

THE CUMBERLAND

SNOW-FLAKES

A DAY OF SUNSHINE

SOMETHING LEFT UNDONE

WEARINESS

****************

TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN

PART FIRST

PRELUDE

THE WAYSIDE INN

THE LANDLORD'S TALE.

PAUL REVERE'S RIDE.

INTERLUDE.

THE STUDENT'S TALE

THE FALCON OF SER FEDERIGO

INTERLUDE

THE SPANISH JEW'S TALE

THE LEGEND OF RABBI BEN LEVI

INTERLUDE

THE SICILIAN'S TALE

KING ROBERT OF SICILY

INTERLUDE

THE MUSICIAN'S TALE

THE SAGA OF KING OLAF

I

THE CHALLENGE OF THOR

II

KING OLAF'S RETURN

III

THORA OF RIMOL

IV

QUEEN SIGRID THE HAUGHTY

V

THE SKERRY OF SHRIEKS

VI

THE WRAITH OF ODIN

VII

IRON-BEARD

VIII

GUDRUN

IX

THANGBRAND THE PRIEST

X

RAUD THE STRONG

XI

BISHOP SIGURD AT SALTEN FIORD

XII

KING OLAF'S CHRISTMAS

XIII

THE BUILDING OF THE LONG SERPENT

XIV

THE CREW OF THE LONG SERPENT

XV

A LITTLE BIRD IN THE AIR

XVI

QUEEN THYRI AND THE ANGELICA STALKS

XVII

KING SVEND OF THE FORKED BEAR

XVIII

KING OLAF AND EARL SIGVALD

XIX

KING OLAF'S WAR-HORNS

XX

EINAR TAMBERSKELVER

XXI

KING OLAF'S DEATH-DRINK

XXII

THE NUN OF NIDAROS

INTERLUDE

THE THEOLOGIAN'S TALE

TORQUEMADA

INTERLUDE

THE POET'S TALE

THE BIRDS OF KILLINGWORTH

FINALE

PART SECOND

PRELUDE

THE SICILIAN'S TALE

THE BELL OF ATRI

INTERLUDE

THE SPANISH JEW'S TALE

KAMBALU

INTERLUDE

THE STUDENT'S TALE

THE COBBLER OF HAGENAU

INTERLUDE

THE MUSICIAN'S TALE

THE BALLAD OF CARMILHAN

I

II

III

IV

INTERLUDE

THE POET'S TALE

LADY WENTWORTH.

INTERLUDE.

THE THEOLOGIAN'S TALE

THE LEGEND BEAUTIFUL

INTERLUDE.

THE STUDENT'S SECOND TALE

THE BARON OF ST. CASTINE

FINALE

PART THIRD

PRELUDE

THE SPANISH JEW'S TALE

AZRAEL

INTERLUDE.

THE POET'S TALE

CHARLEMAGNE

INTERLUDE

THE STUDENT'S TALE

EMMA AND EGINHARD

INTERLUDE

THE THEOLOGIAN'S TALE

ELIZABETH

I

II

III

IV

INTERLUDE

THE SICILIAN'S TALE

THE MONK OF CASAL-MAGGIORE

INTERLUDE

THE SPANISH JEW'S SECOND TALE

SCANDERBEG

INTERLUDE

THE MUSICIAN'S TALE

THE MOTHER'S GHOST

INTERLUDE

THE LANDLORD'S TALE

THE RHYME OF SIR CHRISTOPHER

FINALE

FLOWER-DE-LUCE

FLOWER-DE-LUCE

PALINGENESIS

THE BRIDGE OF CLOUD

HAWTHORNE

MAY 23, 1864

CHRISTMAS BELLS

THE WIND OVER THE CHIMNEY

THE BELLS OF LYNN

HEARD AT NAHANT

KILLED AT THE FORD.

GIOTTO'S TOWER

TO-MORROW

DIVINA COMMEDIA

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

NOEL.

**************

BIRDS OF PASSAGE

FLIGHT THE THIRD

FATA MORGANA

THE HAUNTED CHAMBER

THE MEETING

VOX POPULI

THE CASTLE-BUILDER

CHANGED

THE CHALLENGE

THE BROOK AND THE WAVE

AFTERMATH

THE MASQUE OF PANDORA

I

THE WORKSHOP OF HEPHAESTUS

CHORUS OF THE GRACES

II

OLYMPUS.

III

TOWER OF PROMETHEUS ON MOUNT CAUCASUS

CHORUS OF THE FATES

IV

THE AIR

V

THE HOUSE OF EPIMETHEUS

VI

IN THE GARDEN

VII

THE HOUSE OF EPIMETHEUS

VIII

IN THE GARDEN

THE HANGING OF THE CRANE

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

MORITURI SALUTAMUS

A BOOK OF SONNETS

THREE FRIENDS OF MINE

I

II

III

IV

V

CHAUCER

SHAKESPEARE

MILTON

KEATS

THE GALAXY

THE SOUND OF THE SEA

A SUMMER DAY BY THE SEA

THE TIDES

A SHADOW

A NAMELESS GRAVE

SLEEP

THE OLD BRIDGE AT FLORENCE

IL PONTE VECCHIO DI FIRENZE

NATURE

IN THE CHURCHYARD AT TARRYTOWN

ELIOT'S OAK

THE DESCENT OF THE MUSES

VENICE

THE POETS

PARKER CLEAVELAND

WRITTEN ON REVISITING BRUNSWICK IN THE SUMMER OF 1875

THE HARVEST MOON

TO THE RIVER RHONE

THE THREE SILENCES OF MOLINOS

TO JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER

THE TWO RIVERS

I

II

III

IV

BOSTON

ST. JOHN'S, CAMBRIDGE

MOODS

WOODSTOCK PARK

THE FOUR PRINCESSES AT WILNA

A PHOTOGRAPH

HOLIDAYS

WAPENTAKE

TO ALFRED TENNYSON

THE CROSS OF SNOW

**************

BIRDS OF PASSAGE

FLIGHT THE FOURTH

CHARLES SUMNER

TRAVELS BY THE FIRESIDE

CADENABBIA

LAKE OF COMO

MONTE CASSINO

TERRA DI LAVORO

AMALFI

THE SERMON OF ST. FRANCIS

BELISARIUS

SONGO RIVER

************

KERAMOS

*************

BIRDS OF PASSAGE

FLIGHT THE FIFTH

THE HERONS OF ELMWOOD

A DUTCH PICTURE

CASTLES IN SPAIN

VITTORIA COLONNA.

THE REVENGE OF RAIN-IN-THE-FACE

TO THE RIVER YVETTE

THE EMPEROR'S GLOVE

A BALLAD OF THE FRENCH FLEET

OCTOBER, 1746

THE LEAP OF ROUSHAN BEG

HAROUN AL RASCHID

KING TRISANKU

A WRAITH IN THE MIST

THE THREE KINGS

SONG

THE WHITE CZAR

DELIA

ULTIMA THULE

TO G.W.G.

POEMS

BAYARD TAYLOR

THE CHAMBER OVER THE GATE

FROM MY ARM-CHAIR

TO THE CHILDREN OF CAMBRIDGE

JUGURTHA

THE IRON PEN

ROBERT BURNS

HELEN OF TYRE

ELEGIAC

OLD ST. DAVID'S AT RADNOR

FOLK SONGS

THE SIFTING OF PETER

MAIDEN AND WEATHERCOCK

THE WINDMILL

THE TIDE RISES, THE TIDE FALLS

SONNETS

MY CATHEDRAL

THE BURIAL OF THE POET

RICHARD HENRY DANA

NIGHT

L'ENVOI

THE POET AND HIS SONGS

***********

IN THE HARBOR

BECALMED

THE POET'S CALENDAR

JANUARY

FEBRUARY

MARCH

APRIL

MAY

JUNE

JULY

AUGUST

SEPTEMBER

OCTOBER

NOVEMBER

DECEMBER

AUTUMN WITHIN

THE FOUR LAKES OF MADISON

VICTOR AND VANQUISHED

MOONLIGHT

THE CHILDREN'S CRUSADE

[A FRAGMENT.]

I

II

III

. . . . . . . . . .

SUNDOWN

CHIMES

FOUR BY THE CLOCK.

AUF WIEDERSEHEN.

IN MEMORY OF J.T.F.

ELEGIAC VERSE

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

X

XI

XII

XIII

XIV

THE CITY AND THE SEA

MEMORIES

HERMES TRISMEGISTUS

TO THE AVON

PRESIDENT GARFIELD

"E venni dal martirio a questa pace."

MY BOOKS

MAD RIVER

IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS

POSSIBILITIES

DECORATION DAY

A FRAGMENT

INSCRIPTION ON THE SHANKLIN FOUNTAIN

THE BELLS OF SAN BLAS

*************

FRAGMENTS

********

CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY

INTROITUS

PART ONE

THE DIVINE TRAGEDY

THE FIRST PASSOVER

I

VOX CLAMANTIS

II

MOUNT QUARANTANIA

I

II

III

III

THE MARRIAGE IN CANA

IV

IN THE CORNFIELDS

V

NAZARETH

VI

THE SEA OF GALILEE.

VII

THE DEMONIAC OF GADARA

VIII

TALITHA CUMI

IX

THE TOWER OF MAGDALA

X

THE HOUSE OF SIMON THE PHARISEE

THE SECOND PASSOVER.

I

BEFORE THE GATES OF MACHAERUS

II

HEROD'S BANQUET-HALL

III

UNDER THE WALLS OF MACHAERUS

IV

NICODEMUS AT NIGHT

V

BLIND BARTIMEUS

VI

JACOB'S WELL

VII

THE COASTS OF CAESAREA PHILIPPI

VIII

THE YOUNG RULER

IX

AT BETHANY

X

BORN BLIND

XI

SIMON MAGUS AND HELEN OF TYRE

THE THIRD PASSOVER

I

THE ENTRY INTO JERUSALEM

II

SOLOMON'S PORCH

III

LORD, IS IT I?

IV

THE GARDEN OF GETHSEMANE

V

THE PALACE OF CAIAPHAS

VI

PONTIUS PILATE

VII

BARABBAS IN PRISON

VIII

ECCE HOMO

IX

ACELDAMA

X

THE THREE CROSSES

XI

THE TWO MARIES

XII

THE SEA OF GALILEE

EPILOGUE

SYMBOLUM APOSTOLORUM

FIRST INTERLUDE

THE ABBOT JOACHIM

A ROOM IN THE CONVENT OF FLORA IN CALABRIA. NIGHT.

PART TWO

THE GOLDEN LEGEND

PROLOGUE

THE SPIRE OF STRASBURG CATHEDRAL

I

THE CASTLE OF VAUTSBERG ON THE RHINE

COURT-YARD OF THE CASTLE

II

A FARM IN THE ODENWALD

A ROOM IN THE FARM-HOUSE

EVENING SONG

ELSIE'S CHAMBER

THE CHAMBER OF GOTTLIEB AND URSULA

A VILLAGE CHURCH

A ROOM IN THE FARM-HOUSE

IN THE GARDEN

III

A STREET IN STRASBURG

SQUARE IN FRONT OF THE CATHEDRAL

IN THE CATHEDRAL

THE NATIVITY

A MIRACLE-PLAY

INTROITUS

I. HEAVEN.

II. MARY AT THE WELL

IV. THE WISE MEN OF THE EAST

V. THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT

VI. THE SLAUGHTER OF THE INNOCENTS

VII. JESUS AT PLAY WITH HIS SCHOOLMATES

VIII. THE VILLAGE SCHOOL

IX. CROWNED WITH FLOWERS

IV

THE ROAD TO HIRSCHAU

THE CONVENT OF HIRSCHAU IN THE BLACK FOREST.

THE SCRIPTORIUM

THE CLOISTERS

THE CHAPEL

THE REFECTORY

THE NEIGHBORING NUNNERY

V.

A COVERED BRIDGE AT LUCERNE

THE DEVIL'S BRIDGE

THE ST. GOTHARD PASS

AT THE FOOT OF THE ALPS

THE INN AT GENOA

AT SEA

VI

THE SCHOOL OF SALERNO

THE FARM-HOUSE IN THE ODENWALD

THE CASTLE OF VAUTSBERG ON THE RHINE

EPILOGUE

THE TWO RECORDING ANGELS ASCENDING

SECOND INTERLUDE

MARTIN LUTHER

A CHAMBER IN THE WARTBURG. MORNING. MARTIN LUTHER WRITING.

PART THREE

THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES

JOHN ENDICOTT

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

PROLOGUE.

ACT I.

ACT II.

SCENE I. — JOHN ENDICOTT's room. Early morning.

ACT III.

KEMPTHORN.

SCENE II. — A street. Enter JOHN ENDICOTT and UPSALL.

ACT IV.

KEMPTHORN.

ACT V.

KEMPTHORN.

GILES COREY OF THE SALEM FARMS

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

PROLOGUE.

ACT I.

ACT II

MARTHA.

ACT III.

ACT IV

FARMER.

ACT V.

GARDNER.

FINALE

SAINT JOHN

********

JUDAS MACCABAEUS.

ACT I.

SCENE I. — ANTIOCHUS; JASON.

SCENE II. — ANTIOCHUS; JASON; THE SAMARITAN AMBASSADORS.

SCENE III. — ANTIOCHUS; JASON.

ACT II.

SCENE II. — THE MOTHER; ANTIOCHUS; SIRION,

ACT III.

The Battle-field of Beth-horon.

SCENE II — JUDAS MACCABAEUS; JEWISH FUGITIVES.

SCENE III. — JUDAS MACCABAEUS; NICANOR.

SCENE IV. — JUDAS MACCABAEUS; CAPTAINS AND SOLDIERS.

ACT IV.

The outer Courts of the Temple at Jerusalem.

SCENE I. — JUDAS MACCABAEUS; CAPTAINS; JEWS.

SCENE II. — JUDAS MACCABAEUS; JASON; JEWS,

ACT V.

The Mountains of Ecbatana.

SCENE I. — ANTIOCHUS; PHILIP; ATTENDANTS.

SCENE II — ANTIOCHUS; PHILIP; A MESSENGER

MICHAEL ANGELO

Michel, piu che mortal, Angel divino. — ARIOSTO.

PART FIRST.

I.

PROLOGUE AT ISCHIA

The Castle Terrace. VITTORIA COLONNA, and JULIA GONZAGA.

MONOLOGUE: THE LAST JUDGMENT

II.

SAN SILVESTRO

III.

CARDINAL IPPOLITO.

IV.

BORGO DELLE VERGINE AT NAPLES

JULIA GONZAGA, GIOVANNI VALDESSO.

V.

VITTORIA COLONNA

PART SECOND

I

MONOLOGUE

II

VITERBO

III

MICHAEL ANGELO AND BENVENUTO CELLINI

IV.

FRA SEBASTIANO DEL PIOMBO

MICHAEL ANGELO; FRA SEBASTIANO DEL PIOMBO.

V

PALAZZO BELVEDERE

VI

PALAZZO CESARINI

VICTORIA.

PART THIRD

I

MONOLOGUE

II

VIGNA DI PAPA GIULIO

SCENE II.

III

BINDO ALTOVITI

IV

IN THE COLISEUM

V

MACELLO DE' CORVI

MICHAEL ANGELO, BENVENUTO CELLINI.

VI

MICHAEL ANGELO'S STUDIO

VII

THE OAKS OF MONTE LUCA

VIII

THE DEAD CHRIST.

TRANSLATIONS

PRELUDE

FROM THE SPANISH

SONNETS

I

THE GOOD SHEPHERD

(EL BUEN PASTOR)

BY LOPE DE VEGA

II

TO-MORROW

(MANANA)

BY LOPE DE VEGA

III

THE NATIVE LAND

(EL PATRIO CIELO)

IV

THE IMAGE OF GOD

(LA IMAGEN DE DIOS)

BY FRANCISCO DE ALDANA

V

THE BROOK

(A UN ARROYUELO)

ANONYMOUS

ANCIENT SPANISH BALLADS.

I

II

III

VIDA DE SAN MILLAN

BY GONZALO DE BERCEO

SAN MIGUEL, THE CONVENT

(SAN MIGUEL DE LA TUMBA)

BY GONZALO DE BERCEO

SONG

SANTA TERESA'S BOOK-MARK

(LETRILLA QUE LLEVABA POR REGISTRO EN SU BREVIARIO)

BY SANTA TERESA DE AVILA

FROM THE CANCIONEROS

I

EYES SO TRISTFUL, EYES SO TRISTFUL

(OJOS TRISTES, OJOS TRISTES)

BY DIEGO DE SALDANA

II

SOME DAY, SOME DAY

(ALGUNA VEZ)

BY CRISTOBAL DE GASTILLOJO

III

COME, O DEATH, SO SILENT FLYING

(VEN, MUERTE TAN ESCONDIDA)

BY EL COMMENDADOR ESCRIVA

IV

GLOVE OF BLACK IN WHITE HAND BARE

FROM THE SWEDISH AND DANISH

PASSAGES FROM FRITHIOF'S SAGA

BY ESAIAS TEGNER

I

FRITHIOF'S HOMESTEAD

II

A SLEDGE-RIDE ON THE ICE

III

FRITHIOF'S TEMPTATION

IV

FRITHIOF'S FAREWELL

THE CHILDREN OF THE LORD'S SUPPER

BY ESAIAS TEGNER

*******

KING CHRISTIAN

A NATIONAL SONG OF DENMARK

THE ELECTED KNIGHT

CHILDHOOD

BY JENS IMMANUEL BAGGESEN

FROM THE GERMAN

THE HAPPIEST LAND

THE WAVE

BY CHRISTOPH AUGUST TIEDGE

THE DEAD

BY ERNST STOCKMANN

THE BIRD AND THE SHIP

BY WILHELM MULLER

WHITHER?

BY WILHELM MULLER

BEWARE!

(HUT DU DICH!)

SONG OF THE BELL

THE CASTLE BY THE SEA

BY JOHANN LUDWIG UHLAND

THE BLACK KNIGHT

BY JOHANN LUDWIG UHLAND

SONG OF THE SILENT LAND

BY JOHAN GAUDENZ VON SALISSEEWIS

THE LUCK OF EDENHALL

BY JOHAN LUDWIG UHLAND

THE TWO LOCKS OF HAIR

BY GUSTAV PFIZER

THE HEMLOCK TREE.

ANNIE OF THARAW

BY SIMON DACH

THE STATUE OVER THE CATHEDRAL DOOR

BY JULIUS MOSEN

THE LEGEND OF THE CROSSBILL

BY JULIUS MOSEN

THE SEA HATH ITS PEARLS

BY HEINRICH HEINE

POETIC APHORISMS

FROM THE SINNGEDICHTE OF FRIEDRICH VON LOGAU

MONEY

THE BEST MEDICINES

SIN

POVERTY AND BLINDNESS

LAW OF LIFE

CREEDS

THE RESTLESS HEART

CHRISTIAN LOVE

ART AND TACT

RETRIBUTION

TRUTH

RHYMES

SILENT LOVE

BLESSED ARE THE DEAD

BY SIMON DACH

WANDERER'S NIGHT-SONGS

BY JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE

I

II

REMORSE

BY AUGUST VON PLATEN

FORSAKEN.

ALLAH

BY SIEGFRIED AUGUST MAHLMANN

**********

FROM THE ANGLO-SAXON

THE GRAVE

BEOWULF'S EXPEDITION TO HEORT.

THE SOUL'S COMPLAINT AGAINST THE BODY

FROM THE ANGLO-SAXON

FROM THE FRENCH

SONG

FROM THE PARADISE OF LOVE

SONG

THE RETURN OF SPRING

BY CHARLES D'ORLEANS

SPRING

BY CHARLES D'ORLEANS

THE CHILD ASLEEP

BY CLOTILDE DE SURVILLE

DEATH OF ARCHBISHOP TURPIN

FROM THE CHANSON DE ROLAND

THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL CUILLE

BY JACQUES JASMIN

I

II

III

A CHRISTMAS CAROL

FROM THE NOEI BOURGUIGNON DE GUI BAROZAI

CONSOLATION

BY FRANCOISE MALHERBE

TO CARDINAL RICHELIEU

BY FRANCOIS DE MALHERBE

THE ANGEL AND THE CHILD

BY JEAN REBOUL, THE BAKER OF NISMES

ON THE TERRACE OF THE AIGALADES

BY JOSEPH MERY

TO MY BROOKLET

BY JEAN FRANCOIS DUCIS

BARREGES

BY LEFRANC DE POMPIGNAN

WILL EVER THE DEAR DAYS COME BACK AGAIN?

AT LA CHAUDEAU

BY XAVIER MARMIER

A QUIET LIFE.

THE WINE OF JURANCON

BY CHARLES CORAN

FRIAR LUBIN

BY CLEMENT MAROT

RONDEL

BY JEAN FROISSART

MY SECRET

BY FELIX ARVERS

FROM THE ITALIAN

THE CELESTIAL PILOT

PURGATORIO II. 13-51.

THE TERRESTRIAL PARADISE

PURGATORIO XXVIII. 1-33.

BEATRICE.

PURGATORIO XXX. 13-33, 85-99, XXXI. 13-21.

TO ITALY

BY VINCENZO DA FILICAJA

SEVEN SONNETS AND A CANZONE

I

THE ARTIST

II

FIRE

III

YOUTH AND AGE

IV

OLD AGE

V

TO VITTORIA COLONNA

VI

TO VITTORIA COLONNA

VII

DANTE

VIII

CANZONE

THE NATURE OF LOVE

BY GUIDO GUINIZELLI

FROM THE PORTUGUESE

SONG

BY GIL VICENTE

FROM EASTERN SOURCES

THE FUGITIVE

A TARTAR SONG

I

II

III

THE SIEGE OF KAZAN

THE BOY AND THE BROOK

TO THE STORK

FROM THE LATIN

VIRGIL'S FIRST ECLOGUE

OVID IN EXILE

AT TOMIS, IN BESSARABIA, NEAR THE MOUTHS OF THE DANUBE.

TRISTIA, Book III., Elegy XII.

Pleasant it was, when woods were green, And winds were soft and low,To lie amid some sylvan scene.Where, the long drooping boughs between,Shadows dark and sunlight sheen Alternate come and go;

Or where the denser grove receives No sunlight from above,But the dark foliage interweavesIn one unbroken roof of leaves,Underneath whose sloping eaves The shadows hardly move.

Beneath some patriarchal tree I lay upon the ground;His hoary arms uplifted he,And all the broad leaves over meClapped their little hands in glee, With one continuous sound;—

A slumberous sound, a sound that brings The feelings of a dream,As of innumerable wings,As, when a bell no longer swings,Faint the hollow murmur rings O'er meadow, lake, and stream.

And dreams of that which cannot die, Bright visions, came to me,As lapped in thought I used to lie,And gaze into the summer sky,Where the sailing clouds went by, Like ships upon the sea;

Dreams that the soul of youth engage Ere Fancy has been quelled;Old legends of the monkish page,Traditions of the saint and sage,Tales that have the rime of age, And chronicles of Eld.

And, loving still these quaint old themes, Even in the city's throngI feel the freshness of the streams,That, crossed by shades and sunny gleams,Water the green land of dreams, The holy land of song.

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; It was a sound of joy!They were my playmates when a child,And rocked me in their arms so wild!Still they looked at me and smiled, As if I were a boy;

And ever whispered, mild and low, "Come, be a child once more!"And waved their long arms to and fro,And beckoned solemnly and slow;O, I could not choose but go Into the woodlands hoar—

Into the blithe and breathing air, Into the solemn wood,Solemn and silent everywhereNature with folded hands seemed thereKneeling at her evening prayer! Like one in prayer I stood.

Before me rose an avenue Of tall and sombrous pines;Abroad their fan-like branches grew,And, where the sunshine darted through,Spread a vapor 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,Low lispings of the summer rain,Dropping on the ripened grain, As once upon the flower.

Visions of childhood! Stay, O stay! Ye were so sweet and wild!And distant voices seemed to say,"It cannot be! They pass away!Other themes demand thy lay; Thou art no more a child!

"The land of Song within thee lies, Watered by living springs;The lids of Fancy's sleepless eyesAre gates unto that Paradise,Holy thoughts, like stars, arise, Its clouds are angels' wings.

"Learn, that henceforth thy song shall be, Not mountains capped with snow,Nor forests sounding like the sea,Nor rivers flowing ceaselessly,Where the woodlands bend to see The bending heavens below.

"There is a forest where the din Of iron branches sounds!A mighty river roars between,And whosoever looks thereinSees the heavens all black with sin, Sees not its depths, nor bounds.

"Athwart the swinging branches cast, Soft rays of sunshine pour;Then comes the fearful wintry blastOur hopes, like withered leaves, fail fast;Pallid lips say, 'It is past! We can return no more!,

"Look, then, into thine heart, and write! Yes, into Life's deep stream!All forms of sorrow and delight,All solemn Voices of the Night,That can soothe thee, or affright— Be these henceforth thy theme."

HYMN TO THE NIGHT.

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[Greek quotation]

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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, Stoop o'er me from above;The calm, majestic presence of the Night, 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!Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care, And they complain no more.

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.

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WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST.

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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;Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way;But to act, that each to-morrow Find us farther than to-day.

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, In the bivouac of Life,Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead!Act—act in the living Present! Heart within, and God o'erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime,And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time;—

Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o'er life's solemn main,A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing, With a heart for any fate;Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait.

THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS.

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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 naught that is fair?" saith he; "Have naught 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, Where he was once a child.

"They shall all bloom in fields of light, Transplanted by my care,And saints, upon their garments white, These sacred blossoms wear."

And the mother gave, in tears and pain, The flowers she most did love;She knew she should find them all again 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.

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The night is come, but not too soon; And sinking silently,All silently, the little moon Drops down behind the sky.

There is no light in earth or heaven But the cold light of stars;And the first watch of night is given 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 armor gleams.

And earnest thoughts within me rise, When I behold afar,Suspended in the evening skies, The shield of that red star.

O star of strength! I see thee stand And smile upon my pain;Thou beckonest with thy mailed hand, And I am strong again.

Within my breast there is no light But the cold light of stars;I give the first watch of the night To the red planet Mars.

The star of the unconquered will, He rises in my breast,Serene, and resolute, and still, And calm, and self-possessed.

And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art, That readest this brief psalm,As one by one thy hopes depart, Be resolute and calm.

O fear not in a world like this, And thou shalt know erelong,Know how sublime a thing it is To suffer and be strong.

FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS.

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When the hours of Day are numbered, And the voices of the NightWake the better soul, that slumbered, To a holy, calm delight;

Ere the evening lamps are lighted, And, like phantoms grim and tall,Shadows from the fitful firelight Dance upon the parlor wall;

Then the forms of the departed Enter at the open door;The beloved, the true-hearted, Come to visit me once more;

He, the young and strong, who cherished Noble longings for the strife,By the roadside fell and perished, Weary with the march of life!

They, the holy ones and weakly, Who the cross of suffering bore,Folded their pale hands so meekly, Spake with us on earth no more!

And with them the Being Beauteous, Who unto my youth was given,More than all things else to love me, And is now a saint in heaven.

With a slow and noiseless footstep Comes that messenger divine,Takes the vacant chair beside me, Lays her gentle hand in mine.

And she sits and gazes at me With those deep and tender eyes,Like the stars, so still and saint-like, Looking downward from the skies.

Uttered not, yet comprehended, Is the spirit's voiceless prayer,Soft rebukes, in blessings ended, Breathing from her lips of air.

Oh, though oft depressed and lonely, All my fears are laid aside,If I but remember only Such as these have lived and died!

FLOWERS.

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Spake full well, in language quaint and olden, One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine,When he called the flowers, so blue and golden, Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine.

Stars they are, wherein we read our history, As astrologers and seers of eld;Yet not wrapped about with awful mystery, Like the burning stars, which they beheld.

Wondrous truths, and manifold as wondrous, God hath written in those stars above;But not less in the bright flowerets under us Stands the revelation of his love.

Bright and glorious is that revelation, Written all over this great world of ours;Making evident our own creation, In these stars of earth, these golden flowers.

And the Poet, faithful and far-seeing, Sees, alike in stars and flowers, a partOf the self-same, universal being, Which is throbbing in his brain and heart.

Gorgeous flowerets in the sunlight shining, Blossoms flaunting in the eye of day,Tremulous leaves, with soft and silver lining, Buds that open only to decay;

Brilliant hopes, all woven in gorgeous tissues, Flaunting gayly in the golden light;Large desires, with most uncertain issues, Tender wishes, blossoming at night!

These in flowers and men are more than seeming; Workings are they of the self-same powers,Which the Poet, in no idle dreaming, Seeth in himself and in the flowers.

Everywhere about us are they glowing, Some like stars, to tell us Spring is born;Others, their blue eyes with tears o'er-flowing, Stand like Ruth amid the golden corn;

Not alone in Spring's armorial bearing, And in Summer's green-emblazoned field,But in arms of brave old Autumn's wearing, In the centre of his brazen shield;

Not alone in meadows and green alleys, On the mountain-top, and by the brinkOf sequestered pools in woodland valleys, Where the slaves of nature stoop to drink;

Not alone in her vast dome of glory, Not on graves of bird and beast alone,But in old cathedrals, high and hoary, On the tombs of heroes, carved in stone;

In the cottage of the rudest peasant, In ancestral homes, whose crumbling towers,Speaking of the Past unto the Present, Tell us of the ancient Games of Flowers;

In all places, then, and in all seasons, Flowers expand their light and soul-like wings,Teaching us, by most persuasive reasons, How akin they are to human things.

And with childlike, credulous affection We behold their tender buds expand;Emblems of our own great resurrection, Emblems of the bright and better land.

THE BELEAGUERED CITY.

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I have read, in some old, marvellous tale, Some legend strange and vague,That a midnight host of spectres pale Beleaguered the walls of Prague.

Beside the Moldau's rushing stream, With the wan moon overhead,There stood, as in an awful dream, The army of the dead.

White as a sea-fog, landward bound, The spectral camp was seen,And, with a sorrowful, deep sound, The river flowed between.

No other voice nor sound was there, No drum, nor sentry's pace;The mist-like banners clasped the air, As clouds with clouds embrace.

But when the old cathedral bell Proclaimed the morning prayer,The white pavilions rose and fell On the alarmed air.

Down the broad valley fast and far The troubled army fled;Up rose the glorious morning star, The ghastly host was dead.

I have read, in the marvellous heart of man, That strange and mystic scroll,That an army of phantoms vast and wan Beleaguer the human soul.

Encamped beside Life's rushing stream, In Fancy's misty light,Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam Portentous through the night.

Upon its midnight battle-ground The spectral camp is seen,And, with a sorrowful, deep sound, Flows the River of Life between.

No other voice nor sound is there, In the army of the grave;No other challenge breaks the air, But the rushing of Life's wave.

And when the solemn and deep churchbell Entreats the soul to pray,The midnight phantoms feel the spell, The shadows sweep away.

Down the broad Vale of Tears afar The spectral camp is fled;Faith shineth as a morning star, Our ghastly fears are dead.

MIDNIGHT MASS FOR THE DYING YEAR

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Yes, the Year is growing old, And his eye is pale and bleared!Death, with frosty hand and cold, Plucks the old man by the beard, Sorely, sorely!

The leaves are falling, falling, Solemnly and slow;Caw! caw! the rooks are calling, It is a sound of woe, A sound of woe!

Through woods and mountain passes The winds, like anthems, roll;They are chanting solemn masses, Singing, "Pray for this poor soul, Pray, pray!"

And the hooded clouds, like friars, Tell their beads in drops of rain,And patter their doleful prayers; But their prayers are all in vain, All in vain!

There he stands in the foul weather, The foolish, fond Old Year,Crowned with wild flowers and with heather, Like weak, despised Lear, A king, a king!

Then comes the summer-like day, Bids the old man rejoice!His joy! his last! O, the man gray Loveth that ever-soft voice, Gentle and low.

To the crimson woods he saith, To the voice gentle and lowOf the soft air, like a daughter's breath, "Pray do not mock me so! Do not laugh at me!"

And now the sweet day is dead; Cold in his arms it lies;No stain from its breath is spread Over the glassy skies, No mist or stain!

Then, too, the Old Year dieth, And the forests utter a moan,Like the voice of one who crieth In the wilderness alone, "Vex not his ghost!"

Then comes, with an awful roar, Gathering and sounding on,The storm-wind from Labrador, The wind Euroclydon, The storm-wind!

Howl! howl! and from the forest Sweep the red leaves away!Would, the sins that thou abhorrest, O Soul! could thus decay, And be swept away!For there shall come a mightier blast, There shall be a darker day;

And the stars, from heaven down-cast Like red leaves be swept away! Kyrie, eleyson! Christe, eleyson!

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EARLIER POEMS

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AN APRIL DAY

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When the warm sun, that bringsSeed-time and harvest, has returned again,'T is sweet to visit the still wood, where springs The first flower of the plain. I love the season well,When forest glades are teeming with bright forms,Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell The coming-on of storms. From the earth's loosened mouldThe sapling draws its sustenance, and thrives;Though stricken to the heart with winter's cold, The drooping tree revives. The softly-warbled songComes from the pleasant woods, and colored wingsGlance quick in the bright sun, that moves along The forest openings. When the bright sunset fillsThe silver woods with light, the green slope throwsIts shadows in the hollows of the hills, And wide the upland glows. And when the eve is born,In the blue lake the sky, o'er-reaching far,Is hollowed out and the moon dips her horn, And twinkles many a star. Inverted in the tideStand the gray rocks, and trembling shadows throw,And the fair trees look over, side by side, And see themselves below. Sweet April! many a thoughtIs wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed;Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought, Life's golden fruit is shed.

AUTUMN

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With what a glory comes and goes the year!The buds of spring, those beautiful harbingersOf sunny skies and cloudless times, enjoyLife's newness, and earth's garniture spread out;And when the silver habit of the cloudsComes down upon the autumn sun, and withA sober gladness the old year takes upHis bright inheritance of golden fruits,A pomp and pageant fill the splendid scene. There is a beautiful spirit breathing nowIts mellow richness on the clustered trees,And, from a beaker full of richest dyes,Pouring new glory on the autumn woods,And dipping in warm light the pillared clouds.Morn on the mountain, like a summer bird,Lifts up her purple wing, and in the valesThe gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer,Kisses the blushing leaf, and stirs up lifeWithin the solemn woods of ash deep-crimsoned,And silver beech, and maple yellow-leaved,Where Autumn, like a faint old man, sits downBy the wayside a-weary. Through the treesThe golden robin moves. The purple finch,That on wild cherry and red cedar feeds,A winter bird, comes with its plaintive whistle,And pecks by the witch-hazel, whilst aloudFrom cottage roofs the warbling blue-bird sings,And merrily, with oft-repeated stroke,Sounds from the threshing-floor the busy flail. O what a glory doth this world put onFor him who, with a fervent heart, goes forthUnder the bright and glorious sky, and looksOn duties well performed, and days well spent!For him the wind, ay, and the yellow leaves,Shall have a voice, and give him eloquent teachings.He shall so hear the solemn hymn that DeathHas lifted up for all, that he shall goTo his long resting-place without a tear.

WOODS IN WINTER.

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When winter winds are piercing chill, And through the hawthorn blows the gale,With solemn feet I tread the hill, That overbrows the lonely vale.

O'er the bare upland, and away Through the long reach of desert woods,The embracing sunbeams chastely play, And gladden these deep solitudes.

Where, twisted round the barren oak, The summer vine in beauty clung,And summer winds the stillness broke, The crystal icicle is hung.

Where, from their frozen urns, mute springs Pour out the river's gradual tide,Shrilly the skater's iron rings, And voices fill the woodland side.

Alas! how changed from the fair scene, When birds sang out their mellow lay,And winds were soft, and woods were green, And the song ceased not with the day!

But still wild music is abroad, Pale, desert woods! within your crowd;And gathering winds, in hoarse accord, Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud.

Chill airs and wintry winds! my ear Has grown familiar with your song;I hear it in the opening year, I listen, and it cheers me long.

HYMN OF THE MORAVIAN NUNS OF BETHLEHEM

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AT THE CONSECRATION OF PULASKI'S BANNER.

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When the dying flame of day Through the chancel shot its ray, Far the glimmering tapers shed Faint light on the cowled head; And the censer burning swung, Where, before the altar, hung The crimson banner, that with prayer Had been consecrated there. And the nuns' sweet hymn was heard the while, Sung low, in the dim, mysterious aisle.

"Take thy banner! May it wave Proudly o'er the good and brave; When the battle's distant wail Breaks the sabbath of our vale. When the clarion's music thrills To the hearts of these lone hills, When the spear in conflict shakes, And the strong lance shivering breaks. "Take thy banner! and, beneath The battle-cloud's encircling wreath, Guard it, till our homes are free! Guard it! God will prosper thee! In the dark and trying hour, In the breaking forth of power, In the rush of steeds and men, His right hand will shield thee then. "Take thy banner! But when night Closes round the ghastly fight, If the vanquished warrior bow, Spare him! By our holy vow, By our prayers and many tears, By the mercy that endears, Spare him! he our love hath shared! Spare him! as thou wouldst be spared! "Take thy banner! and if e'er Thou shouldst press the soldier's bier, And the muffled drum should beat To the tread of mournful feet, Then this crimson flag shall be Martial cloak and shroud for thee."

The warrior took that banner proud, And it was his martial cloak and shroud!

SUNRISE ON THE HILLS

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I stood upon the hills, when heaven's wide archWas glorious with the sun's returning march,And woods were brightened, and soft galesWent forth to kiss the sun-clad vales.The clouds were far beneath me; bathed in light,They gathered mid-way round the wooded height,And, in their fading glory, shoneLike hosts in battle overthrown.As many a pinnacle, with shifting glance.Through the gray mist thrust up its shattered lance,And rocking on the cliff was leftThe dark pine blasted, bare, and cleft.The veil of cloud was lifted, and belowGlowed the rich valley, and the river's flowWas darkened by the forest's shade,Or glistened in the white cascade;Where upward, in the mellow blush of day,The noisy bittern wheeled his spiral way. I heard the distant waters dash,I saw the current whirl and flash,And richly, by the blue lake's silver beach,The woods were bending with a silent reach.Then o'er the vale, with gentle swell,The music of the village bellCame sweetly to the echo-giving hills;And the wild horn, whose voice the woodland fills,Was ringing to the merry shout,That faint and far the glen sent out,Where, answering to the sudden shot, thin smoke,Through thick-leaved branches, from the dingle broke. If thou art worn and hard besetWith sorrows, that thou wouldst forget,If thou wouldst read a lesson, that will keepThy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep,Go to the woods and hills! No tearsDim the sweet look that Nature wears.

THE SPIRIT OF POETRY

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There is a quiet spirit in these woods,That dwells where'er the gentle south-wind blows;Where, underneath the white-thorn, in the glade,The wild flowers bloom, or, kissing the soft air,The leaves above their sunny palms outspread.With what a tender and impassioned voiceIt fills the nice and delicate ear of thought,When the fast ushering star of morning comesO'er-riding the gray hills with golden scarf;Or when the cowled and dusky-sandaled Eve,In mourning weeds, from out the western gate,Departs with silent pace! That spirit movesIn the green valley, where the silver brook,From its full laver, pours the white cascade;And, babbling low amid the tangled woods,Slips down through moss-grown stones with endless laughter.And frequent, on the everlasting hills,Its feet go forth, when it doth wrap itselfIn all the dark embroidery of the storm,And shouts the stern, strong wind. And here, amidThe silent majesty of these deep woods,Its presence shall uplift thy thoughts from earth,As to the sunshine and the pure, bright airTheir tops the green trees lift. Hence gifted bardsHave ever loved the calm and quiet shades.For them there was an eloquent voice in allThe sylvan pomp of woods, the golden sun,The flowers, the leaves, the river on its way,Blue skies, and silver clouds, and gentle winds,The swelling upland, where the sidelong sunAslant the wooded slope, at evening, goes,Groves, through whose broken roof the sky looks in,Mountain, and shattered cliff, and sunny vale,The distant lake, fountains, and mighty trees,In many a lazy syllable, repeatingTheir old poetic legends to the wind. And this is the sweet spirit, that doth fillThe world; and, in these wayward days of youth,My busy fancy oft embodies it,As a bright image of the light and beautyThat dwell in nature; of the heavenly formsWe worship in our dreams, and the soft huesThat stain the wild bird's wing, and flush the cloudsWhen the sun sets. Within her tender eyeThe heaven of April, with its changing light,And when it wears the blue of May, is hung,And on her lip the rich, red rose. Her hairIs like the summer tresses of the trees,When twilight makes them brown, and on her cheekBlushes the richness of an autumn sky,With ever-shifting beauty. Then her breath,It is so like the gentle air of Spring,As, front the morning's dewy flowers, it comesFull of their fragrance, that it is a joyTo have it round us, and her silver voiceIs the rich music of a summer bird,Heard in the still night, with its passionate cadence.

BURIAL OF THE MINNISINK

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On sunny slope and beechen swell, The shadowed light of evening fell; And, where the maple's leaf was brown, With soft and silent lapse came down, The glory, that the wood receives, At sunset, in its golden leaves.

Far upward in the mellow light Rose the blue hills. One cloud of white, Around a far uplifted cone, In the warm blush of evening shone; An image of the silver lakes, By which the Indian's soul awakes.

But soon a funeral hymn was heard Where the soft breath of evening stirred The tall, gray forest; and a band Of stern in heart, and strong in hand, Came winding down beside the wave, To lay the red chief in his grave.

They sang, that by his native bowers He stood, in the last moon of flowers, And thirty snows had not yet shed Their glory on the warrior's head; But, as the summer fruit decays, So died he in those naked days.

A dark cloak of the roebuck's skin Covered the warrior, and within Its heavy folds the weapons, made For the hard toils of war, were laid; The cuirass, woven of plaited reeds, And the broad belt of shells and beads.

Before, a dark-haired virgin train Chanted the death dirge of the slain; Behind, the long procession came Of hoary men and chiefs of fame, With heavy hearts, and eyes of grief, Leading the war-horse of their chief.

Stripped of his proud and martial dress, Uncurbed, unreined, and riderless, With darting eye, and nostril spread, And heavy and impatient tread, He came; and oft that eye so proud Asked for his rider in the crowd.

They buried the dark chief; they freed Beside the grave his battle steed; And swift an arrow cleaved its way To his stern heart! One piercing neigh Arose, and, on the dead man's plain, The rider grasps his steed again.

L' ENVOI

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Ye voices, that arose After the Evening's close, And whispered to my restless heart repose!

Go, breathe it in the ear Of all who doubt and fear, And say to them, "Be of good cheer!"

Ye sounds, so low and calm, That in the groves of balm Seemed to me like an angel's psalm!

Go, mingle yet once more With the perpetual roar Of the pine forest dark and hoar!

Tongues of the dead, not lost But speaking from deaths frost, Like fiery tongues at Pentecost!

Glimmer, as funeral lamps, Amid the chills and damps Of the vast plain where Death encamps!

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BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS

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THE SKELETON IN ARMOR

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"Speak! speak I thou fearful guest Who, with thy hollow breast Still in rude armor drest, Comest to daunt me! Wrapt not in Eastern balms, Bat with thy fleshless palms Stretched, as if asking alms, Why dost thou haunt me?"

Then, from those cavernous eyesPale flashes seemed to rise,As when the Northern skies Gleam in December;And, like the water's flowUnder December's snow,Came a dull voice of woe From the heart's chamber.

"I was a Viking old!My deeds, though manifold,No Skald in song has told, No Saga taught thee!Take heed, that in thy verseThou dost the tale rehearse,Else dread a dead man's curse; For this I sought thee.

"Far in the Northern Land,By the wild Baltic's strand,I, with my childish hand, Tamed the gerfalcon;And, with my skates fast-bound,Skimmed the half-frozen Sound, That the poor whimpering houndTrembled to walk on.

"Oft to his frozen lairTracked I the grisly bear,While from my path the hare Fled like a shadow;Oft through the forest darkFollowed the were-wolf's bark,Until the soaring lark Sang from the meadow.

"But when I older grew,Joining a corsair's crew,O'er the dark sea I flew With the marauders.Wild was the life we led;Many the souls that sped,Many the hearts that bled, By our stern orders.

"Many a wassail-boutWore the long Winter out;Often our midnight shout Set the cocks crowing,As we the Berserk's taleMeasured in cups of ale,Draining the oaken pail, Filled to o'erflowing.

"Once as I told in gleeTales of the stormy sea,Soft eyes did gaze on me, Burning yet tender;And as the white stars shineOn the dark Norway pine,On that dark heart of mine Fell their soft splendor.

"I wooed the blue-eyed maid,Yielding, yet half afraid,And in the forest's shade Our vows were plighted.Under its loosened vestFluttered her little breastLike birds within their nest By the hawk frighted.

"Bright in her father's hallShields gleamed upon the wall,Loud sang the minstrels all, Chanting his glory;When of old HildebrandI asked his daughter's hand,Mute did the minstrels stand To hear my story.

"While the brown ale he quaffed,Loud then the champion laughed,And as the wind-gusts waft The sea-foam brightly,So the loud laugh of scorn,Out of those lips unshorn,From the deep drinking-horn Blew the foam lightly.

"She was a Prince's child,I but a Viking wild,And though she blushed and smiled, I was discarded!Should not the dove so whiteFollow the sea-mew's flight,Why did they leave that night Her nest unguarded?

"Scarce had I put to sea,Bearing the maid with me,Fairest of all was she Among the Norsemen!When on the white sea-strand,Waving his armed hand,Saw we old Hildebrand, With twenty horsemen.

"Then launched they to the blast,Bent like a reed each mast,Yet we were gaining fast, When the wind failed us;And with a sudden flawCame round the gusty Skaw,So that our foe we saw Laugh as he hailed us.

"And as to catch the galeRound veered the flapping sail,Death I was the helmsman's hail, Death without quarter!Mid-ships with iron keelStruck we her ribs of steelDown her black hulk did reel Through the black water!

"As with his wings aslant,Sails the fierce cormorant,Seeking some rocky haunt With his prey laden,So toward the open main,Beating to sea again,Through the wild hurricane, Bore I the maiden.

"Three weeks we westward bore,And when the storm was o'er,Cloud-like we saw the shore Stretching to leeward;There for my lady's bowerBuilt I the lofty tower,Which, to this very hour, Stands looking seaward.

"There lived we many years;Time dried the maiden's tearsShe had forgot her fears, She was a mother.Death closed her mild blue eyes,Under that tower she lies;Ne'er shall the sun arise On such another!

"Still grew my bosom then.Still as a stagnant fen!Hateful to me were men, The sunlight hateful!In the vast forest here,Clad in my warlike gear,Fell I upon my spear, O, death was grateful!

"Thus, seamed with many scars,Bursting these prison bars,Up to its native stars My soul ascended!There from the flowing bowlDeep drinks the warrior's soul,Skoal! to the Northland! skoal!" Thus the tale ended.

THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS

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It was the schooner Hesperus, That sailed the wintry sea;And the skipper had taken his little daughter, To bear him company.

Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax, Her cheeks like the dawn of day,And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, That ope in the month of May.

The skipper he stood beside the helm, His pipe was in his month,And he watched how the veering flaw did blow The smoke now West, now South.

Then up and spake an old Sailor, Had sailed to the Spanish Main,"I pray thee, put into yonder port, For I fear a hurricane.

"Last night, the moon had a golden ring, And to-night no moon we see!"The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe, And a scornful laugh laughed he.

Colder and louder blew the wind, A gale from the Northeast.The snow fell hissing in the brine, And the billows frothed like yeast.

Down came the storm, and smote amain The vessel in its strength;She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed, Then leaped her cable's length.

"Come hither! come hither! my little daughter, And do not tremble so;For I can weather the roughest gale That ever wind did blow."

He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat Against the stinging blast;He cut a rope from a broken spar, And bound her to the mast.

"O father! I hear the church-bells ring, O say, what may it be?" "'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!"— And he steered for the open sea.

"O father! I hear the sound of guns, O say, what may it be?""Some ship in distress, that cannot live In such an angry sea!"

"O father! I see a gleaming light O say, what may it be?"But the father answered never a word, A frozen corpse was he.

Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, With his face turned to the skies,The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow On his fixed and glassy eyes.

Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed That saved she might be;And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave, On the Lake of Galilee.

And fast through the midnight dark and drear, Through the whistling sleet and snow,Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept Tow'rds the reef of Norman's Woe.

And ever the fitful gusts between A sound came from the land;It was the sound of the trampling surf On the rocks and the hard sea-sand.

The breakers were right beneath her bows, She drifted a dreary wreck,And a whooping billow swept the crew Like icicles from her deck.

She struck where the white and fleecy waves Looked soft as carded wool,But the cruel rocks, they gored her side Like the horns of an angry bull.

Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, With the masts went by the board;Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank, Ho! ho! the breakers roared!

At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, A fisherman stood aghast,To see the form of a maiden fair, Lashed close to a drifting mast.

The salt sea was frozen on her breast, The salt tears in her eyes;And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed, On the billows fall and rise.

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, In the midnight and the snow!Christ save us all from a death like this, On the reef of Norman's Woe!

THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH

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Under a spreading chestnut-tree The village smithy stands;The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands;And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands.

His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan;His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can,And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man.

Week in, week out, from morn till night, You can hear his bellows blow;You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, With measured beat and slow,Like a sexton ringing the village bell, When the evening sun is low.

And children coming home from school Look in at the open door;They love to see the flaming forge, And bear the bellows roar,And catch the burning sparks that fly Like chaff from a threshing-floor.

He goes on Sunday to the church, And sits among his boys;He hears the parson pray and preach, He hears his daughter's voice,Singing in the village choir, And it makes his heart rejoice.

It sounds to him like her mother's voice, Singing in Paradise!He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies;And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes.

Toiling—rejoicing—sorrowing, Onward through life he goes;Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it closeSomething attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose.

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,For the lesson thou hast taught!Thus at the flaming forge of life Our fortunes must be wrought;Thus on its sounding anvil shaped Each burning deed and thought.

ENDYMION

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The rising moon has hid the stars;Her level rays, like golden bars, Lie on the landscape green, With shadows brown between.

And silver white the river gleams,As if Diana, in her dreams, Had dropt her silver bow Upon the meadows low.

On such a tranquil night as this,She woke Endymion with a kiss, When, sleeping in the grove, He dreamed not of her love.

Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought,Love gives itself, but is not bought; Nor voice, nor sound betrays Its deep, impassioned gaze.

It comes—the beautiful, the free,The crown of all humanity— In silence and alone To seek the elected one.

It lifts the boughs, whose shadows deepAre Life's oblivion, the soul's sleep, And kisses the closed eyes Of him, who slumbering lies.

O weary hearts! O slumbering eyes!O drooping souls, whose destinies Are fraught with fear and pain, Ye shall be loved again!

No one is so accursed by fate,No one so utterly desolate, But some heart, though unknown, Responds unto his own.

Responds—as if with unseen wings,An angel touched its quivering strings; And whispers, in its song, "'Where hast thou stayed so long?"

IT IS NOT ALWAYS MAY

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No hay pajaros en los nidos de antano. Spanish Proverb

The sun is bright—the air is clear, The darting swallows soar and sing.And from the stately elms I hear The bluebird prophesying Spring.

So blue you winding river flows, It seems an outlet from the sky,Where waiting till the west-wind blows, The freighted clouds at anchor lie.

All things are new;—the buds, the leaves, That gild the elm-tree's nodding crest, And even the nest beneath the eaves;— There are no birds in last year's nest!

All things rejoice in youth and love, The fulness of their first delight! And learn from the soft heavens above The melting tenderness of night.

Maiden, that read'st this simple rhyme, Enjoy thy youth, it will not stay;Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime, For oh, it is not always May!

Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth, To some good angel leave the rest;For Time will teach thee soon the truth, There are no birds in last year's nest!

THE RAINY DAY

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The day is cold, and dark, and drearyIt rains, and the wind is never weary;The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,But at every gust the dead leaves fall, And the day is dark and dreary.

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;It rains, and the wind is never weary;My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past,But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast, And the days are dark and dreary.

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;Thy fate is the common fate of all,Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary.

GOD'S-ACRE.

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I like that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls The burial-ground God's-Acre! It is just;It consecrates each grave within its walls, And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust.

God's-Acre! Yes, that blessed name imparts Comfort to those, who in the grave have sownThe seed that they had garnered in their hearts, Their bread of life, alas! no more their own.

Into its furrows shall we all be cast, In the sure faith, that we shall rise againAt the great harvest, when the archangel's blast Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain.

Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom, In the fair gardens of that second birth;And each bright blossom mingle its perfume With that of flowers, which never bloomed on earth.

With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn up the sod, And spread the furrow for the seed we sow;This is the field and Acre of our God, This is the place where human harvests grow!

TO THE RIVER CHARLES.

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River! that in silence windest Through the meadows, bright and free,Till at length thy rest thou findest In the bosom of the sea!

Four long years of mingled feeling, Half in rest, and half in strife,I have seen thy waters stealing Onward, like the stream of life.

Thou hast taught me, Silent River! Many a lesson, deep and long;Thou hast been a generous giver; I can give thee but a song.

Oft in sadness and in illness,