« PoprzedniaDalej »
(Before the heart took fire and wither'd life)
When childhood might pair equally with birds;
But now ... the birds were grown too proud for ns!
Alas, the very sun forbids the dew.
And I—I had come back to an empty nest
Which every bird's too wise for.
THE OLD MILL.
Under the hill
Standeth the quiet mill.
Under the dripping flume—
Down in the noonday gloom.
Many a year
The phebe hath builded here,
Chanting her solemn strain,
Singing of what has been.
The green quiescent tide,
Their tufts of vermeil flowers,
His song in the twilight hours.
Day by day,
Musing and watching his prey,"
Dreaming under the leaves,
And the birch its fragrance gives.
Through the trees
Steals down the blue of the summer sky,
And the sudden swallow flitting by,
From hidden springs,
And willows, and ferns, and water-docks stand,
With babble of banks and shining sand,
Mingling its tune
Dreamily all the afternoon,
Where the cattle stand in the dell;
Beating the broken wheel.
In the light of the open day,
Over the dam and the trees,
Gleaming beyond the leaves.
Large and fair
Were the castles I built in the air,
With domes of the summer blue,
And the bright years shining through.
In its green and quiet decay,
Is this crumbling tottering thing;
And the silence of death within.
THE COMING IN OF NIGHT.
The following, by an old and almost unknown poet named Browne, a Devonshire man, might have adorned the pages of Spenser himself. The ascension of the fogs and mists, and the cessation of all noise, are in a true—nay, a high spirit of grandeur ; and the very delicacy of the conclusion adds to it. The sense of hushing solemnity is drawn to the finest point.
Now great Hyperion left his golden throne,
That on the dancing waves in glory shone;
For whose declining on the western shore
The oriental hills black mantles wore;
And thence apace the gentle twilight fled,
That had from hideous caverns ushered
All drowsy night: who in a car of jet,
By steeds of iron-grey (which mainly sweat
Moist drops on all the world) drawn through the sky,
The helps of darkness waited orderly.
First, thick clouds rose from all the liquid plains;
Then mists from marishes, and grounds whose veins
Were conduit-pipes to many a crystal spring;
From standing pools and fens were following
Unhealthy fogs; each river, every rill,
Sent up their vapours to attend their will.
These pitchy curtains drew 'twixt earth and heaven,
And as night's chariot through the air was driven,
Clamour grew dumb, unheard was shepherd's song,
And silence girt the woods; no warbling tongue
Talk'd to the echo; satyrs broke their dance,
And all the upper world lay in a trance.
Only the curly streams soft chidings kept;
And little gales that from the green leaf swept;
Dry summer's dust, in fearful whisp'rings stirr'd,
As loth to waken any singing bird.
Found in one of the Annuals, the Author's name was not stated.
Fabewell Life! my senses swim,
Welcome Life! the Spirit strives!
THE LAPSE OF TIME.
Lament who will, in fruitless tears,
The speed with which our moments fly,
I sigh not over vanish'd years,
But watch the years that hasten by.
Look how they come! a mingled crowd
Beneath them, like a summer cloud,
What! grieve that Time has brought so soon
The sober age of manhood on; As idly might I weep at noon,
To see the blush of morning gone.
Could I forego the hopes that glow
In prospect like Elysian isles, And let the charming future go
With all her promises and smiles.
The future! cruel were the power
Whose doom would tear thee from my heart, Thou sweetener of the present hour,
We cannot—no we must not part.
Oh! leave me still the rapid flight
That makes the changing seasons gay;
The grateful speed that brings the night,
The months that touch with added grace,
In whose arch eye, and speaking face,
Time, Time will seam and blanch my brow,
Well, I shall sit with aged men,
And my good glass will tell me how
"A grisly beard becomes me then.
And should no foul dishonour lie
Love yet shall watch my fading eye,
Then haste thee, Time—'tis kindness all
Thy pleasures stay not till they pall,
Thou fliest and bearest away our woes,
The memory of sorrow grows
Well may we welcome Christmas with song and chime of
bells, For round the hearts of all on earth he casts his mystic
spells; He opens with the magic key of kindness every heart, And smiles to see the memory of sorrows past depart; He comes with mirth and laughter, with carol and with glee, And th' gladdest time of all the year is Christmas time
I love to hear kind voices! I love to see bright eyes! I love to hear from joyous bells the gladsome pecans rise.