At this all laughed; the Landlord stirred, As one awaking from a swound, Then all arose, and said "Good Night." To rake the embers of the fire, The scattered lamps a moment gleamed, BIRDS OF PASSAGE. FLIGHT THE SECOND. THE CHILDREN'S HOUR. The sound of a door that is opened, From my study I see in the lamplight, A whisper, and then a silence : A sudden rush from the stairway, O'er the arms and back of my chair; In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine ! Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti, Because you have scaled the wall, Such an old mustache as I am Is not a match for you all! I have you fast in my fortress, Yes, forever and a day, Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, And moulder in dust away! ENCELADUS. UNDER Mount Etna he lies, It is slumber, it is not death; For he struggles at times to arise, And above him the lurid skies Are hot with his fiery breath. The crags are piled on his breast, The earth is heaped on his head; But the groans of his wild unrest, Thoughsmothered and half suppressed, Are heard, and he is not dead, And the nations far away Are watching with eager eyes; Enceladus will arise !" length ! Ah me! for the land that is sown With the harvest of despair! "At Where the burning cinders, blown Where ashes are heaped in drifts Over vineyard and field and town, Whenever he starts and lifts His head through the blackened rifts Of the crags that keep him down. See, see! the red light shines! 'Tis the glare of his awful eyes ! And the storm-wind shouts through the pines Of Alps and of Apennines, "Enceladus, arise!" THE CUMBERLAND. AT anchor in Hampton Roads we lay, On board of the Cumberland, sloopof-war : And at times from the fortress across the bay The alarum of drums swept past, From the camp on the shore. A little feather of snow-white smoke, And we knew that the iron ship of our foes Was steadily steering its course Of our ribs of oak. Down upon us heavily runs, Silent and sullen, the floating fort; Then comes a puff of smoke from her guns, And leaps the terrible death, We are not idle, but send her straight Of the monster's hide. "Strike your flag!" the rebel cries, In his arrogant old plantation strain. "Never!" our gallant Morris replies; "It is better to sink than to yield !" And the whole air pealed With the cheers of our men. OUT of the bosom of the Air, Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken, Over the woodlands brown and bare, Silent, and soft, and slow Even as our cloudy fancies take Suddenly shape in some divine ex pression, Even as the troubled heart doth make This is the poem of the air, Slowly in silent syllables recorded; This is the secret of despair, Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded, Now whispered and revealed To wood and field. A DAY OF SUNSHINE. O GIFT of God! O perfect day: The snow-flakes of the cherry-blooms! O Life and Love! O happy throng SOMETHING LEFT UNDONE. Waits the rising of the sun. By the bedside, on the stair, At the threshold, near the gates, With its menace or its prayer, Like a mendicant it waits; Waits, and will not go away; Waits, and will not be gainsaid; WEARINESS. O LITTLE feet! that such long years Must wander on through hopes and fears, Must ache and bleed beneath your I, nearer to the wayside inn Am weary, thinking of your road! Have still so long to give or ask ; I, who so much with book and pen Have toiled among my fellow-men, Am weary, thinking of your task. O little hearts! that throb and beat With such impatient, feverish heat, Such limitless and strong desires; Mine that so long has glowed and burned, With passions into ashes turned Now covers and conceals its fires. O little souls! as pure and white And crystalline as rays of light Direct from heaven, their source divine; Refracted through the mist of years, How red my setting sun appears, How lurid looks this soul of mine! FLOWER-DE-LUCE, AND OTHER POEMS. FLOWER-DE-LUCE. BEAUTIFUL lily, dwelling by still riv ers, Or solitary mere, Or where the sluggish meadow-brook delivers Its waters to the weir! Thou laughest at the mill, the whir and worry Of spindle and of loom, And the great wheel that toils amid the hurry And rushing of the flume. Born in the purple, born to joy and pleasance, Thou dost not toil nor spin, But makest glad and radiant with thy presence The meadow and the lin. The wind blows, and uplifts thy droop ing banner, And round thee throng and run The rushes, the green yeomen of thy manor, The outlaws of the sun. The burnished dragon-fly is thine at tendant, And tilts against the field, And down the listed sunbeam rides resplendent With steel-blue mail and shield. Thou art the Iris, fair among the fairest, Who, armed with golden rod And winged with the celestial azure, bearest The message of some God. Thou art the Muse, who far from crowded cities Hauntest the sylvan streams, Playing on pipes of reed the artless ditties That come to us as dreams. O flower-de-luce, bloom on, and let the river Linger to kiss thy feet! O flower of song, bloom on, and make forever The world more fair and sweet. PALINGENESIS. I LAY upon the headland-height, and listened To the incessant sobbing of the sea In caverns under me, And watched the waves, that tossed and fled and glistened, Until the rolling meadows of amethyst Melted away in mist. Then suddenly, as one from sleep, I started; For round about me all the sunny capes Seemed peopled with the shapes Of those whom I had known in days departed, Apparelled in the loveliness which gleams On faces seen in dreams. A moment only, and the light and glory Faded away, and the disconsolate shore Stood lonely as before; And the wild-roses of the promontory Around me shuddered in the wind, and shed Their petals of pale red. There was an old belief that in the embers Of all things their primordial form exists, And cunning alchemists Could re-create the rose with all its members From its own ashes, but without the bloom, Without the lost perfume. THE BRIDGE OF CLOUD. BURN, O evening hearth, and waken Up the never-ending stair! Cataracts dash and roar unseen. Blast of wind or torrent's roar, Footsteps that have gone before. O'er the parapets of cloud, Faintly, vaguely, meet the ear, Murmur of bells and voices blending With the rush of waters near. Well I know what there lies hidden Every tower and town and farm, And again the land forbidden Reassumes its vanished charm. |