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I hear even now the infinite fierce chorus,

The cries of agony, the endless groan,
Which, through the ages that have gone before us,

In long reverberations reach our own.
On helm and harness rings the Saxon hammer,

Through Cimbric forest roars the Norseman's song, And loud, amid the universal clamour,

O’er distant deserts sounds the Tartar gong. I hear the Florentine, who froin his palace

Wheels out his battle-bell with dreadful din, And Aztec priests upon their teocallis

Beat the wild war-drums made of serpent's skin; The tumult of each sacked and burning village;

The shout that every prayer for mercy drowns;
The soldier's revels in the midst of pillage;

The wail of famine in beleaguered towns;
The bursting shell, the gateway wrenched asunder,

The rattling musketry, the clashing blade;
And ever and anon, in tones of thunder,

The diapason of the cannonade.
Is it, О man, with such discordant noises,

With such accursed instruments as these,
Thou drownest Nature's sweet and kindly voices,

And jarrest the celestial harmonies?
Were half the power, that fills the world with terror,

Were half the wealth, bestowed on camps and courts, Given to redeem the human mind from error,

There were no need for arsenals nor forts: The warrior's name would be a name abhorred!

And every nation, that should lift again Its hand against a brother, on its forehead

Would wear for evermore the curse of Cain! Down the dark future, through long generations,

The echoing sounds grow fainter and then cease; And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations,

I hear once more the voice of Christ say, “Peace!" Peace! and no longer from its brazen portals

The blast of War's great organ shakes the skies ! But beautiful as songs of the immortals,

The holy melodies of love arise.

This is the place. Stand still, my steed,

Let me review the scene,
And summon from the shadowy Past

The forms that once have been,
The Past and Present here unite

Beneath Time's flowing tide,
Like footprints hidden by a brook,

But seen on either side.
Here runs the highway to the town;

There the green lane descends,
Through which I walked to church with thee,

O gentlest of my friends!
The shadow of the linden-trees

Lay moving on the grass;
Between them and the moving boughs,
A shadow, thou didst

pass. Thy dress was like the lilies,

Ånd thy heart as pure as they: One of God's holy messengers

Did walk with me that day. I saw the branches of the trees

Bend down thy touch to meet,
The clover-blossoms in the grass

Rise up to kiss thy feet.
Sleep, sleep to-day, tormenting cares,

Of earth and folly born!"
Solemnly sang the village choir

On that sweet Sabbath morn.
Through the closed blinds the golden sun

Poured in a dusty beam,
Like the celestial ladder seen

By Jacob in his dream.
And ever and anon, the wind,

Sweet-scented with the hay,
Turned o'er the hymn-book's fluttering leaves

That on the window lay.
Long was the good man's sermon,

Yet it seemed not so to me;
For he spake of Ruth the beautiful,

And still I thought of thee.
Long was the prayer he uttered,

Yet it seemed not so to me;
For in my heart I prayed with him,

And still I thought of thee.

But now, alas! the place seems changed;

Thou art no longer here:
Part of the sunshine of the scene

With thee did disappear.
Though thoughts, deep-rooted in my heart,

Like pine-trees dark and high,
Subdue the light of noon, and breathe

A low and ceaseless sigh;
This memory brightens o'er the past,

As when the sun, concealed
Behind some cloud that near us hangs,

Shines on a distant field.

I saw, as in a dream sublime,
The balance in the hand of Time.
O’er East and West its beam impended;
And day, with all its hours of light,
Was slowly sinking out of sight,
While, opposite, the scale of night
Silently with the stars ascended.
Like the astrologers of eld,
In that bright vision I beheld
Greater and deeper mysteries.
I saw, with its celestial keys,
Its chords of air, its frets of fire,
The Samian's great Æolian lyre,
Rising through all its sevenfold bars,
From earth unto the fixed stars,
And through the dewy atmosphere,
Not only could I see, but hear,
Its wondrous and harmonious strings,
In sweet vibration, sphere by sphere,
From Dian's circle light and near,
Onward to vaster and wider rings,
Where, chanting through his beard of snows,
Majestic, mournful, Saturn goes,
And down the sunless realms of space
Reverberates the thunder of his bass,
Beneath the sky's triumphal arch
This music sounded like a march,
And with its chorus seemed to be

Preluding some great tragedy. * Astronomically speaking, this title is incorrect, as I apply to a constellation what can properly be applied to some of its stars only. But my observation is made from the hill of song, and not from that of science, and will, I trust, be found sufficiently accurate for the present purpose.

Sirius was rising in the east;
And, slow ascending one by one,
The kindling constellations shone.
Begirt with many a blazing star,
Stood the great giant Algebar,
Orion, hunter of the beast!
His sword hung gleaming by his side,
And, on his arm, the lion's hide
Scattered across the midnight air
The golden radiance of its hair.
The moon was pallid, but not faint
And beautiful as some fair saint,
Serenely moving on her way
In hours of trial and dismay.
As if she feared the voice of God,
Unharmed with naked feet she trod
Upon the hot and burning stars,
As on the glowing coals and bars
That were to prove her strength, and try
Her holiness and her purity.
Thus moving on, with silent pace,
And triumph in her sweet, pale face,
She reached the station of Orion.
Aghast he stood in strange alarm!
And suddenly from his outstretched arm
Down fell the red skin of the lion
Into the river at his feet.
His mighty club no longer beat
The forehead of the bull; but he
Reeled as of yore beside the sea,
When, blinded by Enopion,
He sought the blacksmith at his forge,
And, climbing up the mountain-gorge,
Fixed his blank eyes upon the sun.
Then, through the silence overhead,
An angel with a trumpet said,
“Forevermore, forevermore,
The reign of violence is o'er!"
And like an instrument that flings
Its music on another's strings,
The trumpet of the angel cast
Upon the heavenly lyre its blast,
And on from sphere to sphere the words
Reëchoed down the burning chords, --

Forevermore, forevermore,
The reign of violence is o'er!"


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