SONG OF THE SILENT LAND

INTO the Silent Land!

Ah! who shall lead us thither?

Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather,
And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand;
Who leads us with a gentle hand

Thither, O thither!

Into the Silent Land?

Into the Silent Land!

To you, ye boundless regions

Of all perfection, tender morning-visions

Of beauteous souls, the Future's pledge and band!
Who in Life's battle firm doth stand

Shall bear Hope's tender blossoms

Into the Silent Land!

O Land! O Land!

For all the broken-hearted,

The mildest herald by our fate allotted
Beckons, and with inverted torch doth stand,
To lead us with a gentle hand

Into the land of the great departed,

Into the Silent Land!

JOHANN GAUDENZ VON SALIS. (German.)

Translation of HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW,

THE ONE GRAY HAIR.

THE wisest of the wise

Listen to pretty lies,

And love to hear them told;

Doubt not that Solomon

Listened to many a one:

Some in his youth, and more when he grew old.

I never sat among

The choir of Wisdom's song,

But pretty lies loved I

As much as any king:

When youth was on the wing,

And (must it then be told?) when youth had quite gone by.

Alas! and I have not
The pleasant hour forgot,

When one pert lady said
"O Landor! I am quite

Bewildered with affright:

I see (sit quiet now!) a white hair on your head!"

Another, more benign,

Drew out that hair of mine,

And in her own dark hair

THE SHEPHERD'S RESOLUTION.

Pretended she had found

That one, and twirled it round:

Fair as she was, she never was so fair.

WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.

THE SHEPHERD'S RESOLUTION.

SHALL I, wasting in despair,

Die, because a woman's fair?
Or make pale my cheeks with care,
'Cause another's rosy are?

Be she fairer than the day,

Or the flowery meads in May,
If she be not so to me,

What care I how fair she be?

Shall my foolish heart be pined
'Cause I see a woman kind?
Or a well-disposed nature
Joined with a lovely feature?
Be she meeker, kinder, than
Turtle-dove or pelican,

If she be not so to me,

What care I how kind she be?

Shall a woman's virtues move

Me to perish for her love?

Or her well-deservings known
Make me quite forget mine own?

THE OLD CONTINENTALS.

Be she with that goodness blest
Which may merit name of best,
If she be not such to me,
What care I how good she be?

'Cause her fortune seems too high, Shall I play the fool and die? Those that bear a noble mind

Where they want of riches find

Think what with them they would do
That without them dare to woo;

And unless that mind I see,

What care I how great she be?

Great, or good, or kind, or fair,
I will ne'er the more despair.
If she love me, this believe:
I will die ere she shall grieve.
If she slight me when I woo,
I can scorn, and let her go;
For if she be not for me,
What care I for whom she be?

GEORGE WITHER.

THE OLD CONTINENTALS.

In their ragged regimentals
Stood the old Continentals,

Yielding not,

While the grenadiers were lunging,

THE OLD CONTINENTALS.

And like hail fell the plunging

Cannon-shot;

When the files

Of the Isles,

From the smoky night-encampment, bore the banner of the ram

pant

Unicorn,

And grummer, grummer, grummer, rolled the roll of the drummer, Through the morn!

Then with eyes to the front all,
And with guns horizontal,

Stood our sires;

While the balls whistled deadly,
And in streams flashing redly,
Blazed the fires;

As the roar

On the shore,

Swept the strong battle-breakers o'er the green-sodded acres
Of the plain;

And louder, louder, louder, cracked the black gunpowder,
Cracking amain !

Now like smiths at their forges
Worked the red St. George's

Cannoneers;

And the villainous saltpetre"

Rang a fierce, discordant metre

Round our ears.

As the swift

Storm-drift,