NORTHERN LIGHTS. JELL'S gates swing open wide! Hell's furious chiefs forth ride! The deep doth redden towns, With flags of armies marching through the Moscow, and purple Rome, and cannon-girt Night, As kings shall lead their legions to the fight At Armageddon. Peers and princes mark I, Captains and Chilarchi; Thee, burning Angel of the Pit, Abaddon! Charioteers from Hades, land of Gloom, Gigantic thrones, and heathen troopers, whom The thunder of the far-off fight doth madden. Lo! Night's barbaric Khans, Lo! the waste gulf's wild clans Gallop across the skies with fiery bridles! Lo! flaming Sultans. Lo! infernal Czars, In deep-ranked squadrons gird the glowing cars Of Lucifer and Ammon, towering Idols. See yonder red platoons! See! see the swift dragoons Whirling aloft their sabres to the zenith! See the tall regiments whose spears incline Beyond the circle of that steadfast sign, Which to the streams of ocean never leaneth. Whose yonder dragon-crest? Whose that red-shielded breast? Chieftain Satanas! Emp'ror of the Furnace! His bright centurions, his blazing earls; In mail of lightning-dealing gems and pearls, Vienna ? Go bid your prophets watch the troubled skies! Dare ye again, fierce Thrones and scarlet Powers, Assail with Hell's wild host those crystal towers ? Tempt ye again the angels' shining blades, Alarm the kingdoms with their gleaming har- Ithuriel's spear and Michael's circling trun ness. All shades and spectral hosts, All forms and gloomy ghosts, All frowning phantoms from the Gulf's dim gorges Follow the Kings in wav'ring multitudes; While savage giants of the Night's old WITH HUSKY-HAUGHTY LIPS, O Thy troops of white-maned racers racing to Thy lonely state-something thou ever seek'st the goal, and seek'st, yet never gain'st, Thy ample, smiling face, dashed with the Surely some right withheld-some voice, in sparkling dimples of the sun, huge monotonous rage, of freedomlover pent, Thy broodings scowl and murk-thy unloos'd Great as thou art above the rest, thy many By lengthen'd swell, and spasm, and panting tears-a lack from all eternity in thy (Naught but the greatest struggles, wrongs, breath, And rythmic rasping of thy sands and waves, And serpent hiss, and savage peals of laughter, And undertones of distant lion roar What saith the river to the rushes gray, Rushes sadly bending, River slowly wending? It is near the closing of the day, Near the night. Life and light For ever, ever fled away! Draw him tideward down; but not in haste. Mouldering daylight lingers; Night with her cold fingers Sprinkles moonbeams on the dim sea-waste. Ever, ever fled away! Vainly cherish'd! vainly chased! What saith the river to the rushes gray, Where in darkest glooms his bed we lay, I would that the wind awaking To a fierce and gusty birth Might vary this dull refrain In tears o'er the fallen earth, Of the rain, the mournful rain, PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE. 'Tis the rhythm of settled sorrow, The sobbing of cureless woe! And all the tragic of life, The pathos of long ago, Comes back on the sad refrain Of the rain, the dreary rain; Till the graves in my heart unclose, And the dead who are buried there, From a solemn and a weird repose Awake, and with eyes that glare And voices that melt in pain On the tide of the plaintive rain, The yearning, hopeless rain, The long, low, whispering rain! PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE THE CLOUD. Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor, BRING fresh showers for the thirsting And wherever the beat of her unseen feet, By the midnight breezes strewn; flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, I wield the flail of the lashing hail, I sift the snow on the mountains below, While I sleep in the arms of the blast. Sublime on the towers of my skyey bowers, Lightning, my pilot, sits; In a cavern under is fettered the thunder, Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion, Lured by the love of the genii that move Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills, Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream, The Spirit he loves remains; Which only the angels hear, May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof, The stars peep behind her and peer; And I laugh to see them whirl and flee, Like a swarm of golden bees, When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas, Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high, Are each paved with the moon and these. I bind the sun's throne with a burning zone, When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl. From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape, Over a torrent sea, Sunbeam proof, I hang like a roof, The mountains its columns be. The triumphal arch through which I march With hurricane, fire, and snow, When the powers of air are chained to my chair, Is the million-colored bow; The sphere-fire above the soft colors wove, I am the daughter of earth and water, And I all the while bask in heaven's blue I pass through the pores of the ocean and smile, While he is dissolving in rains. The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes, As on the jag of a mountain crag, Which an earthquake rocks and swings, An eagle alit one moment may sit In the light of its golden wings; And when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath, Its ardors of rest and of love, With wings folded, I rest on my airy nest, That orbed maiden, with white fire laden, |