Изображения страниц
PDF
EPUB

All the earth and air

With thy voice is loud, As, when night is bare, From one lonely cloud The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed.

What thou art we know not;

What is most like thee?
From rainbow clouds there flow not
Drops so bright to see,
As from thy presence showers a rain of melody.

Like a poet hidden

In the light of thought,
Singing hymns unbidden,
Till the world is wrought
To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not.

Like a high-born maiden

In a palace tower, Soothing her love-laden

Soul in secret hour With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower.

Like a glow-worm golden

In a dell of dew Scattering unbeholden Its aerial hue Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view.

Like a rose embowered

In its own green leaves, By warm winds deflowered, Till the scent it gives Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy winged thieves.

Sound of vernal showers On the twinkling grass, Rain-awakened flowers, All that ever was Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass.

Teach us, sprite or bird,

What sweet thoughts are thine;
I have never heard

Praise of love or wine
That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine.

Chorus hymeneal,

Or triumphal chant,
Matched with thine would be all

But an empty vaunt—
A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want.

What objects are the fountains

Of thy happy strain?
What fields, or waves, or mountains 1

What shapes of sky or plain?
What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain 1

With thy clear keen joyance

Languor cannot be:
Shadow of annoyance

Never came near thee:
Thou lovest; but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.

Waking or asleep,

Thou of death must deem Things more true and deep Than we mortals dream, Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream 1

We look before and after,

And pine for what is not: Our sincerest laughter

With some pain is fraught: Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. Yet if we could scorn

Hate, and pride, and fear j If we were things born Not to shed a tear, I know not how thy joy we ever could come near.

Better than all measures

Of delight and sound, Better than all treasures

That in books are found, Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground!

Teach me half the gladness

That thy brain must know, Such harmonious madness

From my lips would flow, The world should listen then, as I am listening now.

THE MINSTREL-BOY.—Meore.

The Minstrel-boy to the war is gone,

In the ranks of death you'll find him;
His father's sword he has girded on,

And his wild harp slung behind him.—
"Land of song!" said the warrior bard,

"Though all the world betrays thee, One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,

One faithful harp shall praise thee!"

The Minstrel fell!—but the foeman's chain

Could not bring his proud soul under;
The harp he loved ne'er spoke again,

For he tore its chords asunder;
And said, "No chains shall sully thee,

Thou soul of love and bravery!
Thy songs were made for the brave and free,

They shall never sound in slavery!"

THE FORSAKEN MERMAN.—Arnold.

Come, dear children, let us away;

Down and away below.
Now my brothers call from the bay;
Now the great winds shorewards blow;
Now the salt tides seawards flow.;
Now the wild white horses play,
Champ and chafe and toss in the spray.

Children dear, let us away.
This way, this way.

Call her once before you go,

Call once yet.
In a voice that she will know:

"Margaret! Margaret!"
Children's voices should be dear
(Call once more) to a mother's ear:
Children's voices, wild with pain.

Surely she will come again. Call her once and come away.

This way, this way. "Mother dear, we cannot stay." The wild white horses foam and fret.

Margaret! Margaret!

Come, dear children, come away down,

Call no more.
One last look at the white-walled town,
And the little gray church on .the windy shore,

Then come down,
She will not come though you call all day

Come away, come away.

Children dear, was it yesterday
We heard the sweet bells over the bay 1
In the caverns where we lay,
Through the surf and through the swell,
The far-off sound of a silver bell 1

Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep,
Where the winds are all asleep;
Where the spent lights quiver and gleam;
Where the salt weed sways in the stream;
Where the sea beasts ranged all round
Feed in the ooze of their pasture ground;
Where the sea-snakes coil and twine,
Dry their mail and bask in the brine;
Where great whales come sailing by,
Sail and sail, with unshut eye,
Round the world for ever and aye?

When did music come this way i

Children dear, was it yesterday ]

Children dear, was it yesterday

(Call yet once) that she went away 1

Once she sate with you and me,

On a red gold throne in the heart of the sea,

And the youngest sate on her knee. She combed its bright hair, and she tended it well, When down swung the sound of the far-off bell. She sighed, she looked up through the clear green sea, She said; "I must go, for my kinsfolk pray In the little gray church on the shore to-day. 'Twill be Easter-time in the world—ah me! And I lose my poor soul, Merman, here with thee." I said; "Go up, dear heart, through the waves. Say thy prayer, and come back to the kind sea-caves." She smiled, she went up through the surf in the bay.

Children dear, was it yesterday 1

Children dear, were we long alone? "The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan. Long prayers," I said, "in the world they say. Come," I said, and we rose through the surf in the bay. We went up the beach, by the sandy down Where the sea-stocks bloom, to the white-walled town.

« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »