Poems . y, Bids the old man rejoice!His joy! his last! O, the old man gray, Loveth that ever-soft voice,Gentle and low. To the crimson woods he saith,— To the voice gentle and lowOf the soft air, like a daughters breath,— Pray do not mock me so! Do not laugh at me ! And now the sweet day is dead; Cold in his arms it lies;No stain from his breath is spread Over the glassy skies, No mist or stain! Then, too, the Old Year dieth, And the forests utter a moan, MIDNIGHT MASS FOR THE DYING YEAR. 115 Like the voice of one who criethIn the wilderness alone, Vex not his ghost! Then comes, with an awful
Poems . y, Bids the old man rejoice!His joy! his last! O, the old man gray, Loveth that ever-soft voice,Gentle and low. To the crimson woods he saith,— To the voice gentle and lowOf the soft air, like a daughters breath,— Pray do not mock me so! Do not laugh at me ! And now the sweet day is dead; Cold in his arms it lies;No stain from his breath is spread Over the glassy skies, No mist or stain! Then, too, the Old Year dieth, And the forests utter a moan, MIDNIGHT MASS FOR THE DYING YEAR. 115 Like the voice of one who criethIn the wilderness alone, Vex not his ghost! Then comes, with an awful roar,Gathering and sounding on, The storm-wind from Labrador,The wind Euvoclydon,The storm-wind! Howl! howl! and from the forestSweep the red leaves away! Would the sins that thou abhorrest,O Soul! could thus decay,And be swept away ! For there shall come a mightier blast, There shall be a darker day;And the stars, from heaven down-cast,Like red leaves be swept away !Kyrie, eleyson!Christe, eleyson !. ^?^ LENVOI. Ye voices, that arose After the Evenings close, And whispered to my restless heart repose ! Go, breathe it in the ear Of all who doubt and fear, And say to them, Be of good cheer ! Ye sounds, so low and calm, That in the groves of balm Seemed to me like an angels psalm ! Go, mingle yet once more With the perpetual roar Of the pine forest, dark and hoar ! Tongues of the dead, not lost,But speaking from deaths frost,Like fiery tongues at Pentecost! Glimmer, as funeral lamps,Amid the chills and dampsOf the vast plain where Death encamps THE SEASIDE AND THE FIRESIDE. DEDICATION. As one who, walking in the twilight gloom, Hears round about him voices as it darkens, And seeing not the forms from which they come, Pauses from time to time, and turns and hearkens So walking here in twilight, O my friends! I hear your voices softened by the distance,And pause, and turn to listen, as each sends His words of friendship, comfort, and assistance. If any thought of mine, or sung
Size: 2081px × 1200px
Photo credit: © The Reading Room / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookauthorlongfellowhenrywadswo, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1850
