Poems . more a child ! The land of Song within thee lies, Watered by living sprThe lids of Fancys sleepless eyAre gates unto that Paradise,Holy thoughts, like stars, arise, Its clouds are angels wings. rings;res PltELUDE. 91 Learn, that henceforth thy song shall mountains capped with snow, Nor forests sounding like the sea, Nor rivers flowing ceaselessly, Where the woodlands bend to seeThe bending heavens below. There is a forest where the din Of iron branches sounds !A mighty river roars between,And whosoever looks therein,Sees the heavens all black with sin,— Sees not its depths, nor
Poems . more a child ! The land of Song within thee lies, Watered by living sprThe lids of Fancys sleepless eyAre gates unto that Paradise,Holy thoughts, like stars, arise, Its clouds are angels wings. rings;res PltELUDE. 91 Learn, that henceforth thy song shall mountains capped with snow, Nor forests sounding like the sea, Nor rivers flowing ceaselessly, Where the woodlands bend to seeThe bending heavens below. There is a forest where the din Of iron branches sounds !A mighty river roars between,And whosoever looks therein,Sees the heavens all black with sin,— Sees not its depths, nor bounds. Athwart the swinging branches cast, Soft rays of sunshine pour ;Then comes the fearful wintry blast;Our hopes, like withered leaves, fall fast;Pallid lips say, It is past! VVe can return no more ! Look, then, into thine heart, and write! Yes, into Lifes deep stream!All forms of sorrow and delight,All solemn Voices of the Night,That can soothe thee, or affright,— Be these henceforth thy HYMN TO THE NIGHT. AarTraairj, -piXXiarog. I heard the trailing- garments of the NightSweep through her marble halls ! I saw her sable skirts all fringed with lightFrom the celestial walls ! HYMN TO THE NIGHT. 99 I felt her presence, by its spell of might, Stoop oer me from above ;The calm, majestic presence of the Night, As of the one I love. I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight, The manifold, soft chimes,That fill the haunted chambers of the Night, Like some old poets rhymes. From the cool cisterns of the midnight air My spirit drank repose ;The fountain of perpetual peace flows there,— From those deep cisterns flows. O holy Night! from thee I learn to bear What man has borne before !Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care, And they complain no more. Peace ! Peace ! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer ! Descend with broad-winged flight,The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair, The best-beloved Night. A PSALM OF LIFE. WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO T
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