E78 v.l LIBRARY Wn*$f7Y O CAUPO^NfA SAN DIEGO 2-ZSO 18 \\ - THE AUTHOR'S POCKET-VOLUME EDITION LONGFELLOW'S POETICAL WORKS VOLUME I VOICES OF THE NIGHT AND EARLIER POEMS, , LONDON GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS BROADWAY, LUDGATE HILL 1878 CONTENTS. VOICES OF THE NIGHT (1839):- PAGH Prelude 9 Hymn to the Night 14 A Psalm of Life 15 The Reaper and the Flowers 17 The Light of Stars 19 Footsteps of Angels . . . . 21 Flowers 23 The Beleaguered City 26 Midnight Mass for the Dying! ear 28 L'Envoi 31 EARLIER POEMS : An April Day 33 Autumn 35 Woods in Winter 37 Hymn of the Moravian Nuns of Bethlehem . . 38 Sunrise on the Hills 40 The Spirit of Poetry 42 Buiial of the Minnisink .. .45 6 CONTENTS. BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS (1812): pAGp The Skeleton in Armour 48 The Wreck of the Hesperus .... ... 5 6 The Luck of Edenhall ... 61 The Elected Knight 64 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS (1841-18461858): The Village Blacksmith 67 Endymion 69 The Two Locks of Hair 71 It Is not always May 73 The Rainy Day 7+ God's-Acre v .. 75 To the River Charles 76 Blind Bartimeus ..' . 78 The Goblet of Life 80 Maidenhood 83 Excelsior 85 POEMS ON SLAVERY (1843):- To William E. Channing 88 The Slave's Dream 89 The Good Part that shall not be taken away . - 92 The Slave in the Dismal Swamp 94 The Slave Singing at Midnight 95 The Witnesses 97 The Quadroon Girl 98 The Warning.. .. 101 THE BELFRY OF BRUGES PAGE AND OTHER POEMS (1845): Carillon I02 The Belfry of Bruges 105 MISCELLANEOUS : A Gleam of Sunshine no The Arsenal at Springfield "3 Nuremberg 116 Rain in Summer 126 To a Child ' 130 The Occultation of Orion . . 138 The Bridge 141 To the Driving Cloud . -. 144 Curfew . . . 14.7 THE SEASIDE AND THE FIRESIDE (1849): Dedication 15 BY THE SEASIDE. The Building of the Ship 153 The Evening Star 170 The Secret of the Sea 171 Twilight I 73 Sir Humphrey Gilbert 174 The Lighthouse T 77 The Fire of Driftwood 180 BY THE FIRESIDE. Resignation l %3 CONTENTS. The Builders ' .. 186 Sand of the Desert in an Hour-Glass .. 188 The Open Window ....... .. 190 King Witlaf" s Drinking-Horn , . 192 Caspar Becerra .. 194 Pegasus in Pound 195 Tegner's Drapa .. 198 The Singers . . 201 Susoiria 2O3 Hynm .. 203 TRANSLATIONS :- The Blind Girl of Castel-Cuille .. 205 A Christmas Carol . . 222 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS, VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 1839. ntTvia., irdrvia vvf, imvoSoreipa TWV TroXvirav ipe&o6tv IBi' /i&Xe ^o'Jle K into yap- dXyewv, inro re a EURIPIDES. PRELUDE. LEAS ANT it was, when woods were green, And winds were soft and low, r ~ 4 ^ r To lie amid some sylvan scene. Where, the long drooping boughs between, Shadows dark and sunlight sheen Alternate come and go ; Or where the denser grove receives No sunlight from above, But the dark foliage interweaves In one unbroken roof of leaves, Underneath whose sloping eaves The shadows hardly move. VOICES OF THE NIGHT. Beneath some patriarchal tree I lay upon the ground ; His hoary arms uplifted he, And all the broad leaves over me Clapped their little hands in glee, With one continuous sound ; A slumberous sound, a sound that brings The feelings of a dream, As of innumerable wings, As, when a bell no longer swings, Faint the hollow murmur rings O'er meadow, lake, and stream. And dreams of that which cannot die, Bright visions, came to me, As lapped in thought I used to He, And gaze into the summer sky, Where the sailing clouds went by, Like ships upon the sea ; Dreams that the soul of youth engage Ere Fancy has been quelled ; Old legends of the monkish page, Traditions of the saint and sage, Tales that have the rime of age, And chronicles of Eld. And, loving still these quaint old themes, Even in the city's throng I feel the freshness of the streams, That, crossed by shades and sunny gleams, Water the green land of dreams, The holy land of song. Therefore, at Pentecost, which brings The spring, clothed like a bride, When nestling buds unfold their wings, And bishop's-caps have golden rings, Musing upon many things, I sought the woodlands wide. The green trees whispered low and mild ; It was a sound of joy ! They were my playmates when a child, And rocked me in their arms so wild ! Still they looked at me and smiled, As if I were a boy ; And ever whispered, mild and low, *' Come, be a child once more ! " And waved their long arms to and fro, And beckoned solemnly and slow ; Oh, I could not choose but go Into the woodlands hoar, 12 VOICES OF THE NIGHT. Into the blithe and breathing air, Into the solemn wood, Solemn and silent everywhere ! Nature with folded hands seemed there, Kneeling at her evening prayer ! Like one in prayer I stood. Before me rose an avenue Of tall and sombrous pines ; Abroad their fan-like branches grew, And, where the sunshine darted through, Spread a vapour soft and blue, In long and sloping lines. And, falling on my weary brain, Like a fast-falling shower, The dreams of youth came back again, Low lispings of the summer rain, Dropping on the ripened grain, As once upon the flower. Visions of childhood ! Stay, oh stay ! Ye were so sweet and wild ! And distant voices seemed to say, "It cannot be ! They pass away ! Other themes demand thy lay ; Thou art no more a child ! "The land of Song within thee lies, Watered by living springs ; The lids of Fancy's sleepless eyes Are gates unto that Paradise, Holy thoughts, like stars, arise, Its clouds are angels' wings. " Learn, that henceforth thy song shall be, Not mountains capped with snow, Nor forests sounding like the sea, Nor rivers flowing ceaselessly, Where the woodlands bend to see The 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 ! We can return no more ! ' VOICES OF THE NIGHT. Look, then, into thine heart, and write ! Yes, into Life's deep stream ! All forms of sorrow and delight, All solemn Voices of the Night, That can soothe thee, or affright, Be these henceforth thy theme." HYMN TO THE NIGHT. HEARD the trailing garments of the Night Sweep through her marble halls ! I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light P'rom the celestial walls ! I felt her presence, by its spell of might, Stoop o'er 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 poet's rhymes. A PSALM OF LIFE. 15 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 ringer 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 THE PSALMIST. fELL me not, in mournful numbers, " Life is but an empty dream ! " For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. l6 VOICES OF THE NIGHT. Life is real ! Life is earnest ! And the grave is not its goal ; " Dust thou art, to dust returnest," Was not spoken of the soul. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way ; But to act, that each to-morrow Find us farther than to-day. Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. In the world's broad field of battle, In the bivouac of Life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle ! Be a hero in the strife ! Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant ! Let the dead Past bury its dead ! Act, act in the living Present ! Heart within, and God o'erhead THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS. 1 7 Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time ; Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o'er life's solemn main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again. Let us, tfien, be up and doing, With a heart for any fate ; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labour and to wait. THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS. tHERE is a Reaper, whose name is Death, And with his sickle keen, He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, And the flowers that grow between. " Shall I have nought that is fair ? " saith he ; ' ' Have nought but the bearded grain ? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, I will give them all back again." ** P VOICES OF THE NIGHT. He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, He kissed their drooping leaves ; It was for the Lord of Paradise He bound them in his sheaves. "My Lord has need of these flowerets gay,' The Reaper said, and smiled ; " Dear tokens of the earth are they, Where he was once a child. " They shall all bloom in fields of light, Transplanted by my care, And saints, upon their garments white, These sacred blossoms wear." And the mother gave, in tears and pain, The flowers she most did love ; She knew she should find them all again In the fields of light above. O, not in cruelty, not in wrath, The Reaper came that day ; 'Twas an angel visited the green earth, And took the flowers away. THE LIGHT OF STARS. tHE night is come, but not too soon j And sinking silently, ' All silently, the little moon Drops down behind the sky. There is no light in earth or heaven, But the cold light of stars ; And the first watch of night is given To the red planet Mars. Is it the tender star of love ? The star of love and dreams ? O no ! from that blue tent above, A hero's armour gleams. And earnest thoughts within me rise, When I behold afar, Suspended in the evening skies, The shield of that red star. O star of strength ! I see thee stand And smile upon my pain ; Thou beckonest with thy mailed hand, And I am strong again. B 2 VOICES OF THE NIGHT. Within my breast there is no light, But the cold light of stars ; I give the first watch of the night To the red planet Mars. The star of the unconquered will, He rises in my breast, Serene, and resolute, and still, And calm, and self-possessed. And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art, That readest this brief psalm, As one by one thy hopes depart, Be resolute and calm. O fear not in a world like this, And thou shalt know ere long, Know how sublime a thing it is To suffer and be strong. FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS. HEN the hours of Day are numbered, And the voices of the Night Wake the better soul, that slumbered, To a holy, calm delight ; Ere the evening lamps are lighted, And, like phantoms grim and tall, Shadows from the fitful fire-light Dance upon the parlour wall ; Then the forms of the departed Enter at the open door ; The beloved, the true-hearted. Come to visit me once more ; He, the young and strong, who cherished Noble longings for the strife, By the road-side fell and perished, Weary with the march of life ! They, the holy ones and weakly, Who the cross of suffering bore, Folded their pale hands so meekly, Spake with us on earth no more ! VOICES OF THE NIGHT. And with them the Being Beauteous, Who unto my youth was given, More than all things else to love me, And is now a saint in heaven. With a slow and noiseless footstep Comes that messenger divine, Takes the vacant chair beside me, Lays her gentle hand in mine. And she sits and gazes at me With those deep and tender eyes, Like the stars, so still and saint-like, Looking downward from the skies. Uttered not, yet comprehended, Is the spirit's voiceless prayer, Soft rebukes, in blessings ended, Breathing from her lips of air. O, though oft depressed and lonely, All my fears are laid aside, If I but remember only Such as these have lived and died ! FLOWERS. full well, in language quaint and olden, One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, When he called the flowers, so blue and golden, Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine. Stars they are, wherein we read our history, As astrologers and seers of eld ; Yet not wrapped about with awful mystery, Like the burning stars, which they beheld. Wondrous truths, and manifold as wondrous, God hath written in those stars above ; But not less in the bright flowerets under us Stands the revelation of his love. Bright and glorious is that revelation, Written all over this great world of ours ; Making evident our own creation, In these stars of earth, these golden flowers. And the Poet, faithful and far-seeing, Sees, alike in stars and flowers, a part Of the self-same, universal being, Which is throbbing in his brain and heart. 24 VOICES OF THE NIGHT. Gorgeous flowerets in the smilight shining, Blossoms flaunting in the eye of day, Tremulous leaves, with soft and silver lining, Buds that open only to decay ; Brilliant hopes, all woven in gorgeous tissues, Flaunting gaily in the golden light ; Large desires, with most uncertain issues, Tender wishes, blossoming at night ! These in flowers and men are more than seeming Workings are they of the self-same powers, Which the Poet, in no idle dreaming, Seeth in himself and in the flowers. Everywhere about us are they glowing, Some like stars, to tell us Spring is born -, Others, their blue eyes with tears o'erflowing. Stand like Ruth amid the golden com ; Not alone in Spring's armorial bearing, And in Summer's green emblazoned field, But in arms of brave old Autumn's wearing, In the centre of his brazen shield ; FLOWERS. 25 Not alone in meadows and green alleys, On the mountain-top, and by the brink Of sequestered pools in woodland valleys, Where the slaves of nature stoop to drink ; Not alone in her vast dome of glory, Not on~ graves of bird and beast alone, But in old cathedrals, high and hoary, On the tombs of heroes, carved in stone ; In the cottage of the rudest peasant, In ancestral homes, whose crumbling towers, Speaking of the Past unto the Present, Tell us of the ancient Games of Flowers ; In all places, then, and in all seasons, Flowers expand their light and soul -like wings, Teaching us, by most persuasive reasons, How akin they are to human things. A nd with childlike, credulous affection We behold their tender buds expand ; Emblems of our own great resurrection, Emblems of the bright and better land. 26 VOICES OF THE NIGHT. THE BELEAGUERED CITY. i^jr HAVE read, in some old marvellous tale, Some legend strange and vague, hat a midnight host of spectres pale Beleaguered the walls of Prague. Beside the Moldau's rushing stream, With the wan moon overhead, There stood, as in an awful dream, The army of the dead. White as a sea-fog, landward bound. The spectral camp was seen, And with a sorrowful, deep sound, The river flowed between. No other voice nor sound was there, No drum, nor sentry's pace ; The mist-like banners clasped the air, As clouds with clouds embrace. But, when the old cathedral bell Proclaimed the morning prayer, The white pavilions rose and fell On the alarmed air. THE BELEAGUERED CITY. 27 Down the broad valley, fast and far, The troubled army fled ; Up rose the glorious morning star, The ghastly host was dead. I have read, in the marvellous heart of man, That strange and mystic scroll, That an army of phantoms, vast and wan, Beleaguer the human soul. Encamped beside Life's rushing stream, In Fancy's misty light, Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam Portentous through the night. Upon its midnight battle-ground The spectral camp is seen, And, with a sorrowful, deep sound, Flows the River of Life between. No other voice, nor sound is there, In the army of the grave ; No other challenge breaks the air, But the rushing of Life's wave. 28 VOICES OF THE NIGHT. And when the solemn and deep church bell Entreats the soul to pray, The midnight phantoms feel the spell, The shadows sweep away. Down the broad Vale of Tears afar The spectral camp is fled ; Faith shineth as a morning star, Our ghastly fears are dead. MIDNIGHT MASS FOR THE DYING YEAR. , the Year is growing old, And his eye is pale and bleared ! Death, with frosty hand and cold, Plucks the old man by the beard, Sorely, sorely ! The leaves are falling, falling, Solemnly and slow ; Caw ! caw ! the rooks are calling, It is a sound of wee, A sound of woe ! MIDNIGHT MASS FOR THE DYING YEAR. 29 Through woods and mountain passes The winds, like anthems, roll ; They are chanting solemn masses, Singing, ' ' Pray for this poor soul, Pray, Pray ! " And the hooded clouds, like friars, Tell their beads in drops of rain, And patter their doleful prayers ; But their prayers are all in vain, All in vain 1 There he stands in the foul weather, The foolish, fond Old Year, Crowned with wild flowers and with heather, Like weak, despised Lear, A king, a king ! Then comes the summer-like day, Bids the old man rejoice ! His joy ! his last ! O, the old man gray Loveth that ever soft voice, Gentle and low. 30 VOICES OF THE NIGHT. *Tothe crimson woods he saith, To the voice gentle and low Of the soft air, like a daughter's breath,- " Pray do not mock me so ! Do not laugh at me 1 " And now the sweet day is dead ; Cold in his arms it lies ; No stain from its breath is spread Over the glassy skies, No mist or stain ! Then, too, the Old Year dieth, And the forests utter a moan, Like the voice of one who crieth In the wilderness alone, " Vex not his ghost ! " Then comes, with an awful roar, Gathering and sounding on, The storm-wind from Labrador, The wind Euroclydon, The storm-wind ! L' ENVOI. 31 Howl ! howl ! and from the forest Sweep 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 J Kyrie, eleyson ! Christe, eleyson ! L'ENVOI. E voices, that arose After the Evening's 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 ! " 32 VOICES OF THE NIGHT, Ye sounds, so low and calm, That in the groves of balm Seemed to me like an angel s 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 death's frost, Like fiery tongues at Pentecost ! Glimmer, as funeral lamps, Amid the chills and damps Of the vast plain where Death encamps ! EARLIER POEMS. [Written for the most part during my College Life, and all of them before the age of nineteen,} AN APRIL DAY. - ( . 'HEN the warm sun, that brings n Seed-time and harvest, has returned again, 'Tis sweet to visit the still wood, where springs The first flower of the plain. I love the season well, When forest glades are teeming with bright forms, Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell The coming-on of storms. 34 EARLIER POEMS. From the earth's loosened mould The sapling draws its sustenance, and thrives ; Though stricken to the heart with Winter's cold, The drooping tree revives. The softly- warbled song Comes from the pleasant woods, and coloured wings Glance quick in the bright sun, that moves along The forest openings. When the bright sunset fills The silver woods with light, the green slope throws Its shadows in the hollows of the hills, And wide the upland glows. And, when the eve is born, In the blue lake the sky, o'er-reaching far, Is hollowed out, and the moon dips her horn, And twinkles many a star. Inverted in the tide, Stand the gray rocks, and trembling shadows throw ; And the fair trees look over, side by side, And see themselves below. AUTUMN. 35 Sweet April ! many a thought Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed ; Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought, Life's golden fruit is shed. AUTUMN. r ITH what a glory comes and goes the year! The buds of spring, those beautiful harbingers Of sunny skies and cloudless times, enjoy Life's newness, and earth's garniture spread out. And when the silver habit of the clouds Comes down upon the autumn sun, and with A sober gladness the old year takes up His bright inheritance of golden fruits, A pomp and pageant fill the splendid scene. There is a beautiful spirit breathing now Its mellow richness on the clustered trees, And, from a beaker full of richest dyes, Pouring new glory on the autumn woods, And dipping in warm light the pillared clouds. C 2 36 EARLIER POEMS. Morn on the mountain, like a summer bird, Lifts up her purple wing, and in the vales The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer, Kisses the blushing leaf, and stirs up life Within the solemn woods of ash deep-crimsoned, And silver beech, and maple yellow-leaved, Where Autumn, like a faint old man, sits down By the wayside a- weary. Through the trees The golden robin moves. The purple finch, That on wild cherry and red cedar feeds, A winter bird, comes with its plaintive whistle, And pecks by the witch-hazel, whilst aloud From cottage roofs the warbling blue-bird sings, And merrily, with oft-repeated stroke, Sounds from the threshing-floor the busy flail. O what a glory doth this world put on For him who, with a fervent heart, goes forth Under the bright and glorious sky, and looks On duties well performed, and days well spent ! For him the wind, ay, and the yellow leaves, Shall have a voice, and give him eloquent teach- ings. He shall so hear the solemn hymn, that Death Has lifted up for all, that he shall go To his long resting-place without a tear. 37 WOODS IN WINTER. WHEN Winter winds are piercing chill, And through the hawthorn blows the ^ gale, With solemn feet I tread the hill That overbrows the lonely vale. O'er the bare upland, and away Through the long reach of desert woods, The embracing sunbeams chastely play, And gladden these deep solitudes. Where, twisted round the barren oak, The summer vine in beauty clung, And summer winds the stillness broke, The crystal icicle is hung. Where, from their frozen urns, mute springs Pour out the river's gradual tide, Shrilly the skater's iron rings, And voices fill the woodland side. 38 EARLIER POEMS. Alas ! how changed from the fair scene, When birds sang out their mellow lay, And winds were soft, and woods were green, And the song ceased not with the day. 3ut still wild music is abroad, Pale, desert woods ! within your crowd ; And gathering winds, in hoarse accord, Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud. Chill airs and wintry winds ! my ear Has grown familiar with your song ; I hear it in the opening year, I listen, and it cheers me long. HYMN OF THE MORAVIAN NUNS OF BETHLEHEM. AT THE CONSECRATION OF PULASKl's BANNER. HEN the dying flame of day Through the chancel shot its ray, Far the glimmering tapers shed Faint light on the cowled head ; HYMN OF THE MORAVIAN NUNS. 39 And the censer burning swung, Where, before the altar, hung The blood-red banner, that with prayer Had been consecrated there. And the nun's sweet hymn was heard the while, Sung low in the dim, mysterious aisle. " Take thy banner ! May it wave Proudly o'er the good and brave ; When the battle's distant wail Breaks the sabbath of our vale, When the clarion's music thrills To the hearts of these lone hills, When the spear in conflict shakes, And the strong lance shivering breaks. " Take thy banner ! and, beneath The battle-cloud's encircling wreath, Guard it ! till our homes are free ! Guard it ! God will prosper thee ! In the dark and trying hour, In the breaking forth of power, In the rush of steeds and men, His right hand will shield thee then. " Take thy banner ! But, when night Closes round the ghastly fight, 40 EARLIER POEMS. If the vanquished warrior bow, Spare him ! By our holy vow, By our prayers and many tears, By the mercy that endears, Spare him ! he our love hath shared ! Spare him ! as thou wouldst be spared ! " Take thy banner ! and if e'er Thou shouldst press the soldier's bier, And the muffled drums should beat To the tread of mournful feet, Then this crimson flag shall be Martial cloak and shroud for thee." The warrior took that banner proud, And it was his martial cloak and shroud ! SUNRISE ON THE HILLS. C*d 'JfT STOOD upon the hills, when heaven's wide J? arch Was glorious with the sun's returning march, And woods were brightened, and soft gales Went forth to kiss the sun-clad vales. SUNRISE ON THr. HILLS. 41 The clouds were far beneath me ; bathed in light, They gathered mid-way round the wooded height, And, in their fading glory, shone Like hosts in battle overthrown, As many a pinnacle, with shifting glance, Through the gray mist thrust up its shattered lance, And rocking on the cliff was left The dark pine blasted, bare, and cleft. The veil of cloud was lifted, and below Glowed the rich valley, and the river's flow Was darkened by the forest's shade, Or glistened in the white cascade ; Where upward, in the mellow blush of day The noisy bittern wheeled his spiral way. I heard the distant waters dash, I saw the current whirl and flash, And richly, by the blue lake's silver beach, The woods were bending with a silent reach. Then o'er the vale, with gentle swell, The music of the village bell Came sweetly to the echo-giving hills ; And the wild horn, whose voice the woodland fills, 42 EARLIER POEMS. Was ringing to the merry shout That faint and far the glen sent out, Where, answering to the sudden shot, thin smoke, Through thick -leaved branches, from the dingle broke. If thou art worn and hard beset With sorrows, that thou wouldst forget, If thou wouldst read a lesson, that will keep Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep, Go to the woods and hills ! No tears Dim the sweet look that Nature wears. THE SPIRIT OF POETRY. tHERE is a quiet spirit in these woods, r That dwells where'er the gentle south wind blows ; Where, underneath the white-thorn, in the glade, The wild flowers bloom, or, kissing the soft air, The leaves above their sunny palms outspread. With what a tender and impassioned voice It fills the nice and delicate ear of thought, THE SPIRIT OF POETRY. 43 When the fast-ushering star of morning comes O'er-riding the gray hills with golden scarf ; Or when the cowled and dusky-sandaled Eve, In mourning weeds, from out the western gate, Departs with silent pace ! That spirit moves In the green valley, where the silver brook, From its full laver, pours the white cascade ; And, babbling low amid the tangled woods, Slips down through moss-grown stones with end- less laughter. And frequent, on the everlasting hills, Its feet go forth, when it doth wrap itself In all the dark embroidery of the storm, And shouts the stern, strong wind. And here, amid The silent majesty of these deep woods, Its presence shall uplift thy thoughts from earth, As to the sunshine and the pure bright air Their tops the green trees lift. Hence gifted bards Have ever loved the calm and quiet shades. For them there was an eloquent voice in all The sylvan pomp of woods, the golden sun, The flowers, the leaves, the river on its way, Blue skies, and silver clouds, and gentle wings, The swelling upland, where the sidelong sun Aslant the wooded slope, at evening, goes, 44 EARLIER POEMS. Groves, through whose broken roof the sky looks in, Mountain, and shattered cliff, and sunny vale, The distant lake, fountains, and mighty trees, In many a lazy syllable, repeating Their old poetic legends to the wind. And this is the sweet spirit, that doth fill The world ; and, in these wayward days of youth, My busy fancy oft embodies it, ** As a bright image of the light and beauty That dwell in nature, of the heavenly forms We worship in our dreams, and the soft hues That stain the wild bird's wing, and flush the clouds When the sun sets. Within her eye The heaven of April, with its changing light, And when it wears the blue of May, is hung, And on her lip the rich, red rose. Her hair Is like the summer tresses of the trees, When twilight makes them brown, and on her cheek Blushes the richness of an autumn sky, With ever-shifting beauty. Then her breath, It is so like the gentle air of Spring, As, from the morning's dewy flowers, it comes BURIAL OF THE MINNISINK. 45 Full of their fragrance, that it is a joy To have it round us, and her silver voice Is the rich music of a summer bird, Heard in the still night, with its passionate cadence. BURIAL OF THE MINNISINK. N sunny slope and beechen swell, f The shadowed light of evening fell; And, where the maple's leaf was brown, With soft and silent lapse came down The glory that the wood receives, At sunset, in its brazen leaves. Far upward in the mellow light Rose the blue hills. One cloud of white, Around a far uplifted cone, In the warm blush of evening shone ; An image of the silver lakes, By which the Indian's soul awakes. 46 EARLIER POEMS. But soon a funeral hymn was heard Where the soft breath of evening stirred The tall, gray forest ; and a band Of stern in heart, and strong in hand, Came winding down beside the wave, To lay the red chief in his grave. They sang, that by his native bowers He stood, in the last moon of flowers, And thirty snows had not yet shed Their glory on the warrior's head ; But, as the summer fruit decays, So died he in those naked days. A dark cloak of the roebuck's skin Covered the warrior, and within Its heavy folds the weapons, made For the hard toils of war, were laid ; The cuirass, woven of plaited reeds, And the broad belt of shells and beads. Before, a dark-haired virgin train Chanted the death-dirge of the slain ; Behind, the long procession came Of hoary men and chiefs of fame, With heavy hearts, and eyes of grief, Leading the war-horse of their chief. BURIAL OF THE MINNISINK. 47 Stripped of his proud and martial dress, Uncurbed, unreined, and riderless, With darting eye, and nostril spread, And heavy and impatient tread, He came ; and oft that eye so proud Asked for his rider in the crowd. They buried the dark chief they freed Beside the grave his battle-steed ; And swift an arrow cleaved its way To his stern heart ! One piercing neigh Arose, and, on the dead man's plain, The rider grasps his steed again. BALLADS. 1842. THE SKELETON IN ARMOUR. PREFATORY NOTE. THE following Ballad was suggested to me while riding on the seashore at Newport. A year or two previous a skeleton had been dug up at Fall River, clad in broken and corroded armour ; and the idea occurred to me of connecting it with the Round Tower at Newport, generally known hitherto as the old Windmill, though now claimed by the Danes as a work of their early ancestors. Professor Rafii, in the Memoires de la Societe Royale des Antiquaires du Nord, for 1838-9. says, "There is no mistaking in this instance the style in which the more ancient stone edifices of the North were constructed, the style which belongs to the Roman or Ante- Gothic architecture, and which, especially after the time of Charlemagne, diffused itself from Italy over the whole of the West and North of Europe, where it continued to predomi- nate until the close of the twelfth century ; that style which some authors have, from one of its most striking charac- teristics, called the round arch style, the same which in England is denominated Saxon, and sometimes Norman architecture. " On the ancient structure in Newport there are no ornaments remaining which might possibly have served to guide us in assigning the probable date of its erection. That no vestige whatever is found of the pointed arch, nor any approximation to it, is indicative of an earlier rather than of a later period. From such characteristics as remain, THE SKELETON IN ARMOUR. 49 however, we can scarcely form any other inference than one, in which 1 am persuaded that all who are familiar with old Northern architecture will concur, THAT THIS BUILDING WAS ERECTED AT A PERIOD DECIDEDLY NOT LATER THAN THE TWELFTH CENTURY. This remark applies, of course, to the original building only, and not to the alterations that it subsequently received ; for there are several such alterations in the upper part of the building which cannot be mistaken, and which were most likely occasioned by its being adapted in modern times to various uses ; for example, as the substructure of a windmill, and latterly as a hay magazine To the same times may be referred the windows, the fireplace, and the apertures made above the columns. That this building could not have been erected for a windmill is what an architect will easily discern." I will net enter into a discussion of the point. It is sufficiently well established for the purpose of a ballad, though doubtless many an honest citizen of Newport, who has passed his days within sight of the Round Tower, will be ready to exclaim with Sancho, "God bless me! did I not warn you to have a care of what you were doing, for that it was nothing but a windmill ? and nobody could mistake it but one who had the like in his head." ? PEAK ! speak ! thou fearful guest ! j)Who, with thy hollow breast Still in rude armour drest, Comest to daunt me ! Wrapt not in Eastern balms, But with thy fleshless palms Stretched, as if asking alms, Why dost thou haunt me ? " D 50 BALLADS. Then, from those cavernous eyes Pale flashes seemed to rise, As when the Northern skies Gleam in December ; And, like the water's flow Under December's snow, Came a dull voice of woe From the heart's chamber. " I was a Viking old ! My deeds, though manifold, No Skald in song has told, No Saga taught thee ! Take heed, that in thy verse Thou dost the tale rehearse, Else dread a dead man's curse ! For this I sought thee. "Far in the Northern land, By the wild Baltic's strand, I, with my childish hand, Tamed the ger-falcon ; And, with my skates fast-bound, Skimmed the half-frozen Sound, That the poor whimpering hound Trembled to walk on. THE SKELETON IN ARMOUR. " Oft to his frozen lair Tracked I the grisly bear, While from my path the hare Fled like a shadow ; Oft through the forest dark Followed the were- wolfs bark, Until the soaring lark Sang from the meadow. " But when I older grew, Joining a corsair's crew, O'er the dark sea I 'flew With the marauders. Wild was the life we led ; Many the souls that sped, Many the hearts that bled, By our stern orders. " Many a wassail-bout Wore the long Winter out ; Often our midnight shout Set the cocks crowing, As we the Berserk's tale Measured in cups of ale, Draining the oaken pail, Filled to o'erflowing. 52 BALLADS. " Once as I told in glee Tales of the stormy sea, Soft eyes did gaze on me, Burning yet tender ; And as the white stars shine On the dark Norway pine, On that dark heart of mine Fell their soft splendour. " I wooed the blue-eyed maid, Yielding, yet half afraid, And in the forest's shade Our vows were plighted. Under its loosened vest Fluttered her little breast, Like birds within their nest By the hawk frighted. "Bright in her father's hall Shields gleamed upon the wall, Loud sang the minstrels all, Chanting his glory ; When of old Hildebrand I asked his daughter's hand, Mute did the minstrels stand To hear my story. THE SKELETON IN ARMOUR. 53 " While the brown ale he quaffed, Loud then the champion laughed, And as the wind-gusts waft The sea-foam brightly, So the loud laugh of scorn, Out of those lips unshorn, From the deep drinking-horn Blew the foam lightly. " She was a Prince's child, I but a Viking wild, And though she blushed and smiled, I was discarded ! Should not the dove so white Follow the sea-mew's flight, Why did they leave that night * Her nest unguarded ? " Scarce had I put to sea, Bearing the maid with me, Fairest of all was she Among the Norsemen ! When on the white-sea strand, Waving his armed hand, Saw we old Hildebrand, With twenty horsemen. 54 BALLADS. " Then launched they to the blast, Bent like a reed each mast, Yet we were gaining fast, When the wind failed us ; And with a sudden flaw Came round the gusty Skaw, So that our foe we saw Laugh as he hailed us. " And as to catch the gale Round veered the flapping sail, ' Death ! was the helmsman's hail,- Death without quarter ! Mid-ships with iron keel Struck we her ribs of steel ; Down her black hulk did reel Through the black water ! " As with his wings aslant, Sails the fierce cormorant, Seeking some rocky haunt, With his prey laden ; So toward the open main, Beating to sea again, Through the wild hurricane, Bore I the maiden. THE SKELETON IN ARMOUR. 55 "Three weeks we westward bore, And when the storm was o'er, Cloud-like we saw the shore Stretching to leeward ; There for my lady's bower Built I the lofty tower, Which, to this very hour, Stands looking seaward. " There lived we many years ; Time dried the maiden's tears j She had forgot her fears, She was a mother ; Death closed her mild blue eyes, Under that tower she lies ; Ne'er shall the sun arise On such another ! " Still grew my bosom then, Still as a stagnant fen ! Hateful to me were men, The sunlight hateful ! In the vast forest here, Clad in my warlike gear, Fell I upon my spear, O, death was grateful ! BALLADS. * Thus, seamed with many scars, Bursting these prison-bars, Up to its native stars My soul ascended ! There from the flowing bowl Deep drinks the warrior's soul, Skoal! to the Northland ! skoal!' Thus the tale ended. THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. (y^J tT was the schooner Hesperus, That sailed the wintry sea ; And the skipper had taken his little daughter, To bear him company. Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax, Her cheeks like the dawn of day, And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds That ope in the month of May. 1 In Scandinavia this is the customary salutation when drinking a health. I have slightly changed the ortho- graphy of the word, in order to preserve the correct pro- nunciation. THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 57 The skipper he stood beside the helm, His pipe was in his mouth, And he watched how the veering flaw did blow The smoke now West, now South. Then up and spake an old Sailor, Had sailed to the Spanish Main, ' ' I pray thee put into yonder port, For I fear a hurricane. " Last night, the moon had a golden ring, And to-night no moon we see ! " The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe, And a scornful laugh laughed he Colder and louder blew the wind, A gale from the North-east ; The snow fell hissing in the brine, And the billows frothed like yeast. Down came the storm, and smote amain The vessel in its strength ; She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed, Ti,~n lo ane d her cable's length 58 BALLADS. " Come hither ! come hither ! my little daughter. And do not tremble so ; For I can weather the roughest gale That ever wind did blow." He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat Against the stinging blast ; He cut a rope from a broken spar, And bound her to the mast ' O father ! I hear the church-bells ring, O say what may it be ? " ' 'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast ! ' And -he steered for the open sea. ' O father ! I hear the sound of guns, O say what may it be ? " ' Some ship in distress, that cannot live In such an angry sea ! " ' O father ! I see a gleaming light, O say what may it be ? " But the father answered never a word, A frozen corpse was he. THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 59 Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, With his face turned to the skies, The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow On his fixed and glassy eyes. Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed That saved she might be ; And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave On the Lake of Galilee. And fast through the midnight dark and drear, Through the whistling sleet and snow, Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept Towards the reef of Norman's Woe. And ever the fitful gusts between A sound came from the land ; It was the sound of the trampling surf, On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. The breakers were right beneath her bows, She drifted a deary wreck, And a whooping billow swept the crew Like icicles from her deck. 60 BALLADS. She struck where the white and fleecy waves, Looked soft as carded wool, But the cruel rocks, they gored her side Like the horns of an angry bull. Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, With the masts went by the board ; Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank, Ho ! ho ! the breakers roared ! At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, A fisherman stood aghast, To see the form of a maiden fair, Lashed close to a drifting mast. The salt sea was frozen on her breast, The salt tears in her eyes j And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed, On the billows fall and rise. Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, In the midnight and the snow ! Christ save us all from a death like this On the reef of Norman's Woe ! 6i THE LUCK OF EDENHALL. FROM THE GERMAN OF ITHLAND. (.The tradition upon which this ballad is founded, and the " shards of ^he Luck of Edenhall," still exist in England. The goblet is in the possession of Sir Christopher Musgrave, Bart. , of Eden Hall, Cumberland ; and is not so entirely shattered as the ballad leaves it. ] Edenhall the youthful Lord Bids sound the festal trumpet's call ; He rises at the banquet board, And cries, 'mid the drunken revellers all, " Now bring me the Luck of Edenhall ! " The butler hears the words with pain, The house's oldest seneschal, Takes slow from its silken cloth again The drinking glass of crystal tall ; They call it the Luck of Edenhall. Then said the Lord : " This glass to praise, Fill with red wine from Portugal ! " The graybeard with trembling hand obeys ; A purple light shines over all, It beams from the Luck of Edenhall. 62 BALLADS. Then speaks the Lord, and waves it light, " This glass of flashing crystal tall Gave to my sires the Fountain Sprite ; She wrote in it, If this glass doth fall, Farewell then, Luck of Edenhall ! ' 'Twas right a goblet the Fate should be Of the joyous race of Edenhall ! Deep draughts drink we right willingly ; And willingly ring, with merry call, Kling ! klang ! to the Luck of Edenhall ! " First rings it deep, and full, and mild, Like to the song of a nightingale ; Then like the roar of a torrent wild ; Then mutters at last like the thunder's fall, The glorious Luck of Edenhall. ' For its keeper takes a race of might, The fragile goblet of crystal tall ; It has lasted longer than is right ; Kling ! klang ! with a harder blow than all Will I try the Luck of Edenhall ! " THE LUCK OF EDENHALL. 63 As the goblet ringing flies apart, Suddenly cracks the vaulted hall ; And through the rift the wild flames start ; The guests in dust are scattered all, With th breaking Luck of Edenhall ! In storms the foe, with fire and sword ; He in the night had scaled the wall. Slain by the sword lies the youthful Lord, But holds in his hand the crystal tall, The shattered Luck of Edenhall. On the morrow the butler gropes alone, The graybeard in the desert hall, He seeks his Lord's burnt skeleton, He seeks in the dismal ruin's fall The shards of the Luck of Edenhall. "The stone wall," saith he, " doth fall aside, Down must the stately columns fall ; Glass is this earth's Luck and Pride ; In atoms shall fall this earthly ball, One day like the Luck of Edenhall ! " 64 BALLADS. THE ELECTED KOTGHT. FROM THE DANISH. (The following strange and somewhat mystical ballad is from Nyerup and Rahbek's Danske Viser of the Middle Ages. It seems to refer to the first preaching of Christianity in the North, and to the institution of Knight- Errantry. The three maidens I suppose to be Faith, Hope, and Charity. The irregularities of the original have been carefully pre- served in the translation.] flR OLUF he rideth over the plain, Full seven miles broad and seven miles wide, But never, ah never, can meet with the man A tilt with him dare ride. He saw under the hill-side A Knight full well equipped ; His steed was black, his helm was barred ; He was riding at full speed. He wore upon his spurs Twelve little golden birds ; Anon he spurred his steed with a clang, And there sat all the birds and sang. THE ELECTED KNIGHT. 65 He wore upon his mail Twelve little golden wheels ; Anon in eddies the wild wind blew, And round and round the wheels they flew. He wore before his breast A lance that was poised in rest ; And it was sharper than diamond-stona, It made Sir Oluf's heart to groan. He wore upon his helm A wreath of ruddy gold ; And that gave him the Maidens Three, The youngest was fair to behold. Sir Oluf questioned the Knight eftsoon If he were come from heaven down ; ' Art thou Christ of Heaven," quoth he, " So will I yield me unto thee." ' I am not Christ the Great, Thou shalt not yield thee yet ; I am an Unknown Knight, Three modest Maidens have me bedight." E BALLADS. ' Art thou a Knight elected, And have three Maidens thee bedight ; So shalt thou ride a tilt this day, For all the Maidens' honour ! " The first tilt they together rode They put their steeds to the test ; The second tilt they together rode, They proved their manhood best ; The third tilt they together rode, Neither of them would yield ; The fourth tilt they together rode, They both fell on the field. Now lie the lords upon the plain, And their. blood runs unto death : Now sit the Maidens in the high tower, The youngest sorrows till death. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 1841-18461858. THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. NDER a spreading chestnut-tree The village smithy stands , The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands ; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands. His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan ; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man. 68 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Week in, week out, from morn till night, You can hear his bellows blow ; You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, With measured beat and slow, Like a sexton ringing the village bell, When the evening sun is low. And children coming home from school Look in at the open door ; They love to see the flaming forge, And hear the bellows roar, And catch the burning sparks that fly Like chaff from a threshing-floor. He goes on Sunday to the church, And sits among his boys ; He hears the parson pray and preach, He hears his daughter's voice, Singing in the village choir, And makes his heart rejoice. It sounds to him like her mother's voice, Singing in Paradise ! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies ; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes. END YM ION. Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing, Onward through life he goes ; Each morning sees some task begun, Each evening sees it close ; Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose. Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, For the lesson thou hast taught ! Thus at the flaming forge of life Our fortunes must be wrought ; Thus on its sounding anvil shaped Each burning deed and thought. ENDYMION. tHE rising moon has hid the stars ; Her level rays, like golden bars, Lie on the landscape green, With shadows brown between. And silver white the river gleams, As if Diana, in her dreams, Had dropt her silver bow Upon the meadows low. 70 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. On such a tranquil night as this She woke Endymion with a kiss, When, sleeping in the grove, He dreamed not of her love. Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought, Love gives itself, but is not bought ; Nor voice, nor sound betrays Its deep, impassioned gaze. It comes, the beautiful, the free, The crown of all humanity, In silence and alone To seek the elected one. It lifts the boughs, whose shadows deep Are Life's oblivion, the soul's sleep, And kisses the closed eyes Of him who slumbering lies. O weary hearts ! O slumbering eyes ! O drooping souls, whose destinies Are fraught with fear and pain, Ye shall be loved again ! THE TWO LOCKS OF HAIR. 71 No one is so accursed by fate, No one so utterly desolate, But some heart, though unknown, Responds unto his own : Responds, as if, with unseen wings, An angel touched its quivering strings ; And whispers, in its song, " Where hast thou stayed so long ? " THE TWO LOCKS OF HAIR. FROM THE GERMAN OF PFIZER. YOUTH, light-hearted and content, I wander through the world ; Here Arab-like, is pitched my tent, And straight again is furled. Yet oft I dream, that once a wife Close in my heart was locked, And in the sweet repose of life A blessed child I rocked. 72 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. I wake ! Away that dream, away ! Too long did it remain ! So long, that both by night and day It ever comes again. The end lies ever in my thought ; To a grave so cold and deep The mother beautiful was brought ; Then dropt the child asleep. Eut now the dream is wholly o'er, I bathe mine eyes and see ; And wander through the world once more, A youth so light and free. Two locks and they are wondrous fair Left me that vision mild j The brown is from the mother's hair, The blond is from the child. And when I see that lock of gold, Pale grows the evening-red ; And when the dark lock I behold, I wish that I were dead. 73 IT IS NOT ALWAYS MAY. No hay pdjaros en los nidos de antaflo. Spanish Pro-verb, tHE sun is bright, the air is clear, The darting swallows soar and sing, And from the stately elms I hear The blue-bird prophesying Spring. So blue yon winding river flows, It seems an outlet from the sky, Where, waiting till the west wind blows, The freighted clouds at anchor lie. All things are new ; the buds, the leaves, That gild the elm-tree's nodding crest, And even the nest beneath the eaves ; There are no birds in last year's nest ! All things rejoice in youth and love, The fulness of their first delight ! And learn from the soft heavens above The melting tenderness of night. 74 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Maiden, that read'st this simple rhyme, Enjoy thy youth, it will not stay ; Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime, For O, it is not always May ! Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth, To some good angel leave the rest ; For Time will teach thee soon the truth, There are no birds in last year's nest ! THE RAINY DAY. tHE day is cold, and dark, and dreary ; It rains, and the wind is never weary ; The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, But at every gust the dead leaves fall, And the day is dark and dreary. My life is cold, and dark, and dreary ; It rains, and the wind is never weary ; My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past, But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast, And the days are dark and dreary. GOD'S-ACRE. 75 Be still, sad heart ! and cease repining ; Behind the clouds is the sun still shining ; Thy fate is the common fate of all, Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary. GOD'S-ACRE. 'JTF LIKE that ancient Saxon phrase which calls Jjf The burial-ground God's- Acre ! It is just ; ^^ It consecrates each grave within its walls, And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust. God's-Acre ! Yes, that blessed name imparts Comfort to those, who in the grave have sown The seed that they had garnered in their hearts, Their bread of life alas ! no more their own. Into its furrows shall we all be cast, In the sure faith that we shall rise again At the great harvest, when the archangel's blast Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain. 76 MESCELLANEOUS POEMS. Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom, In the fair gardens of that second birth ; And each bright blossom mingle its perfume With that of flowers which never bloomed on earth. With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn up the sod, And spread the furrow for the seed we sow ; This is the field and Acre of our God, This is the place where human harvests grow ! TO THE RIVER CHARLES. IVER ! that in silence windest Through the meadows, bright and free, Till at length thy rest thou findest In the bosom of the sea ! Four long years of mingled feeling, Half in rest, and half in strife, I have seen thy waters stealing Onward, like the stream of life. TO THE RIVER CHARLES. 77 Thou hast taught me, Silent River ! Many a lesson, deep and long ; Thou hast been a generous giver ; I can give thee but a song. Oft in sadness and in illness I have watched thy current glide, Till the beauty of its stillness Overflowed me like a tide. And in better hours and brighter, When I saw thy waters gleam, I have felt my heart beat lighter, And leap onward with thy stream. Not for this alone I love thee, Nor because thy waves of blue From celestial seas above thee Take their own celestial hue. Where yon' shadowy woodlands hide thee, And thy waters disappear, Friends I love have dwelt beside thee, And have made thy margin dear. 78 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. More than this ; thy name reminds me Of three friends, all true and tried ; And that name, like magic, binds me Closer, closer to thy side. Friends my soul with joy remembers ! How like quivering flames they start, When I fan the living embers On the hearthstone of my heart ! Tis for this, thou Silent River ! That my spirit leans to thee ; Thou hast been a generous giver, Take this idle song from me. BLIND BARTIMEUS. /5g-* |T3) LIND Bartimeus at the gates J J) Of Jericho in darkness waits ; He hears the crowd ; he hears a breath Say, " It is Christ of Nazareth ! " And calls, in tones of agony, ITJCTOW, \fi)ff6v /ue / . BLIND BARTIMEUS. 79 The thronging multitudes increase ; Blind Bartimeus, hold thy peace ! But still, above the noisy crowd, The beggar's cry is shrill and loud ; Until they say, " He calleth thee ! " apcret, e*yetpai, fywvei ffe t Then saith the Christ, as silent stands The crowd, " What wilt thou at my hands ? " And he replies, " O give me light ! Rabbi, restore the blind man's sight ! " And Jesus answers, "TTrcrye' 'H iriffTts ffov