Volume I Part 13 (1/2)
It may be the sole flower of thy life, And that of all who now look up to thee!
O Father, Father! unto thee even now Fate cries; the future with imploring voice Cries 'Save me,' 'Save me,' though thou hearest not.
And O thou Sacrifice, foredoomed by Zeus; Even now the dark inexorable deed Is dealing its relentless stroke, and vain Are prayers, and tears, and struggles, and despair!
The mother's tears, the nation's stormful grief, The people's indignation and revenge!
Vain the last childlike pleading voice for life, The quick resolve, the young heroic brow, So like, so like, and vainly beautiful!
Oh! whosoe'er ye are the Muse says not, And sees not, but the G.o.ds look down on both.
THE LONGEST DAY
On yonder hills soft twilight dwells And Hesper burns where sunset dies, Moist and chill the woodland smells From the fern-covered hollows uprise; Darkness drops not from the skies, But shadows of darkness are flung o'er the vale From the boughs of the chestnut, the oak, and the elm, While night in yon lines of eastern pines Preserves alone her inviolate realm Against the twilight pale.
Say, then say, what is this day, That it lingers thus with half-closed eyes, When the sunset is quenched and the orient ray Of the roseate moon doth rise, Like a midnight sun o'er the skies!
'Tis the longest, the longest of all the glad year, The longest in life and the fairest in hue, When day and night, in bridal light, Mingle their beings beneath the sweet blue, And bless the balmy air!
Upward to this starry height The culminating seasons rolled; On one slope green with spring delight, The other with harvest gold, And treasures of Autumn untold: And on this highest throne of the midsummer now The waning but deathless day doth dream, With a rapturous grace, as tho' from the face Of the unveiled infinity, lo, a far beam Had fall'n on her dim-flushed brow!
Prolong, prolong that tide of song, O leafy nightingale and thrus.h.!.+
Still, earnest-throated blackcap, throng The woods with that emulous gush Of notes in tumultuous rush.
Ye summer souls, raise up one voice!
A charm is afloat all over the land; The ripe year doth fall to the Spirit of all, Who blesses it with outstretched hand; Ye summer souls, rejoice!
TO ROBIN REDBREAST
Merrily 'mid the faded leaves, O Robin of the bright red breast!
Cheerily over the Autumn eaves, Thy note is heard, bonny bird; Sent to cheer us, and kindly endear us To what would be a sorrowful time Without thee in the weltering clime: Merry art thou in the boughs of the lime, While thy fadeless waistcoat glows on thy breast, In Autumn's reddest livery drest.
A merry song, a cheery song!
In the boughs above, on the sward below, Chirping and singing the live day long, While the maple in grief sheds its fiery leaf, And all the trees waning, with bitter complaining, Chestnut, and elm, and sycamore, Catch the wild gust in their arms, and roar Like the sea on a stormy sh.o.r.e, Till wailfully they let it go, And weep themselves naked and weary with woe.
Merrily, cheerily, joyously still Pours out the crimson-crested tide.
The set of the season burns bright on the hill, Where the foliage dead falls yellow and red, Picturing vainly, but foretelling plainly The wealth of cottage warmth that comes When the frost gleams and the blood numbs, And then, bonny Robin, I'll spread thee out crumbs In my garden porch for thy redbreast pride, The song and the ensign of dear fireside.
SONG
The daisy now is out upon the green; And in the gra.s.sy lanes The child of April rains, The sweet fresh-hearted violet, is smelt and loved unseen.
Along the brooks and meads, the daffodil Its yellow richness spreads, And by the fountain-heads Of rivers, cowslips cl.u.s.ter round, and over every hill.
The crocus and the primrose may have gone, The snowdrop may be low, But soon the purple glow Of hyacinths will fill the copse, and lilies watch the dawn.
And in the sweetness of the budding year, The cuckoo's woodland call, The skylark over all, And then at eve, the nightingale, is doubly sweet and dear.