Part 2 (2/2)

II.

The skies are white with soft moonlight; In Christian lands the lamps burn bright, In splendor gleaming from the walls Of parlors and of festive halls; Or yet, amid some snow-white choir, Sweet maidens sing the world's desire, Till, answering in low refrain, The people all repeat the strain Of ”peace on earth, to men good-will,”

When sudden all the hall is still.

Then tender music, soft and low, Heavenward seems to float and flow, But--mid these glittering lights, O see The stately form of greenwood tree!

Whose graceful arms are drooping wide As grieving this fair Christmastide.

III.

The hills are white with lovely light, And everywhere the stars burn bright In splendor gleaming on the wood, Where once, in loyal familyhood, The evergreens together stood, But--now no vespers, sweet or low, In happy measures upward flow, For there--by Heaven's lights, O see The absence of the greenwood tree!

Whose n.o.ble form once waiving wide, This melancholy waste did hide.

IV.

Yet here and there a lonely tree Still sounds a mournful melody, And answering, in low refrain, The winds repeat the solemn strain, Until the hills conscious of harm, Awaken in a wild alarm, Until, with trumpets to the sky, They echo up to Heaven the cry:-- Ye Forests, rouse--shake off thy shroud, And sound a protest, long and loud; Ye Mountains, speak, and Heaven, chide This carelessness of Christmastide-- And Man, thou prodigal of Time, Bestir thyself--and heed my rhyme, And curb this crime of Christmastime.

THE MINER.

Beyond the beams of brightening day A lonely miner, moving slow Along a darkly winding way, Is daily seen to go, Where s.h.i.+nes no sun or cheerful ray To make those gloomy caverns gay.

For there no glorious morning light Is burning in a cloudless sky And there no banners flaming bright, Are lifted heaven-high, But that lone miner, far from sight, Treads boundless realms of boundless night.

There neither brook nor lovely lawn Allures the miner's weary eye, For, having caught one glimpse of dawn, With many an anxious sigh, Those precious lights are left in p.a.w.n To be by fainter hearts withdrawn.

Nor tender leaf nor fragrant flower Dare penetrate that fearful gloom, Where, low beneath a crumbling tower, Or dark, resounding room, Yon miner, in some evil hour, A ruined prisoner may cower.

Yet, while the day is speeding on, Far from those skies that s.h.i.+ne so clear, Far from the glory of the sun And happy birds that cheer-- Hark!--through those echoing caves, anon The hammer's merry monotone.

There, far from every happy sound Of blithesome bird or cheerful song, In yonder solitudes profound, The miner, all day long, Hears his own music echo round Those deep-voiced caverns underground.

There, in that gloom which doth affright Faint-hearted, sky-enamoured men, The miner, with his little light, Hews out a hollow den, And seems to find some keen delight Where others see but noisesome night.

Thus many a heart, along life's way, Must labor where no cheerful sun Of golden hopes or pleasures gay, s.h.i.+nes till the day is done, For where the deepest shadows play The purest hearts are led astray.

Yet some, unseen by careless Fate, Know naught of gloom or sorrow here.

But happily, with hearts elate, They walk a charmed sphere, And lightly laugh, or lightly prate Of lonely souls left desolate.

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