It was not thine, that forehead Oh, once, once bending to these wid owed lips, Take back the tender warmth of life from me, let thy kisses cloud with swift eclipse The light of mine, and give me death with thee? THE SONG OF THE CAMP. "GIVE us a song!" the soldiers cried, The outer trenches guarding, When the heated guns of the camps allied Grew weary of bombarding. The dark Redan, in silent scoff, Lay, grim and threatening, under; And the tawny mound of the Malakoff No longer belched its thunder. There was a pause. A guardsman said, "We storm the forts to-morrow; Sing while we may, another day Will bring enough of sorrow." Whose hand is parted from his play-They lay along the battery's side, Below the smoking cannon: Brave hearts, from Severn and from Clyde, And from the banks of Shannon. They sang of love, and not of fame; But all sang Annie Lawrie." Voice after voice caught up the song, Until its tender passion Rose like an anthem, rich and strong, Their battle-eve confession. Dear girl, her name he dared not speak, But, as the song grew louder, That voice, the perfect music of Something upon the soldier's cheek pour thy heart? Washed off the stains of powder. Woods of glossy oak are ringing Songs, that by the Danube's river And where waves in green light quiver, Down the rushing Rhine. Life, with all its hues and changes, To thy heart doth lie Like those dreamy Alpine ranges In the southern sky; Where the village maidens gather Where the autumn fires are burning Where the mossy wheels are turning Where from ruined robber towers And the crimson foxbell flowers dies; Is question not of argument, but fact. In all men some such interest inheres; In most 'tis posthumous; the more expand Our thoughts and feelings past the very present, The more that interest overtakes of change And comprehends, till what it comprehends Is comprehended in eternity, Here we are Engendered out of nothing cognizable. If this be not a wonder, nothing is; If this be wonderful, then all is so. Man's grosser attributes can generate What is not, and has never been at all; What should forbid his fancy to Matter dies off it, and it lives else- LOVE RELUCTANT TO ENDANGER where, Or elsehow circumstanced shaped; it goes; and At every instant we may say 'tis gone, But never it hath ceased; the type is changed, Is ever in transition, for life's law may hold An interest indivisible from life Through change (and whether it be mortal change, Change of senescence, or of gradual growth, Or other whatsoever 'tis alike) [From Philip Van Artevelde.] THE human heart cannot sustain Her spirits ran, she knew not why, Than was their wont, in times than these Less troubled, with a heart at ease. So meet extremes; so joy's rebound Is highest from the hollowest ground; So vessels with the storm that strive Pitch higher as they deeplier dive. How many a cloudless day, To rob the velvet of its hue, Has come and passed away; How many a setting sun hath made That curious lattice-work of shade! Crumbled beneath the hillock green The cunning hand must be, That carved this fretted door, I ween, Acorn, and fleur-de-lis ; And now the worm hath done her part In mimicking the chisel's art. In days of yore (as now we call) When the first James was king, The courtly knight from yonder hall Hither his train did bring; All seated round in order due, With broidered suit and buckled shoe. On damask cushions, set in fringe, In ancient English spelt, Now, streaming down the vaulted aisle, The sunbeam, long and lone, Illumes the characters awhile Of their inscription-stone; And there, in marble hard and cold, The knight and all his train behold. Outstretched together, are expressed In attitude of prayer; Set forth in order ere they died, The numerous offspring bend; Devoutly kneeling side by side, As though they did intend For past omissions to atone, By saying endless prayers in stone. |