He looks, the shepherd on Chaldea's hills And wonders the rich beacon doth not blaze, And from his dreary watch along the rocks Still wondering as the drowsy silence fills And lone, Where its first splendours shone, Shall be that pleasant company of stars : How should they know that death Such perfect beauty mars? And, like the earth, its common bloom and breath, Fallen from on high, Their lights grow blasted by its touch, and die,— All their concerted springs of harmony Snapp'd rudely, and the generous music gone. A strain, a mellow strain Of wailing sweetness, fill'd the earth and sky: The hope heart-cherish'd is the soonest lost; NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS. 1807-1867. TWO WOMEN. The shadows lay along Broadway, 'Twas near the twilight-tide, And slowly there a Lady fair Was walking in her pride: Peace charm'd the street beneath her feet, And call'd her good as fair : She kept with care her beauties rare For her heart was cold to all but gold, Now walking there was One more fair, A slight Girl, lily pale; And she had unseen company To make the spirit quail : 'Twixt Want and Scorn she walk'd forlorn And nothing could avail. No mercy now can clear her brow For this world's peace to pray: For as love's wild prayer dissolved in air, Her woman's heart gave way: But the sin forgiven by Christ in Heaven By man is cursed alway. HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 1807-1882. THE ARROW AND THE SONG. I shot an arrow into the air ; It fell to earth, I knew not where : I breathed a song into the air; Long, long afterward, in an oak THE LIGHT OF STARS. The night is come, but not too soon; All silently, the little moon Drops down behind the sky. There is no light in earth or heaven And the first watch of night is given Is it the tender star of love, The star of love and dreams? O no! from that blue tent above And earnest thoughts within me rise Suspended in the evening skies, O star of strength! I see thee stand Thou beckonest with thy mailed hand, Within my breast there is no light The star of the unconquer'd will: And thou too, whosoe'er thou art, O, fear not in a world like this! THE CUMBERLAND. At anchor in Hampton Roads we lay, Or a bugle blast From the camp on the shore. Then far away to the South uprose And we knew that the iron ship of our foes Was steadily steering its course To try the force Of our ribs of oak. Down upon us heavily runs, Silent and sullen, the floating fort; Then comes a puff of smoke from her guns, And leaps the terrible death With fiery breath From each open port. We are not idle, but send her straight From each iron scale Of the monster's hide. "Strike your flag!" the rebel cries, And the whole air peal'd With the cheers of our men. Then, like a kraken huge and black, And the cannon's breath For her dying gasp. Next morn, as the sun rose over the bay, Still floated our flag at the mainmast-head. Lord! how beautiful was thy day : Every waft of the air Was a whisper of prayer, Or a dirge for the Dead. |