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And all was dimness ; but the beat
Came sudden as of parting feet,
And sweet and solemn voices pined
In the low lapses of the wind.
’T was like the hymn, when soldiers bear
A soldier to his sepulchre.
The lightning threw a shaft below;
The stately square was desert now.
Yet far, as far as eye could strain,
Was seen the remnant of a train;
A wavering shadow of a crowd,
That round some noble burden bow'd.
'Twas gone, and all was night once more.
Wild rain, and whirlwind's doubled roar!
* The Pilgrim they laid in a large upper chamber, whose window opened towards the sun-rising; the name of the chamber was Peace; where he slept till break of day, and then he awoke and sang.'
Now, brighter than the host, that, all night long,
In fiery armour, up the heavens high
Stood watch, thou comest to wait the morning's
Thou comest to tell my day again is nigh.
Star of the dawning, cheerful is thine eye;
And yet in the broad day it must grow
Thou seem'st to look on me as asking why
My mourning eyes with silent tears do swim ; Thou bid'st me turn to God, and seek my rest in
*Canst thou grow sad,' thou say’st, “as earth grows
And sigh, when little birds begin discourse
In quick, low voices, ere the streaming light
Pours on their nests, as sprung from day's fresh
With creatures innocent thou must, perforce,
A sharer be, if that thine heart be pure,
And holy hour like this, save sharp remorse,
Of ills and pains of life, must be the cure,
And breathe in kindred calm, and teach thee to en-
dure.' I feel its calm. But there's a sombrous hue Along that eastern cloud of deep, dull red; Nor glitters yet the cold and heavy dew; And all the woods and hill-tops stand outspread With dusky lights, which warmth nor comfort
shed. Still-save the bird that scarcely lifts its song The vast world seems the tomb of all the dead
The silent city emptied of its throng, And ended, all alike, grief, mirth, love, hate, and
wrong. But wrong, and hate, and love, and grief, and
mirth Will quicken soon; and hard, hot toil and strife, With headlong purpose, shake this sleeping earth With discord strange, and all that man calls life. With thousand scaiter'd beauties nature's rife: And airs, and woods, and streams, breathe har.
monies :Man weds not these, but taketh art to wife;
Nor binds his heart with soft and kindly ties:
He, feverish, blinded lives, and, feverish, sated dies.
And 't is because man useth so amiss
Her dearest blessings, Nature seemeth sad;
Else why should she, in such fresh hour as this,
Not lift the veil, in revelation glad,
From her fair face?-it is that man is mad.
Then chide me not, clear star, that I repine,
When Nature grieves; nor deem this heart is bad.
Thou look'st towards earth: but yet the heavens
are thine; While I to earth am bound :-When will the heavens
If man would but his finer nature learn,
And not in life fantastic lose the sense
Of simpler things; could Nature's features stern
Teach him be thoughtful; then, with soul intense,
I should not yearn for God to take me hence,
But bear my lot, albeit in spirit bow'd,
Remembering, humbly, why it is, and whence:
But when I see cold man of reason proud,
My solitude is sad—I'm lonely in the crowd.
But not for this alone, the silent tear
Steals to mine eyes, while looking on the morn,
Nor for this solemn hour:-fresh life is near,-
But all my joys !—they died when newly born.
Thousands will wake to joy; while I, forlorn,
And like the stricken deer, with sickly eye,
Shall see them pass. Breathe calm—my spirit's
torn; Ye holy thoughts, lift up my soul on high! Ye hopes of things unseen, the far-off world bring
nigh. And when I grieve, O, rather, let it be That I-whom Nature taught to sit with her On her proud mountains, by her rolling seaWho, when the winds are up, with mighty stir Of woods and waters, feel the quickening spur To my strong spirit;—who, as mine own child, Do love the flower, and in the ragged bur
A beauty see—that I this mother mild Should leave, and go with Care, and passions fierce
How suddenly that straight and glittering shaft
Shot 'thwart the earth !-in crown of living fire
Up comes the day!—as if they conscious quaff’d
The sunny flood, hill, forest, city, spire
Laugh in the wakening light. Go, vain Desire!
The dusky lights have gone; go thou thy way!
And pining Discontent, like them, expire!
Be call’d my chamber, PEACE, when ends the day, And let me with the dawn, like PILGRIM, and pray!
MONKEY, little merry fellow,
Thou art nature's punchinello!
Full of fun as Puck could be;
Harlequin might learn of thee!
Look now at his odd grimaces !
you e'er such comic faces?
Now like learned judge sedate,
Now with nonsense in his pate!
Nature, in a sunny wood,
Must have been in merry mood,
And with laughter fit to burst,
Monkey, when she made thee first.
How you leap'd and frisk'd about,
When your life you first found out;
How you threw, in roguish mirth,
Cocoa-nuts on mother earth;
Little, merry Monkey, tell
Was there kept no chronicle?
And have you no legends old,
Wherein this, and more is told ?
How the world's first children ran Laughing from the monkey-man, Like Abel and his brother, Laughing, shouting to their mother?
And could you keep down your mirth, When the foods were on the earth; When from all your drowning kin, Good old Noah took you in?
In the very Ark, no doubt,
You went frolicking about;
Never keeping in your mind,
Drowned monkeys left behind!
No, we cannot hear of this;
Gone are all the witnesses;
But I'm very sure that you
Made both mirth and mischief too!
Have ye no traditions,-none
Of the court of Solomon ?
No memorial how ye went
With prince Hiram's armament?
Were ye given, or were ye sold
With the peacocks and the gold?
Is it all forgotten quite,
'Cause ye neither read nor write ?
Look now at him! Slyly peep,
He pretends he is asleep;
Fast asleep upon his bed,
With his arm beneath his head.