And on the Dead a lustre shedɛ The rites are read, the requiem sung; His arms outstretched on high And with a voice that shakes the He shouts to the mourners mad with fears, "Depart! Lo! here am I!" Down, showering fire, the comet sweeps; And lightning-like the red flames rush, And Silence spreads her pall, Over the temple overthrown, Over the dying and the unburied dead; And, with a heavily-drooping head, Sits, statue-like, alone! Though winter howleth at the gate, In our hearts 't is summer still! For we full many summer joys And greenwood sports have shared, When, free and ever-roving boys, The rocks, the streams, we dared; And, as I looked upon thy face, Back, back o'er years of ill, My heart flies to that happy place, Where it is summer still. Yes, though like sere leaves on the ground, Our early hopes are strown, And cherished flowers lie dead around, And singing birds are flown, The verdure is not faded quite, Not mute all tones that thrill; Fill up The olden times come back Gone is the winter's angry gloom, - Robert Traill Spence Lowell THE BRAVE OLD SHIP, THE ORIENT The steadying sun heaved up as day drew on, And there grew a long swell of the sea. And, first in upper air, then under, everywhere, From the topmost towering sail Was the master of that stormy day to be. "IIo! Hilloa! A sail!" was the topman's bail: "A sail, hull-down upon our lee!" Then with sea-glass to his eye, And his gray locks blowing by, The Admiral sought what she might be. And from top, and from deck, Was it ship? Was it wreck? A far-off, far-off speck, Of a sudden we found upon our lee. On the round waters wide, floated no thing beside, But we and the stranger sail; And a hazy sky, that threatened storm, When the order came, to wear, Was remembered, ever after, in the tale. Across the long, slow swell That scarcely rose and fell, The wind began to blow out of the cloud; And scarce an hour was gone ere the gale was fairly on, And through our strained rigging howled aloud. Before the story wind, that was maddening behind, We gathered in our canvas farthest spread. Black clouds had started out From the heavens all about, And the welkin grew all black overhead. But though stronger and more strong The fierce gale rushed along, The stranger brought her old wind in her breast. Up came the ship from the far-off sca we. She grew to the eye, against the clouded sky, And eagerly her points and gear we guessed. As we made her out, at last, She was maimed in spar and mast And she hugged the easy breeze for rest. We could see the old wind fail We could see them lay their course with the wind: Still we neared and neared her fast, With the seas tumbling headlong behind. She had come out of some storm, and, in many a basy swarm, ller crew were refitting, as they might, The wreck of upper spars That had left their ugly sears, As if the ship had come out of a fight. We scanned her well, as we drifted by, A strange old ship, with her poop built high, And with quarter-galleries wide, And a huge beaked prow, as no ships are builded now, And carvings all strange, beside. A Byzantine bark, and a ship of name and mark Long years and generations ago; Ere any mast or yard of ours was growing hard With the seasoning of long Norwegian snow. She was the brave old Orient, The old imperial Orient, Brought down from times afar, bay, For the tempest had left us far behind. Went our anchors splashing down; With our canvas, hour by hour, in their fun. We leaned on boom or rail with many a lazy tale Of the work of the storm that had died; But we heard a sadder tale, ere the night came on, And a truer tale, of the ship that was gone. A ship driving heavily to land; A strange great ship (so she seemed to bo While she tumbled and rolled on the far off sea, New were red lip, true eyes, fresh dew; Feelings sprang fresh, to them, and thought; Fresh things were hope, trust, faith, endeavor; All things were new, wherein men wrought, And so they had the lead, forever. Not even where to set their lever. And strange when she toiled, near at hand), To move the world their frank hearts sought And that must have been gallantly manned. So she came, driving fast; They could tell her men, at last; There were harbors down the coast on her lec; When, strangely, she bronched to,- Went headlong down into the sea. Then utterance, like thought, was young, Must then the world to us be stale? To those free lords of song and talo Oh, no! was ever life-blood cold? Yes! Life and strength forever can ; |