Day and night my toils redouble,
never nearer to the goal;
night and day, I feel the trouble
of the Wanderer in my soul.
CALM AFTER A STORM IN ASIA
H the stilly hour, when storms are gone;
OW calm, how beautiful comes on
when warring winds have died away,
and clouds, beneath the glancing ray,
melt off, and leave the land and sea
sleeping in bright tranquillity,-
fresh, as if Day again were born,
again upon the lap of Morn !—
When the light blossoms, rudely torn
and scattered at the whirlwind's will,
hang floating in the pure air still,
filling it all with precious balm,
in gratitude for this sweet calm;—
and every drop the thunder-showers
have left upon the grass and flowers
sparkles, as 'twere that lightning gem,
whose liquid flame is born of them!
SONG OF THE PRIEST OF PAN
HEPHERDS, rise and shake off sleep!
see, the blushing morn doth peep
through the windows, whilst the sun
to the mountain-tops is run,
gilding all the vales below
with its rising flames, which grow
greater by his climbing still.
Up, ye lazy grooms, and fill
bag and bottle for the field!
Clasp your cloaks fast, lest they yield
to the bitter north-east wind.
Call the maidens up, and find
who lay longest, that she may
go without a friend all day;
by the cold scrutiny of wit
the treasury where Thou lock'st up the wind? What majesty of princes can
a tempest awe,
when the distracted ocean
swells to sedition, and obeys no law? How wretched doth the tyrant stand
when his rich fleet even touching land
he by some storm in his own port sees lost! Vain pomp of life! what narrow bound
is circled with! How false a ground
hath human pride to build its triumphs on!
TREW on her roses, roses,
but never a spray of yew:
in silence she reposes,
ah! would that I did too.
Her mirth the world required,
she bathed it in smiles and glee:
but her heart was tired, tired,
and now they let her be.
Her life was turning, turning,
in mazes of heat and sound:
but for peace her soul was yearning,
and now peace laps her round:
Her cabined, ample Spirit,
it fluttered and failed for breath: to-night it doth inherit
the vasty Hall of Death.
A MOTHER'S DIRGE OVER HER CHILD
ORING me flowers all young and sweet,
may strew the winding sheet
where calm thou sleepest, baby fair,
with roseless cheek and auburn hair.
No more, my baby, shalt thou lie,
with drowsy smile and half-shut eye,
pillowed upon my fostering breast,
serenely sinking into rest!
The grave must be thy cradle now,
the wild flowers o'er thy breast shall grow,
while still my heart, all full of thee,
in widowed solitude shall be.
No taint of earth, no thought of sin,
e'er dwelt thy stainless breast within,
and God hath laid thee down to sleep,
like a pure pearl below the deep.
ALM is the morn without a sound,
calm as to suit a calmer grief,
and only through the faded leaf
the chesnut pattering to the ground:
calm and deep peace on this high wold,
and on these dews that drench the furze,
and all the silvery gossamers
that twinkle into green and gold:
calm and still light on yon great plain
that sweeps with all its autumn bowers,
and crowded farms and lessening towers
to mingle with the bounding main:
calm and deep peace in this wide air,
these leaves that redden in the fall;
and in my heart if calm at all,
if any calm, a calm despair:
calm on the seas, and silver sleep,
and waves that sway themselves in rest,
and dead calm in that noble breast
which heaves but with the heaving deep.
THE LAST CONQUEROR
ICTORIOUS men of earth, no more
proclaim how wide your empires are;
though you bind in every shore,
and your triumphs reach as far
as night or day,
yet you, proud monarchs, must obey,
and mingle with forgotten ashes, when
death calls ye to the crowd of common men.
Devouring Famine, Plague, and War,
each able to undo mankind,
death's servile emissaries are;
nor to these alone confined,
he hath at will
more quaint and subtle ways to kill;
a smile or kiss, as he will use the art,
shall have the cunning skill to break a heart.
RUST not, sweet soul, those curled waves of gold
with gentle tides that on your temples flow,
nor temples spread with flakes of virgin snow,
nor snow of cheeks with Tyrian grain enrolled.
Trust not those shining lights which wrought my woe
when first I did their azure rays behold,
nor voice whose sounds more strange effects do show
than of the Thracian harper have been told;
look to this dying lily, fading rose,
dark hyacinth, of late whose blushing beams
made all the neighbouring herbs and grass rejoice,
and think how little is twixt's life's extremes :
-the cruel tyrant that did kill those flowers
shall once, ay me! not spare that spring of yours.
LOW down, cold rivulet, to the sea,
thy tribute wave deliver;
no more by thee my steps shall be,
for ever and for ever.
Flow, softly flow, by lawn and lea,
A rivulet then a river;
no where by thee my steps shall be,
for ever and for ever.
But here will sigh thine alder tree,
and here thine aspen shiver;
and here by thee will hum the bee,
for ever and for ever.
A thousand suns will stream on thee,
A thousand moons will quiver;
but not by thee my steps shall be,
for ever and for ever.
LITANY OF THE HOLY SPIRIT
N the hour of my distress,
when temptations sore oppress,
and when I my sins confess,
sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When I lie within my bed,
sick in heart and sick in head,
and with doubts discomfited,
sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When the house doth sigh and weep,
and the world is drowned in sleep,
yet mine eyes their vigils keep,
sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When the Judgment is revealed,
and that open which was sealed,
when to Thee I have appealed,
sweet Spirit, comfort me!
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