HYMN TO THE NIGHT. *Ασπασίη, τρίλλιστος. I HEARD the trailing garments of the Night Sweep through her marble halls! I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light From the celestial walls! I felt her presence, by its spell of might, The calm majestic presence of the Night, I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight, That fill the haunted chambers of the Night, From the cool cisterns of the midnight air My spirit drank repose; The fountain of perpetual peace flows there,From those deep cisterns flows. O holy Night! from thee I learn to bear Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care, And they complain no more. Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer ; Descend with broad-winged flight, The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair, The best-beloved Night! A PSALM OF LIFE. WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST. TELL me not, in mournful numbers, For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest ! And the grave is not its goal; Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. In the world's broad field of battle, Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! Lives of great men all remind us Footprints, that perhaps another, Let us, then, be up and doing, Learn to labour and to wait. THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS. THERE is a Reaper, whose name is Death, He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, "Shall I have nought that is fair?" saith he; "Have nought but the bearded grain ? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, I will give them all back again." He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, He kissed their drooping leaves; It was for the Lord of Paradise He bound them in his sheaves. "My Lord has need of these flowerets gay," Where he was once a child. They shall all bloom in fields of light, Transplanted by my care; And saints, upon their garments white, And the mother gave, in tears and pain, The flowers she most did love; She knew she should find them all again In the fields of light above. Oh, not in cruelty, not in wrath, THE LIGHT OF STARS. THE night is come, but not too soon; And sinking silently, All silently, the little moon Drops down behind the sky. There is no light in earth or heaven, Is it the tender star of love? The star of love and dreams? Oh, no! from that blue tent above, |