AT THE CATHEDRAL OF MEXICO. Here gold and silver glimmer everywhere, Through gracious twilight, down the solemn aisles; A cloud of incense dims the dreamy air, As up yon stair a long procession files. They reach the altar; priests and chorus-boys Are all enrobed in scarlet draped in white; How quiet! Not the shadow of a noise Disturbs the pious meaning of the sight. Then like a constellation, star by star, The golden candlesticks have burst in bloom; Now like great winds from Paradise afar The glorious organ pipes begin to boom. The sweet, sharp voices of the bird-like boys Respond to deep-toned chantings of the priest; O what a call to heaven's transcendent joys Beside the Bridegroom at His wedding feast ! Yon sculptured angel with the golden wings Seems beckoning to a blissful realm above; Ah, is it true, that song the choir-boy sings, Of endless life, of everlasting love? AT THE CATHEDRAL OF MEXICO. And then my gaze falls on a wooden saint Whose wooden feet long in this niche have stood; Poor little doll! Your lips, through gaudy paint, Seem saying “I would help you if I could.” O wooden saint, outside, on yonder square, The Inquisition fixed its fearful stake; And all enacted for Religion's sake! Down yonder street, housed in yon rambling pile, Are hideous Aztec idols, all a-grin ;- Those Gods, like yours, presumed to pardon sin! There stands the Aztec sacrificial stone; Above it frightful Aztec idols scowl; And heard a million maddened votaries howl! Perplexed, confused between the warring creeds, I can not tell which way to turn, in sooth. · ? O, breathe me, wooden saint, one precious word! Come, tell me, as we two forever part,Will all these prayers in heaven at last be heard, Or end forever at your wooden heart? IN A TROPICAL GARDEN. Here every honey-hearted sweet Here pink and purple passion-flowers What gorgeous flowers, what luscious fruits IN A TROPICAL GARDEN. No Northern violet opens here Yet, Beauty ever hand in hand BESIDE THE DANUBE. Beside the Danube let me sit And view the scene before me, While olden griefs and olden joys On spirit wings flit o'er me. This is the stream in song renowned, Far-famed in storied pages, Whose shores are haunted by the dreams Of lost romantic ages. And yet, О Danube, as I muse Beside your rippling waters, I think not of your chivalry, Your splendid sons and daughters. Forgotten are your mounts and vales, Your peasant-cots, your castles, Your Kings and Queens, your peace, your wars, Your noblemen, your vassals. I think of one who sang to me In years gone by forever, Of lovers, who one night in June Rowed on you, Danube River. O, I remember still that night, Your city lights a-glimmer, And how the mellow moon arose And made your wavelets shimmer. |