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 Then like a constellation, star by star, The golden candlesticks have burst in bloom; 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 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, Down yonder street, housed in yon rambling pile, Are hideous Aztec idols, all a-grin; Nay, do not shirk my question with a smile,— Those Gods, like yours, presumed to pardon sin! There stands the Aztec sacrificial stone; Above it frightful Aztec idols scowl; Perplexed, confused between the warring creeds, Like Pilate, still is asking "What is Truth?" O, breathe me, wooden saint, one precious word! IN A TROPICAL GARDEN. Here every honey-hearted sweet The heavy-laden tropic trees With rich profusion shed. Here buff and scarlet blossoms hang From vines of glossy green, And humming birds, with ruby throats, Like floating flames are seen. Here pink and purple passion-flowers And claret-clouded orchids bloom By orchids white as milk. Here red and yellow mangoes cling, Here citrons bend the twigs, Here green and golden melons trail, Here swing delicious figs. What gorgeous flowers, what luscious fruits Unknown to me before! I gaze in wonder on them now, But soon shall see no more. Their blaze of glory stills the speech, Their brilliance blinds the eyes; What Tyrian tints, what heavenly hues, IN A TROPICAL GARDEN. No Northern violet opens here No daisy lifts from tufted grass Yet, Beauty ever hand in hand These glories only fill my heart With longing and regret. What sorrow haunts this scented air For bliss once all my own; Yes, Love and Joy should both be mine, Yet here am I alone! 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, O 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. |