Thou laughest at the mill, the whir and worry Of spindle and of loom, O flower-de-luce, bloom on, and let the river Linger to kiss thy feet! O flower of song, bloom on, and make forever The world more fair and sweet. PALINGEN ESIS. I LAY upon the headland-height, and listened And the great wheel that toils amid the To the incessant sobbing of the sea hurry And rushing of the flume. In caverns under me, And watched the waves, that tossed and fled and glistened, Born in the purple, born to joy and Until the rolling meadows of amethyst pleasance, Thou dost not toil nor spin, Melted away in mist. But makest glad and radiant with thy Then suddenly, as one from sleep, I presence The meadow and the lin. The wind blows, and uplifts thy drooping banner, And round thee throng and run The rushes, the green yeomen of thy manor, The outlaws of the sun. started; For round about me all the sunny The burnished dragon-fly is thine at- A moment only, and the light and glory tendant, And tilts against the field, Faded away, and the disconsolate shore And down the listed sunbeam rides re- And the wild-roses of the promontory Thou art the Muse, who far from crowded From its own ashes, but without the Can from the ashes in our hearts once | I do not know; nor will I vainly ques tion Those pages of the mystic book which hold The story still untold, But without rash conjecture or suggestion Turn its last leaves in reverence and good heed, Until "The End" I read. THE BRIDGE OF CLOUD. BURN, O evening hearth, and waken Ah, no longer wizard Fancy Up the never-ending stair! But, instead, she builds me bridges Cataracts dash and roar unseen. And I cross them, little heeding Footsteps that have gone before. Naught avails the imploring gesture, Naught avails the cry of pain! When I touch the flying vesture, 'Tis the gray robe of the rain. Baffled I return, and, leaning O'er the parapets of cloud, Watch the mist that intervening Wraps the valley in its shroud. And the sounds of life ascending Faintly, vaguely, meet the ear, Murmur of bells and voices blending With the rush of waters near. Well I know what there lies hidden, Every tower and town and farm, And again the land forbidden Reassumes its vanished charm. Well I know the secret places, And the nests in hedge and tree; At what doors are friendly faces, In what hearts are thoughts of me. Through the mist and darkness sinking, | Which at its topmost speed let fall the Blown by wind and beaten by shower, Down I fling the thought I'm thinking, Down I toss this Alpine flower. I HEARD the bells on Christmas Day Of peace on earth, good-will to men! And thought how, as the day had come, The belfries of all Christendom Across the meadows, by the gray old Of peace on earth, good-will to men! manse, The historic river flowed: I was as one who wanders in a trance, Unconscious of his road. Till, ringing, singing on its way, A chant sublime The faces of familiar friends seemed Of peace on earth, good-will to men! strange; Their voices I could hear, Then from each black, accursed mouth And yet the words they uttered seemed The cannon thundered in the South, to change Their meaning to my ear. For the one face I looked for was not there, The one low voice was mute; Only an unseen presence filled the air, And baffled my pursuit. Now I look back, and meadow, manse, and stream Dimly my thought defines; I only hear above his place of rest The infinite longings of a troubled breast, There in seclusion and remote from men The wizard hand lies cold, And with the sound The carols drowned Of peace on earth, good-will to men! THE WIND OVER THE CHIM NEY. SEE, the fire is sinking low, While above them still I cower, While a moment more I linger, Though the clock, with lifted finger, Points beyond the midnight hour. Sings the blackened log a tune From a school-boy at his play, When they both were young together, Heart of youth and summer weather Making all their holiday. And the night-wind rising, hark! In the midnight and the snow, All the noisy chimneys blow! "Hollow Then the flicker of the blaze Written by masters of the art, Throb the harp-strings of the heart. And again the tongues of flame "These are prophets, bards, and seers; In the horoscope of nations, Like ascendant constellations, They control the coming years." But the night-wind cries: "Despair! Those who walk with feet of air Leave no long-enduring marks; At God's forges incandescent Mighty hammers beat incessant, These are but the flying sparks. "Dust are all the hands that wrought; Books are sepulchres of thought; The dead laurels of the dead Churchyards at some passing tread." O CURFEW of the setting sun! O Bells of Lynn ! O requiem of the dying day! O Bells of Lynn ! From the dark belfries of yon cloudcathedral wafted, Your sounds aerial seem to float, O Bells of Lynn ! Borne on the evening wind across the crimson twilight, O'er land and sea they rise and fall, O Bells of Lynn ! The fisherman in his boat, far out beyond the headland, Listens, and leisurely rows ashore, O Bells of Lynn ! Over the shining sands the wandering cattle homeward Follow each other at your call, O Bells of Lynn ! The distant lighthouse hears, and with his flaming signal Answers you, passing the watchword on, O Bells of Lynn ! And down the darkening coast run the tumultuous surges, And clap their hands, and shout to you, O Bells of Lynn ! Till from the shuddering sea, with your wild incantations, Ye summon up the spectral moon, O Bells of Lynn ! We lifted him up to his saddle again, And through the mire and the mist and the rain Carried him back to the silent camp, Two white roses upon his cheeks, And I saw in a vision how far and fleet Till it reached a house in a sunny street, Till it reached a heart that ceased to beat Without a murmur, without a cry; And a bell was tolled, in that far-off town, For one who had passed from cross to crown, And the neighbors wondered that she should die. |