Amid the evening glory, to confer
Of men and their affairs, and to shed down Kind influence. Lo! they brighten as we gaze, And shake out softer fires! The great earth feels The gladness and the quiet of the time.
Meekly the mighty river, that infolds
This mighty city, smooths his front, and far Glitters and burns even to the rocky base
Of the dark heights that bound him to the west; And a deep murmur, from the many streets,
Rises like a thanksgiving. Put we hence
Dark and sad thoughts awhile-there's time for them Hereafter on the morrow we will meet,
With melancholy looks, to tell our griefs, And make each other wretched; this calm hour, This balmy, blessed evening, we will give
To cheerful hopes and dreams of happy days, Born of the meeting of those glorious stars.
Enough of drought has parched the year, and scared The land with dread of famine. Autumn, yet, Shall make men glad with unexpected fruits. The dog-star shall shine harmless: genial days Shall softly glide away into the keen
And wholesome cold of winter; he that fears The pestilence, shall gaze on those pure beams, And breathe, with confidence, the quiet air.
Emblems of power and beauty! well may they Shine brightest on our borders, and withdraw Towards the great Pacific, marking out
The path of empire. Thus, in our own land, Ere long, the better Genius of our race,
Having encompassed earth, and tamed its tribes, Shall sit him down beneath the farthest west, By the shore of that calm ocean, and look back On realms made happy.
And say the glad, yet solemn rite, that knits The youth and maiden. Happy days to them That wed this evening!—a long life of love, And blooming sons and daughters! Happy they Born at this hour,-for they shall see an age Whiter and holier than the past, and go
Late to their graves. Men shall wear softer hearts, And shudder at the butcheries of war,
Enough of blood has wet thy rocks, and stained Thy rivers; deep enough thy chains have worn Their links into thy flesh; the sacrifice
Of thy pure maidens, and thy innocent babes, And reverend priests, has expiated all
Thy crimes of old. In yonder mingling lights There is an omen of good days for thee.
Thou shalt arise from midst the dust and sit Again among the nations. Thine own arm Shall yet redeem thee. Not in wars like thine The world takes part. Be it a strife of kings,— Despot with despot battling for a throne,—
And Europe shall be stirred throughout her realms, Nations shall put on harness, and shall fall Upon each other, and in all their bounds The wailing of the childless shall not cease. Thine is a war for liberty, and thou Must fight it single-handed. The old world Looks coldly on the murderers of thy race, And leaves thee to the struggle; and the new,— I fear me thou couldst tell a shameful tale Of fraud and lust of gain;-thy treasury drained, And Missolonghi fallen. Yet thy wrongs
Shall put new strength into thy heart and hand, And God and thy good sword shall yet work out, For thee, a terrible deliverance.
But now a joy too deep for sound,
A peace no other season knows, Hushes the heavens and wraps the ground, The blessing of supreme repose.
Away! I will not be, to-day,
The only slave of toil and care.
Away from desk and dust! away! I'll be as idle as the air.
Beneath the open sky abroad,
Among the plants and breathing things, The sinless, peaceful works of God, I'll share the calm the season brings.
Come, thou, in whose soft eyes I see The gentle meanings of thy heart, One day amid the woods with me, From men and all their cares apart.
And where, upon the meadow's breast, The shadow of the thicket lies,
The blue wild flowers thou gatherest
Shall glow yet deeper near thine eyes.
Come, and when mid the calm profound, I turn, those gentle eyes to seek, They, like the lovely landscape round, Of innocence and peace shall speak.
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