THE SPLENDOR FALLS. And the night shall be filled with music, And as silently steal away. HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. The Splendor Falls. HE splendor falls on castle walls, THE And snowy summits old in story: The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow; set the wild echoes flying; O hark, O hear! how thin and clear, The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! O love! they die on yon rich sky; They faint on hill, or field, or river: Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow forever and forever. Blow, bugle, blow; set the wild echoes flying; And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. ALFRED TENNYSON. Song of the Stars. HEN the radiant morn of creation broke, WHEN And the world in the smile of God awoke, And the empty realms of darkness and death Were moved through their depths by his mighty breath, 5 And orbs of beauty and spheres of flame, And this was the song the bright ones sang: 66 Away, away, through the wide, wide sky, Each sun, with the worlds that round him roll, With her isles of green, and her clouds of white, "For the source of glory uncovers his face, "Look, look, through our glittering ranks afar, In the infinite azure, star after star, How they brighten and bloom as they swiftly pass ! How the verdure runs o'er each rolling mass ! And the path of the gentle winds is seen, Where the small waves dance, and the young woods lean. "And see, where the brighter day-beams pour, "Away, away! in our blossoming bowers, THE CLOUD. In the seas and fountains that shine with morn, Glide on in your beauty, ye youthful spheres, To the veil of whose brow your lamps are dim! WILLIAM C. BRYANT. I The Cloud. BRING fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noon-day dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under; And then again I dissolve it in rain ; And laugh as I pass in thunder. I sift the snow on the mountains below, And their great pines groan aghast, And all the night 'tis my pillow white, While I sleep in the arms of the blast. In a cavern under is fettered the thunder; 7 Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion, This pilot is guiding me, Lured by the love of the genii that move Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream, And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile, The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes, When the morning star shines dead. As, on the jag of a mountain crag Which an earthquake rocks and swings, An eagle, alit, one moment may sit In the light of its golden wings. And when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath, Its ardors of rest and of love, And the crimson pall of eve may fall From the depth of heaven above, With wings folded I rest on mine airy nest, That orbéd maiden with white fire laden, Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor, May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof, And I laugh to see them whirl and flee, Like a swarm of golden bees, THE CLOUD. When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent, Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high, I bind the sun's throne with a burning zone, The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim, Sunbeam proof, I hang like a roof, The mountains its columns be. The triumphal arch, through which I march When the powers of the air are chained to my chair, The sphere-fire above, its soft colors wove, I am the daughter of earth and water, And the nursling of the sky; I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores; I change, but I cannot die. For after the rain, when, with never a stain, The pavilion of heaven is bare, And the winds and sunbeams, with their convex gleams, Build up the blue dome of air I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, And out of the caverns of rain, Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, I arise and upbuild it again. PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 9 |