Upon its midnight battle-ground No other voice nor sound is there And, when the solemn and deep church-bell The midnight phantoms feel the spell, The shadows sweep away. Down the broad Vale of Tears afar The spectral camp is fled : Faith shineth as a morning-star; Our ghastly fears are dead. MAIDENHOOD. MAIDEN with the meek, brown eyes, Like the dusk in evening skies! Thou whose locks outshine the sun,- Standing with reluctant feet Gazing with a timid glance On the brooklet's swift advance, Deep and still, that gliding stream Then why pause with indecision, Seest thou shadows sailing by, The prayer is said, The service read; The joyous bridegroom bows his head; Down his own the tears begin to run. The shepherd of that wandering flock Of the sailor's heart, All its pleasures and its griefs; |