THE TWO BROTHERS. Εΰδουσα γὰρ φρὴν ὄμμασιν λαμπρύνεται. ESCH. Eum. ARE the embers smouldering, brother? Think not to re vive their light. Brother, I've a tale to tell thee I can better tell at night: And their faint dun glow will glimmer till, perchance, my tale is done. List! that dull and heavy sound—it is the church-bell pealing "one." Strangely through the sere elm forests come the fitful gusts of wind, Strangely on the casement beats the hollow drifting rain behind; Night broods round, a wall of darkness, such as moonbeams cannot scale, And the blessed stars are blunted like a shaft from coat of mail. Thirteen summers have waved round us, thirteen winters shower'd their snows, Thirteen springs danced by, and thirteen autumns pass'd like music's close, Since I witness'd gloom like this, wherein the stoutest heart would melt: Thick close darkness on our eyelids weighing-darkness that is felt. Oh, the memory of that midnight, spectre-like, within me sleeps ; If I only gaze, it rises dimly from my spirit's deeps — Rises with the sere elm forests struck by fitful gusts of wind, And the hollow drifting raindrops on the casement close behind: Every wind-moan finds an echo in my moaning heart within, And the rain is not as dewdrops to a soul once scarr'd with sin. Brother, thou wert ever to me as a young and golden mist Floating through blue liquid heavens, with the morning sunlight kiss'd; Which the eye looks up and blesses, lingering on its track |