Well knows the fair and friendly moon

The band that Marion leads

The glitter of their rifles,

The scampering of their steeds.
'Tis life to guide the fiery barb
Across the moonlit plain;
"Tis life to feel the night-wind
That lifts his tossing mane.
A moment in the British camp-
A moment and away

Back to the pathless forest,
Before the peep of day.

Grave men there are by broad Santee,

Grave men with hoary hairs,

Their hearts are all with Marion,
For Marion are their prayers.
And lovely ladies greet our band
With kindliest welcoming,

With smiles like those of summer,
And tears like those of spring.

For them we wear these trusty arms,
And lay them down no more

Till we have driven the Briton,

For ever, from our shore.

THE ARCTIC LOVER

GONE is the long, long winter night;
Look, my beloved one!

How glorious, through his depths of light,
Rolls the majestic sun!

The willows, waked from winter's death,

Give out a fragrance like thy breath—
The summer is begun!

Ay, 'tis the long bright summer day:
Hark to that mighty crash!

The loosened ice-ridge breaks away—
The smitten waters flash.

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60

ΤΟ

Seaward the glittering mountain rides,
While, down its green translucent sides,
The foamy torrents dash.

See, love, my boat is moored for thee,
By ocean's weedy floor-

The petrel does not skim the sea
More swiftly than my oar.

We'll go, where, on the rocky isles,

Her eggs the screaming sea-fowl piles
Beside the pebbly shore.

Or, bide thou where the poppy blows,
With wind-flowers frail and fair,
While I, upon his isle of snows,
Seek and defy the bear.

Fierce though he be, and huge of frame,
This arm his savage strength shall tame,
And drag him from his lair.

When crimson sky and flamy cloud
Bespeak the summer o'er,
And the dead valleys wear a shroud
Of snows that melt no more,
I'll build of ice thy winter home,
With glistening walls and glassy dome,
And spread with skins the floor.

The white fox by thy couch shall play;
And, from the frozen skies,

The meteors of a mimic day

Shall flash upon thine eyes.

And I-for such thy vow-meanwhile
Shall hear thy voice and see thy smile,
Till that long midnight flies.

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THE JOURNEY OF LIFE

BENEATH the waning moon I walk at night,
And muse on human life-for all around
Are dim uncertain shapes that cheat the sight,
And pitfalls lurk in shade along the ground,
And broken gleams of brightness, here and there,
Glance through, and leave unwarmed the death-like air.

The trampled earth returns a sound of fear-
A hollow sound, as if I walked on tombs ;
And lights, that tell of cheerful homes, appear
Far off, and die like hope amid the glooms.
A mournful wind across the landscape flies,
And the wide atmosphere is full of sighs.

And I, with faltering footsteps, journey on,
Watching the stars that roll the hours away,
Till the faint light that guides me now is gone,
And, like another life, the glorious day
Shall open o'er me from the empyreal height,
With warmth, and certainty, and boundless light.

ΙΟ

18

TRANSLATIONS

VERSION OF A FRAGMENT OF SIMONIDES

THE night winds howled-the billows dashed
Against the tossing chest ;

As Danaë to her broken heart
Her slumbering infant pressed.

'My little child'—in tears she said—

To wake and weep is mine,

But thou canst sleep-thou dost not know
Thy mother's lot, and thine.

'The moon is up, the moonbeams smile-
They tremble on the main :

But dark, within my floating cell,
To me they smile in vain.

'Thy folded mantle wraps thee warm,
Thy clustering locks are dry,

Thou dost not hear the shrieking gust,
Nor breakers booming high.

'As o'er thy sweet unconscious face
A mournful watch I keep,

I think, didst thou but know thy fate,
How thou wouldst also weep.

'Yet, dear one, sleep, and sleep, ye winds
That vex the restless brine-

When shall these eyes, my babe, be sealed
As peacefully as thine?'

ΤΟ

20

FROM THE SPANISH OF VILLEGAS

'Tis sweet, in the green Spring,

To gaze upon the wakening fields around;
Birds in the thicket sing,

Winds whisper, waters prattle from the ground;
A thousand odours rise,

Breathed up from blossoms of a thousand dyes.

Shadowy, and close, and cool,

The pine and poplar keep their quiet nook;
For ever fresh and full,

Shines, at their feet, the thirst-inviting brook;
And the soft herbage seems

Spread for a place of banquets and of dreams.

Thou, who alone art fair,

And whom alone I love, art far away.

Unless thy smile be there,

It makes me sad to see the earth so gay;

I care not if the train

Of leaves, and flowers, and zephyrs go again.

MARY MAGDALEN

FROM THE SPANISH OF BARTOLOME LEONARDO DE ARGENSOLA

BLESSED, yet sinful one, and broken-hearted!
The crowd are pointing at the thing forlorn,
In wonder and in scorn!

Thou weepest days of innocence departed;
Thou weepest, and thy tears have power to move
The Lord to pity and love.

The greatest of thy follies is forgiven,

Even for the least of all the tears that shine

On that pale cheek of thine.

ΙΟ

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Thou didst kneel down, to Him who came from heaven,

Evil and ignorant, and thou shalt rise

Holy, and pure, and wise.

II