See where upon the horizon's brim, Late, in a flood of tender light, And still thou wanest, pallid moon! Shall see thee blotted from thy place. Oh, Night's dethroned and crownless queen! Be shed on those whose eyes have seen Shine thou for forms that once were bright, For those whose words were spells of might, In thy decaying beam there lies Full many a grave, on hill and plain, Another night, and thou among The spheres of heaven shalt cease to shine, All rayless in the glittering throng Whose lustre late was quenched in thine. Yet soon a new and tender light From out thy darkened orb shall beam, And broaden till it shines all night On glistening dew and glimmering stream. ΤΟ 20 30 40 THE STREAM OF LIFE O silvery streamlet of the fields, O Stream of Life! the violet springs. And where thy glittering current flowed THE UNKNOWN WAY A BURNING sky is o'er me, From the dusty path there opens, A silvery brook comes stealing Where slender herbs of the forest stoop ΙΟ ΤΟ Along those pleasant windings I would my journey lay, Where the shade is cool and the dew of night Path of the flowery woodland ! Oh, whither dost thou lead, Wandering by grassy orchard grounds, Or by the open mead ? Goest thou by nestling cottage ? Where the broad elm droops, a leafy dome, By steeps where children gather Or haply dost thou linger Or clamber the bald mountain side, Where they who journey upward I hear a solemn murmur, And, listening to the sound, I know the voice of the mighty sea, Dost thou, oh, path of the woodland! 20 30 40 With a boundless Sea before? Like human life, on a trackless beach, 'O MOTHER OF A MIGHTY RACE ' O mother of a mighty race, Yet lovely in thy youthful grace! And taunts of scorn they join thy name. For on thy cheeks the glow is spread Is bright as thine own sunny sky. Aye, let them rail-those haughty ones, Its life between thee and the foe. They know not, in their hate and pride, Spring, like thine oaks, by hill and glen; What cordial welcomes greet the guest And where the ocean-border foams. ΤΟ 20 30 There's freedom at thy gates, and rest For the starved labourer toil and bread. O fair young mother! on thy brow Drop strength and riches at thy feet. Thine eye, with every coming hour, Would brand thy name with words of scorn, Upon their lips the taunt shall die. 40 48 THE LAND OF DREAMS A MIGHTY realm is the Land of Dreams, But over its shadowy border flow Sweet rays from the world of endless morn, The souls of the happy dead repair, From their bowers of light, to that bordering land, And walk in the fainter glory there, With the souls of the living hand in hand. |