And thou hast joined the gentle train
And wear'st the gentle name of Spring.
And, in thy reign of blast and storm,
Smiles many a long, bright, sunny day, When the changed winds are soft and warm, And heaven puts on the blue of May.
Then sing aloud the gushing rills,
In joy that they again are free,
And, brightly leaping down the hills,
Renew their journey to the sea.
The year's departing beauty hides
Of wintry storms the sullen threat;
But in thy sternest frown abides
A look of kindly promise yet.
Thou bring'st the hope of those calm skies, And that soft time of sunny showers, When the wide bloom, on earth that lies, Seems of a brighter world than ours.
O Constellations of the early night,
That sparkled brighter as the twilight died,
And made the darkness glorious! I have seen
Your rays grow dim upon the horizon's edge,
And sink behind the mountains. I have seen
The great Orion, with his jewelled belt,
That large-limbed warrior of the skies, go down
Into the gloom. Beside him sank a crowd
Of shining ones. I look in vain to find
The group of sister-stars, which mothers love
To show their wondering babes, the gentle Seven.
Along the desert space mine eyes in vain
Seek the resplendent cressets which the Twins
Uplifted in their ever-youthful hands.
The streaming tresses of the Egyptian Queen
Spangle the heavens no more. The Virgin trails
No more her glittering garments through the blue.
Gone! all are gone! And the forsaken Night,
With all her winds, in all her dreary wastes,
Sighs that they shine upon her face no more.
Now only here and there a little star
Looks forth alone. Ah me! I know them not,
Those dim successors of the numberless host
That filled the heavenly fields, and flung to earth
Their quivering fires. And now the middle watch
Betwixt the eve and morn is past, and still
The darkness gains upon the sky, and still
It closes round my way. Shall, then, the Night
Grow starless in her later hours? Have these
No train of flaming watchers, that shall mark
Their coming and farewell? O Sons of Light!
Have ye then left me ere the dawn of day
To grope along my journey sad and faint?
Thus I complained, and from the darkness round
A voice replied—was it indeed a voice,
Or seeming accents of a waking dream
Heard by the inner ear? But thus it said :
O Traveller of the Night! thine eyes are dim
With watching; and the mists, that chill the vale
Down which thy feet are passing, hide from view
The ever-burning stars. It is thy sight
That is so dark, and not the heavens.
Thine eyes,
Were they but clear, would see a fiery host
Above thee; Hercules, with flashing mace,
The Lyre with silver chords, the Swan uppoised
On gleaming wings, the Dolphin gliding on
With glistening scales, and that poetic Steed,
With beamy mane, whose hoof struck out from
earth
The fount of Hippocrene, and many more,
Fair clustered splendors, with whose rays the
Night
Shall close her march in glory, ere she yield,
To the young Day, the great earth steeped in dew.
So spake the monitor, and I perceived
How vain were my repinings, and my thought
Went backward to the vanished years and all
The good and great who came and passed with
them,
And knew that ever would the years to come
Bring with them, in their course, the good and
Lights of the world, though, to my clouded sight, Their rays might seem but dim, or reach me not.
If life's pleasures cheer thee,
Give them not thy heart,
Lest the gifts ensnare thee
From thy God to part :
His praises speak, His favor seek,
Fix there thy hopes' foundation;
Love Him, and He shall ever be
The Rock of thy salvation.
If sorrow e'er befall thee,
Painful though it be,
Let not fear appall thee:
To thy Saviour flee;
He, ever near, thy prayer will hear,
And calm thy perturbation;
The waves of woe shall ne'er o'erflow
The Rock of thy salvation.
Death shall never harm thee,
Shrink not from his blow,
For thy God shall arm thee
And victory bestow :
For death shall bring to thee no sting,
The grave no desolation;
'Tis gain to die, with Jesus nigh,
The Rock of thy salvation.
Madame Jeanne Marie Bouvier de la
[Written during ten years' imprisonment in the Bastile.]
A little bird I am;
Shut from the fields of air,
And in my cage I sit and sing
To Him who placed me there ;
Well pleased a prisoner to be,
Because, my God, it pleases Thee.
Naught have I else to do ;
I sing the whole day long;
And He, whom most I love to please,
Doth listen to my song;
He caught and bound my wandering wing,
But still He bends to hear me sing.
Thou hast an ear to hear;
A heart to love and bless ;
And, though my notes were e'er so rude,
Thou would'st not hear the less;
Because Thou knowest, as they fall,
That Love, sweet Love, inspires them all.
My cage confines me round;
Abroad I cannot fly;
But, though my wing is closely bound,
My heart's at liberty.
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