When nestling buds unfold their wings, And bishop's-caps have golden rings, Musing upon many things, I sought the woodlands wide. The green trees whispered low and mild; They were my playmates when a child, And ever whispered, mild and low, "Come, be a child once more ! And waved their long arms to and fro, And beckoned solemnly and slow; Oh, I could not choose but go Into the woodlands hoar, Into the blithe and breathing air, Into the solemn wood, Solemn and silent everywhere! Nature with folded hands seemed there, Kneeling at her evening prayer! Like one in prayer I stood. Before me rose an avenue Of tall and sombrous pines; Abroad their fan-like branches grew, And, where the sunshine darted through, Spread a vapor soft and blue, In long and sloping lines. And, falling on my weary brain, Like a fast-falling shower, The dreams of youth came back again, Visions of childhood! Stay, oh stay! Ye were so sweet and wild! And distant voices seemed to say, "It cannot be! They pass away Other themes demand thy lay; Thou art no more a child! y! "The land of Song within thee lies, "Learn, that henceforth thy song shall be, "There is a forest where the din Sees not its depths, nor bounds. "Athwart the swinging branches cast, Then comes the fearful wintry blast; Our hopes, like withered leaves, fall fast; We can return no more!' Look, then, into thine heart, and write! All forms of sorrow and delight, HYMN TO THE NIGHT. Ασπασίη, τρίλλιστος. Composed in the summer of 1839 "while sitting at my chamber window, on one of the balmiest nights of the year. I endeavored to reproduce the impression of the hour and scene." I HEARD the trailing garments of the Night Sweep through her marble halls! I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light I felt her presence, by its spell of might, The calm, majestic presence of the Night, I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight, That fill the haunted chambers of the Night, From the cool cisterns of the midnight air My spirit drank repose; The fountain of perpetual peace flows there, - O holy Night! from thee I learn to bear Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care, Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer! Descend with broad-winged flight, The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair, The best-beloved Night! A PSALM OF LIFE. WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST. Written July 26, 1838. Mr. Longfellow said of this poem: "I kept it some time in manuscript, unwilling to show it to any one, it being a voice from my inmost heart, at a time when I was rallying from depression." Before it was published in the Knickerbocker Magazine, October, 1838, it was read by the poet Its to his college class at the close of a lecture on Goethe. title, though used now exclusively for this poem, was originally, in the poet's mind, a generic one. He notes from time to time that he has written a psalm, a psalm of death, or another psalm of life. The "psalmist" is thus the poet himself. When printed in the Knickerbocker it bore as a motto the lines from Crashaw: Life that shall send A challenge to its end, And when it comes say, Welcome, friend. TELL me not, in mournful numbers, Life is real! Life is earnest! Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. In the world's broad field of battle, Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! Act, act in the living Present! Heart within, and God o'erhead! Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time; Footprints, that perhaps another, Line 24. Footsteps on the sands of time; |