And in better hours and brighter, Not for this alone I love thee, Where yon shadowy woodlands hide thee, Friends I love have dwelt beside thee, More than this; thy name reminds me Of three friends, all true and tried; And that name, like magic, binds me Closer, closer to thy side. Friends my soul with joy remembers! How like quivering flames they start, When I fan the living embers On the hearth-stone of my heart! 'Tis for this, thou Silent River! That my spirit leans to thee; Thou hast been a generous giver, from me. Take this idle song BLIND BARTIMEUS. Written November 3, 1841. Mr. Longfellow writes under that date to Mr. Ward: "I was reading this morning, just after breakfast, the tenth chapter of Mark, in Greek, the last seven verses of which contain the story of blind Bartimeus, and always seemed to me remarkable for their beauty. At once the whole scene presented itself to my mind in lively colors, the walls of Jericho, the cold wind through the gate-way, the ragged, blind beggar, his shrill cry, the tumultuous crowd, the serene Christ, the miracle; and these things took the form I have given them above, where, perforce, I have retained the striking Greek expressions of entreaty, comfort, and healing; though I am well aware that Greek was not spoken at Jericho. The poem is for your private eye. It must see the light first in the volume, which is going bravely on. I think I shall add to the title 'supposed to be written by a monk of the Middle Ages,' as it is in the legend style." BLIND Bartimeus at the gates Of Jericho in darkness waits; He hears the crowd; - he hears a breath And calls, in tones of agony, The thronging multitudes increase; Then saith the Christ, as silent stands The crowd, "What wilt thou at my hands?” And he replies, “Oh, give me light! Ἡ πίστις σου σέσωκέ σε! Ye that have eyes, yet cannot see, Ἰησοῦ, ἐλέησόν με! Θάρσει· ἔγειραι, ὕπαγε! Ἡ πίστις σου σέσωκέ σε! THE GOBLET OF LIFE. Mr. Longfellow writing to Mr. Ward, November 3, 1841, says: "I shall send him [Mr. Benjamin] a new poem, called simply Fennel, which I do not copy here on account of its length. It is as good, perhaps, as Excelsior. Hawthorne, who is passing the night with me, likes it better." He afterward changed the title to that which the poem now bears. This was the other of the two pieces which Mr. Benjamin valued lightly. It was printed in Graham's Magazine, January, 1842. FILLED is Life's goblet to the brim ; With solemn voice and slow. No purple flowers, no garlands green, This goblet, wrought with curious art, And as it mantling passes round, Above the lowly plants it towers, It gave new strength, and fearless mood; Then in Life's goblet freely press, New light and strength they give! And he who has not learned to know How bitter are the drops of woe, The prayer of Ajax was for light; Let our unceasing, earnest prayer O suffering, sad humanity! I pledge you in this cup of grief, The alarm, the struggle, the relief, Then sleep we side by side. |