It Nor voice, nor sound betrays comes, the beautiful, the free, The crown of all humanity, In silence and alone To seek the elected one. It lifts the boughs, whose shadows deep Are Life's oblivion, the soul's sleep, And kisses the closed eyes Of him who slumbering lies. O weary hearts! O slumbering eyes! Are fraught with fear and pain, No one is so accursed by fate, No one so utterly desolate, But some heart, though unknown, Responds, as if with unseen wings, An angel touched its quivering strings; And whispers, in its song, "Where hast thou stayed so long?" IT IS NOT ALWAYS MAY. No hay pájaros en los nidos de antaño. THE sun is bright, -the air is clear, So blue yon winding river flows, All things are new; - the buds, the leaves, That gild the elm-tree's nodding crest, And even the nest beneath the eaves; There are no birds in last year's nest ! All things rejoice in youth and love, Maiden, that read'st this simple rhyme, Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth, There are no birds in last year's nest! THE RAINY DAY. Written at the old home in Portland. THE day is cold, and dark, and dreary ; My life is cold, and dark, and dreary ; Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary. GOD'S-ACRE. Written October 23, 1841. "I would like to be burned, not buried," Mr. Longfellow notes, and in a letter to Mr. Ward, who had the poem in his hands for publication, he writes: "I here add a concluding stanza for God's-Acre, which I think improves the piece and rounds it off more perfectly than before, thought no longer resting on the cold furrow, but on the waving harvest beyond: -- Green gate of Paradise! let in the sun! - the The poem was published with this additional stanza in The Democratic Review for December, 1841, but when it came to be added to the volume the stanza was dropped. I LIKE that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls God's-Acre! Yes, that blessed name imparts Comfort to those who in the grave have sown The seed that they had garnered in their hearts, Their bread of life, alas! no more their own. Into its furrows shall we all be cast, In the sure faith, that we shall rise again At the great harvest, when the archangel's blast Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain. Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom, With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn up the sod, And spread the furrow for the seed we sow; This is the field and Acre of our God, This is the place where human harvests grow. TO THE RIVER CHARLES. "I wrote the other evening [October, 1841] a song to the River Charles; quite successful; though, as it is local, I think it had better appear first in the volume, not in any magazine." But Mr. Longfellow yielded to the urging of his correspondent, Mr. Ward, and consented to the appearance of the poem in Park Benjamin's paper, The New World. Mr. Benjamin, however, disposed of this and another poem sent at the same time to "respectable sources,' giving as one reason: "I do not like the poems so well as many others you have written. They are by no means so worthy of your genius as Excelsior, a magnificent piece, which I regret having parted with." The poem appeared in The Ladies' Companion, January, 1842. The three friends hinted at in the eighth stanza were Charles Sumner, Charles Folsom, and Charles Amory. RIVER! that in silence windest Through the meadows, bright and free, Four long years of mingled feeling, Thou hast taught me, Silent River! Oft in sadness and in illness, |