HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. Look, then, into thine heart, and write! Voices of the Night. Prelude. Tell me not, in mournful numbers, "1 "Life is but an empty dream! For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem.2 Art is long, and Time is fleeting,3 And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. Ibid. Trust no future, howe'er pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead! Ibid. Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us. Footprints on the sands of time. Let us, then, be up and doing, 1 Singet nicht in Trauertönen Ibid. Ibid. Song of Philine in Wilhelm Meister. 2 Non semper ea sunt quæ videntur. - Phædrus, Book iv. Fable ii. 8 Ars longa, vita brevis. - Hippocrates, Aphorism i. 4 Compare Byron, To Moore, ante, p. 528. There is a Reaper, whose name is Death, He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, The Reaper and the Flowers. The star of the unconquered will. The Light of Stars. O, fear not in a world like this, To suffer and be strong. Ibid. Spake full well, in language quaint and olden, One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, When he called the flowers, so blue and golden, Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine. No one is so accursed by fate, No one so utterly desolate, But some heart, though unknown, Responds unto his own. Endymion. Time has laid his hand Upon my heart, gently, not smiting it, The Golden Legend. For Time will teach thee soon the truth, Standing, with reluctant feet, Let me review the scene, And summon from the shadowy Past The forms that once have been. A Gleam of Sunshine. The day is done, and the darkness The Day is Done. A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain. Ibid. And the night shall be filled with music, Ibid. 1 Pues ya en los nidos de antaño, no hay pajaros - Cervantes, Don Quijote, ii. 74. ogano. This is the forest primeval. Evangeline. Part 1. When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music. Ibid. Part 1, i. Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels. Ibid. Part I, iii. And, as she looked around, she saw how Death, the consoler, Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed Ibid. Part 11, v. it for ever. Into a world unknown, the corner-stone of a nation!1 The Courtship of Miles Standish. Saint Augustine! well hast thou said, That of our vices we can frame A ladder, if we will but tread Beneath our feet each deed of shame! The Ladder of St. Augustine. Sail on, O Ship of State! Sail on, O UNION, Strong and great! With all the hopes of future years, Is hanging breathless on thy fate! The Building of the Ship. Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee, Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears, The leaves of memory seemed to make Ibid. The Fire of Drift-wood. 1 Plymouth Rock. There is no flock, however watched and tended, But one dead lamb is there! There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair. Resignation. The air is full of farewells to the dying, And mournings for the dead. Ibid. There is no Death! What seems so is transition ; This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian, In the elder days of Art, Ibid. Builders wrought with greatest care Each minute and unseen part; For the gods see everywhere. The Builders. Who ne'er his bread in sorrow ate, He knows you not, ye Heavenly Powers. From Goethe's Wilhelm Meister. Motto, Hyperion. Book i. Something the heart must have to cherish, Must love, and joy, and sorrow learn ; Something with passion clasp or perish, And in itself to ashes burn. Motto, Hyperion. Book ii. 1 Wer nie sein Brod mit Thränen ass, Wer nicht die kummervollen Nächte Auf seinem Bette weinend sass, Der kennt euch nicht, ihr himmlischen Mächte. Wilhelm Meister, Book ii. Ch. 13. |