And the seers, who sat of yore By orient palm or wave, They have pass'd with all their starry lore— -We fear, we fear !-the sunshine Is joyous to behold, And we reck not of the buried kings, Ye shrink!—the bards whose lays Have made your deep hearts burn, They have left the sun, and the voice of praise, And the lovely, whose memorial Is the verse that cannot die, They too are gone with their glorious bloom, Would ye not join that throng Of the earth's departed flowers, And the masters of the mighty song In their far and fadeless bowers? Those songs are high and holy, But they vanquish not our fear; Not from our path those flowers are gone We fain would linger here! Linger then yet awhile, As the last leaves on the bough! -Ye have lov'd the gleam of many a smile That is taken from you now. There have been sweet singing voices In your walks that now are still; There are seats left void in your earthly homes, Which none again may fill. Soft eyes are seen no more That made spring-time in your heart; Kindred and friends are gone before,— And ye still fear to part? -We fear not now, we fear not! Though the way through darkness bends; Our souls are strong to follow them, Our own familiar friends! THE BREEZE FROM LAND. "As when to them who sail Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past Mozambic, off at sea north-east winds blow Of Araby the Blest; with such delay Well pleas'd they slack their course, and many a league, Cheer'd with the grateful smell, old Ocean smiles." Joy is upon the lonely seas, When Indian forests pour Forth to the billow and the breeze Their fragrance from the shore; Joy, when the soft air's glowing sigh Bears on the breath of Araby. Oh! welcome are the winds that tell A wanderer of the deep Paradise Lost. Where far away the jasmines dwell, And where the myrrh-trees weep! Bless'd, on the sounding surge and foam, Are tidings of the citron's home! The sailor at the helm they meet, And hope his bosom stirs, Upspringing, 'midst the waves to greet The fair earth's messengers, That woo him, from the mournful main, Back to her glorious bowers again. They woo him, whispering lovely tales And fount's bright gleam in island-vales Across his lone ship's wake they bring And oh ye masters of the lay! Come not e'en thus your songs, That meet us on life's weary way Their power is from the brighter clime That in our birth hath part, Their tones are of the world which time Sears not within the heart; They tell us of the living light They call us with a voice divine Our vows of youth at many a shrine -Welcome, high thought and holy strain, * Written immediately after reading the "Remarks on the Character and Writings of Milton," in the Christian Examiner. |