The Complete Poems of Longfellow | Page 8

I. The Artist
II. Fire.
III. Youth and Age
IV. Old Age
V. To Vittoria Colonna
VI. To Vittoria Colonna

VII. Dante
VIII. Canzone
The Nature of Love
From the
Portuguese.
Song: If thou art sleeping, maiden
From Eastern sources.
The Fugitive
The Siege of Kazan
The Boy and the Brook
To the
Stork
From the Latin.
Virgils First Eclogue
Ovid in Exile
VOICES OF THE NIGHT

PRELUDE.
Pleasant it was, when woods were green,
And winds were soft and
low,
To lie amid some sylvan scene.
Where, the long drooping
boughs between,
Shadows dark and sunlight sheen
Alternate come
and go;
Or where the denser grove receives
No sunlight from above,
But
the dark foliage interweaves
In one unbroken roof of leaves,

Underneath whose sloping eaves
The shadows hardly move.
Beneath some patriarchal tree
I lay upon the ground;
His hoary

arms uplifted he,
And all the broad leaves over me
Clapped their
little hands in glee,
With one continuous sound;--
A slumberous sound, a sound that brings
The feelings of a dream,

As of innumerable wings,
As, when a bell no longer swings,
Faint
the hollow murmur rings
O'er meadow, lake, and stream.
And dreams of that which cannot die,
Bright visions, came to me,

As lapped in thought I used to lie,
And gaze into the summer sky,

Where the sailing clouds went by,
Like ships upon the sea;
Dreams that the soul of youth engage
Ere Fancy has been quelled;

Old legends of the monkish page,
Traditions of the saint and sage,

Tales that have the rime of age,
And chronicles of Eld.
And, loving still these quaint old themes,
Even in the city's throng
I
feel the freshness of the streams,
That, crossed by shades and sunny
gleams,
Water the green land of dreams,
The holy land of song.
Therefore, at Pentecost, which brings
The Spring, clothed like a bride,

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;
It was a sound of joy!

They were my playmates when a child,
And rocked me in their arms
so wild!
Still they looked at me and smiled,
As if I were a boy;
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;
O, 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,
Low lispings of the summer rain,

Dropping on the ripened grain,
As once upon the flower.
Visions of childhood! Stay, O 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!
"The land of Song within thee lies,
Watered by living springs;
The
lids of Fancy's sleepless eyes
Are gates unto that Paradise,
Holy
thoughts, like stars, arise,
Its clouds are angels' wings.
"Learn, that henceforth thy song shall be,
Not mountains capped with
snow,
Nor forests sounding like the sea,
Nor rivers flowing
ceaselessly,
Where the woodlands bend to see
The bending heavens
below.
"There is a forest where the din
Of iron branches sounds!
A mighty
river roars between,
And whosoever looks therein
Sees the heavens
all black with sin,
Sees not its depths, nor bounds.
"Athwart the swinging branches cast,
Soft rays of sunshine pour;

Then comes the fearful wintry blast
Our hopes, like withered leaves,
fail fast;
Pallid lips say, 'It is past!
We can return no more!,
"Look, then, into thine heart, and write!
Yes, into Life's deep stream!

All forms of sorrow and delight,
All solemn Voices of the Night,

That can soothe thee, or affright,--
Be these henceforth thy theme."
HYMN TO THE NIGHT.

[Greek quotation]
I heard the trailing garments of the Night
Sweep through her marble halls!
I saw her sable skirts all fringed
with light
From the celestial walls!
I felt her presence, by its spell of might,
Stoop o'er me from above;
The calm, majestic presence of the Night,
As of the one I love.
I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight,
The manifold, soft chimes,
That fill the haunted chambers of the
Night
Like some old poet's rhymes.
From the cool cisterns of the midnight air
My spirit drank repose;
The fountain of perpetual peace flows there,--
From those deep cisterns flows.
O holy Night! from thee I learn to bear