AS The Two Armies. S life's unending column pours, Two marshaled hosts are seenTwo armies on the trampled shores That death flows black between. One marches to the drum-beat's roll, One moves in silence by the stream, Along its front no sabers shine, No blood-red pennons wave: Its banner bears the single line, "Our duty is to save." For those no death-bed's lingering shade; At honor's trumpet-call, With knitted brow and lifted blade, In glory's arms they fall. For these no flashing falchions bright, No stirring battle-cry; The bloodless stabber calls by night- For those the sculptor's laureled bust, ODE. For these the blossom-sprinkled turf When Spring rolls in her sea-green surf Two paths lead upward from below, And angels wait above, Who count each burning life-drop's flow, Each falling tear of love. Though from the hero's bleeding breast While valor's haughty champions wait Love walks unchallenged through the gate, OLIVER W. HOLMES. 241 Ode. INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY TH CHILDHOOD. I. HERE was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, To me did seem Appareled in celestial light The glory and the freshness of a dreamn. By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more. II. The rainbow comes and goes, And lovely is the rose; The moon doth with delight Look round her when the heavens are bare: Waters on a starry night Are beautiful and fair; The sunshine is a glorious birth; But yet I know where'er I go, That there hath passed away a glory from the earth. III. Now while the birds thus sing a joyous song, As to the tabor's sound, To me alone there came a thought of grief; The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep- Land and sea Give themselves up to jollity; And with the heart of May Doth every beast keep holiday;— Thou child of joy, Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy shepherd boy! IV. Ye blessed creatures! I have heard the call The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee; ODE. My head hath its coronal The fullness of your bliss, I feel, I feel it all. While Earth herself is adorning, This sweet May morning, And the children are culling On every side, In a thousand valleys far and wide, Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm, -But there's a tree, of many one, Doth the same tale repeat. Whither is fled the visionary gleam? V. Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting; And cometh from afar. Not in entire forgetfulness, Shades of the prison-house begin to close But he beholds the light, and whence it flows-- The youth, who daily farther from the east Must travel, still is nature's priest, And by the vision splendid Is on his way attended; At length the man perceives it die away, VI. Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own. Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind; And, even with something of a mother's mind, And no unworthy aim, The homely nurse doth all she can To make her foster-child, her inmate man, VII. Behold the child among his new-born blisses-- See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies, A mourning or a funeral And this hath now his heart, But it will not be long Ere this be thrown aside, And with new joy and pride The little actor cons another part- Filling from time to time his "humorous stage" With all the persons, down to palsied age, That life brings with her in her equipage; Were endless imitation. |