The sunrise gun, with its hollow roar, And the music of that old song Throbs in my memory still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." I remember the sea-fight far away, In their graves, o'erlooking the tranquil bay Where they in battle died. And the sound of that mournful song Goes through me with a thrill: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." I can see the breezy dome of groves, In quiet neighborhoods. And the verse of that sweet old song, It flutters and murmurs still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." I remember the gleams and glooms that dart And the voice of that fitful song "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." There are things of which I may not speak; And bring a pallor into the cheek, And a mist before the eye. And the words of that fatal song "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." Strange to me now are the forms I meet As they balance up and down, Are singing the beautiful song, Are sighing and whispering still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." And Deering's Woods are fresh and fair, My heart goes back to wander there, were, I find my lost youth again. And the strange and beautiful song, The groves are repeating it still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." THE CHILDREN'S HOUR BETWEEN the dark and the daylight, When the night is beginning to lower, Comes a pause in the day's occupations, That is known as the Children's Hour. I hear in the chamber above me From my study I see in the lamplight, Descending the broad hall stair, Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra, And Edith with golden hair. A whisper, and then a silence: Yet I know by their merry eyes A sudden rush from the stairway, They climb up into my turret O'er the arms and back of my chair; Follow each other at your call, O Bells of Lynn! The distant lighthouse hears, and with his flaming signal Answers you, passing the watchword on, O Bells of Lynn ! And down the darkening coast run the tumultuous surges, And clap their hands, and shout to you, O Bells of Lynn ! Till from the shuddering sea, with your wild incantations, Ye summon up the spectral moon, O Bells of Lynn ! And startled at the sight, like the weird woman of Endor, Ye cry aloud, and then are still, O Bells of Lynn ! CHAUCER AN old man in a lodge within a park; And the hurt deer. He listeneth to the lark, Whose song comes with the sunshine through the dark Of painted glass in leaden lattice bound; mead. MILTON I PACE the sounding sea-beach and behold How the voluminous billows roll and run, Upheaving and subsiding, while the sun Shines through their sheeted emerald far unrolled, And the ninth wave, slow gathering fold by fold All its loose-flowing garments into one, So in majestic cadence rise and fall NATURE As a fond mother, when the day is o'er, Still gazing at them through the open door, So Nature deals with us, and takes away WAPENTAKE TO ALFRED TENNYSON POET! I come to touch thy lance with mine; Not as a knight, who on the listed field Of homage to the mastery, which is thine, Art thou, O sweet historian of the heart! A BALLAD OF THE FRENCH FLEET OCTOBER, 1746 MR. THOMAS PRINCE loquitur A FLEET with flags arrayed Sailed from the port of Brest, And the Admiral's ship displayed The signal: "Steer southwest." For this Admiral D'Anville Had sworn by cross and crown To ravage with fire and steel Our helpless Boston Town. There were rumors in the street, In the houses there was fear And the danger hovering near. Saying humbly: "Let us pray! "O Lord! we would not advise; But if in thy Providence A tempest should arise To drive the French Fleet hence, And scatter it far and wide, Or sink it in the sea, We should be satisfied, And thine the glory be." This was the prayer I made, For my soul was all on flame, And even as I prayed The answering tempest came; It came with a mighty power, Shaking the windows and walls, And tolling the bell in the tower, As it tolls at funerals. The lightning suddenly Unsheathed its flaming sword, And I cried: "Stand still, and see The salvation of the Lord!" The heavens were black with cloud, The sea was white with hail, And ever more fierce and loud Blew the October gale. The fleet it overtook, And the broad sails in the van Like the tents of Cushan shook, Or the curtains of Midian. Down on the reeling decks Like a potter's vessel broke The great ships of the line; They were carried away as a smoke, Or sank like lead in the brine. O Lord! before thy path They vanished and ceased to be, When thou didst walk in wrath With thine horses through the sea! JUGURTHA How cold are thy baths, Apollo ! Cried the African monarch, the splen did, As down to his death in the hollow Dark dungeons of Rome he descended, Uncrowned, unthroned, unattended; How cold are thy baths, Apollo ! How cold are thy baths, Apollo ! Cried the Poet, unknown, unbefriended, As the vision, that lured him to follow, With the mist and the darkness blended, And the dream of his life was ended; How cold are thy baths, Apollo ! THE TIDE RISES, THE TIDE FALLS THE tide rises, the tide falls, Darkness settles on roofs and walls, Efface the footprints in the sands, And the tide rises, the tide falls. The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls; And the tide rises, the tide falls. HER ways were gentle while a babe, A holy smile was on her lip Whenever sleep was there; She slept, as sleeps the blossom, hushed Amid the silent air. And ere she left with tottling steps The low-roofed cottage door, And everywhere the child was traced No loneliness young Eva knew, The joyous bird upon the wing, The blossom in the wild. Much dwelt she on the green hill-side, Beside the running, babbling brook, She loved all simple flowers that spring The opening bud that lightly swung She saw that pearly fingers oped Each tiny leaf became a scroll |