Then think I of deep shadows on the grass, The gleaming rushes lean a thousand ways, Where one white cloud like a stray lamb doth move. My childhood's earliest thoughts are linked with thee; The sight of thee calls back the robin's song, Who, from the dark old tree Beside the door, sang clearly all day long, Listened as if I heard an angel sing With news from heaven, which he could bring Fresh every day to my untainted ears When birds and flowers and I were happy peers. How like a prodigal doth nature seem, When thou, for all thy gold, so common art! Thou teachest me to deem More sacredly of every human heart, Since each reflects in joy its scanty gleam And with a child's undoubting wisdom look IIO. The Shepherd of King Admetus TH HERE came a youth upon the earth, Whose slender hands were nothing worth, Upon an empty tortoise-shell He stretched some chords, and drew Then King Admetus, one who had To hear between the cups of wine: And so, well pleased with being soothed Three times his kingly beard he smoothed, His words were simple words enough, Men called him but a shiftless youth, And yet, unwittingly, in truth, They knew not how he learned at all, He sat and watched the dead leaves fall, It seemed the loveliness of things For, in mere weeds, and stones, and springs, Men granted that his speech was wise, They laughed, and called him good-for-naught. Yet after he was dead and gone, And e'en his memory dim, Earth seemed more sweet to live upon, More full of love, because of him. And day by day more holy grew Till after-poets only knew Their first-born brother as a god. III. 1820-1867 THEODORE O'HARA The Bivouac of the Dead 'HE muffled drum's sad roll has beat THE The soldier's last tattoo; No more on Life's parade shall meet That brave and fallen few. On Fame's eternal camping-ground And Glory guards, with solemn round, No rumor of the foe's advance No troubled thought at midnight haunts No braying horn nor screaming fife Their shivered swords are red with rust, And plenteous funeral tears have washed And the proud forms, by battle gashed, Are free from anguish now. The neighing troop, the flashing blade, The charge, the dreadful cannonade, Like the fierce northern hurricane Knew well the watchword of that day Long had the doubtful conflict raged Not long, our stout old chieftain knew, 'Twas in that hour his stern command By rivers of their fathers' gore His first-born laurels grew, And well he deemed the sons would pour Their lives for glory too. Full many a norther's breath has swept O'er Angostura's plain, And long the pitying sky has wept Above its mouldered slain. |