14 Palingenesis. I do not know; nor will I vainly question Those pages of the mystic book which hold But without rash conjecture or suggestion Turn its last leaves in reverence and good heed, Until "The End" I read. THE BRIDGE OF CLOUD. URN, O evening hearth, and waken BURN, Pleasant visions, as of old! Though the house by winds be shaken, Safe I keep this room of gold! Ah, no longer wizard Fancy Builds her castles in the air Luring me by necromancy Up the never-ending stair But, instead, she builds me bridges Where beneath the gusty ridges Cataracts dash and roar unseen. 16 The Bridge of Cloud. And I cross them, little heeding Blast of wind or torrent's roar, As I follow the receding Footsteps that have gone before. Naught avails the imploring gesture, When I touch the flying vesture, Baffled I return, and leaning O'er the parapets of cloud, Wraps the valley in its shroud. And the sounds of life ascending Faintly, vaguely, meet the ear, Murmur of bells and voices blending With the rush of waters near. The Bridge of Cloud. Well I know what there lies hidden, Every tower and town and farm, And again the land forbidden Reassumes its vanished charm. Well I know the secret places, And the nests in hedge and tree; At what doors are friendly faces, In what hearts are thoughts of me. Through the mist and darkness sinking, Blown by wind and beaten by shower, Down I fling the thought I'm thinking, Down I toss this Alpine flower. 17 HAWTHORNE. MAY 23, 1864. OW beautiful it was, that one bright day H. In the long In the long week of rain! Though all its splendour could not chase away The omnipresent pain. The lovely town was white with apple-blooms, Dark shadows wove on their aërial looms, Across the meadows, by the gray old manse, I was as one who wanders in a trance, |