His form was ponderous, and his step was slow; Searching for worm or weevil after rain, There never was so wise a man before; Or a few cherries that are not so sweet He seemed the incarnate “Well, I told you so!" As are the songs these uninvited guests And to perpetuate his great renown, There was a street named after him in town. These came together in the new town-hall, His air impressive and his reasoning sound. Ill fared it with the birds, both great and small, Hardly a friend in all that crowd they found, But enemies enough, who every one Charged them with all the crimes beneath the sun. When they had ended, from his place apart Then thought of fair Almira, and took heart To speak out what was in him, clear and strong. Sing at their feast with comfortable breasts. "Do you ne'er think what wondrous beings these? Do you ne'er think who made them, and who taught The dialect they speak, where melodies Alone are the interpreters of thought? Whose household words are songs in many keys, Sweeter than instrument of man e'er caught! Whose habitations in the tree-tops even Are half-way houses on the road to heaven! "Think, every morning when the sun peeps through The dim, leaf-latticed windows of the grove, How jubilant the happy birds renew Their old melodious madrigals of love! And when you think of this, remember, too, 'Tis always morning somewhere, and above That year in Killingworth the Autumn came The illumined pages of his Dooms-Day Book. But the next Spring, a stranger sight was seen, If some dumb animal had found a tongue: Upon whose boughs were wicker cages hung, All full of singing-birds came down the street, Filling the air with music wild and sweet. From all the country round these birds were brought By order of the town, with anxious quest, And, loosened from their wicker prison, sought In woods and fields the places they loved best, Singing loud canticles, which many thought Were satires to the authorities addressed; While others, listening in green lanes, averred Such lovely music never had been heard. But blither still and louder carolled they And everywhere, around, above, below, Their songs burst forth in joyous overflow, And a new heaven bent over a new earth Amid the sunny farms of Killingworth. HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. Arethusa. ARETHUSA arose From her couch of snows In the Acroceraunian mountains,From cloud and from crag With many a jag, Shepherding her bright fountains. She leapt down the rocks Streaming among the streams; Her steps paved with green The downward ravine Which slopes to the western gleams, And, gliding and springing, She went, ever singing In murmurs as soft as sleep; The Earth seemed to love her, And Heaven smiled above her, As she lingered towards the deep. Then Alpheus bold, On his glacier cold, With his trident the mountains strook And opened a chasm In the rocks; with the spasmn All Erymanthus shook. And the black south wind, The urns of the silent snow, And earthquake and thunder "Oh, save me! Oh, guide me! To its blue depth stirred, Behind her descended Her billows, unblended Down the streams of the cloudy wind |