« 上一页继续 »
“ Now tell us all about the war,
“ It was the English,” Kaspar cried,
“Who put the French to rout; But what they fought each other for
I could not well make out. But everybody said," quoth he, “ That 'twas a famous victory!
“My father lived at Blenheim then,
Yon little stream hard by ;
And he was forced to fly :
“With fire and sword the country round
Was wasted far and wide;
And new-born baby died.
“They say it was a shocking sight
After the field was won;
Lay rotting in the sun.
And our good prince Eugene.”
Said little Wilhelmine.
“And everybody praised the Duke
Who this great fight did win.”
Quoth little Peterkin.
SILENT and mournful sat an Indian chief,
In the red sunset, by a grassy tomb;
And his arms folded in majestic gloom ;
For a pale cross above its greensward rose,
Telling the cedars and the pines that there Man's heart and hope had struggled with his woes,
And lifted from the dust a voice of prayer. Now all was hushed—and eve's last splendour shone With a rich sadness on the attesting stone.
There came a lonely traveller o'er the wild,
And he, too, paused in reverence by that grave, Asking the tale of its memorial, piled
Between the forest and the lake's bright wave;
And the grey chieftain, slowly rising, said-
Passed o'er these waters. Though the voice is fled
Which made them as a singing fountain's flow, Yet, when I sit in their long-faded track, Sometimes the forest's murmur gives them back.
“ Ask ́st thou of him whose house is lone beneath ?
I was an eagle in my youthful pride, When o'er the seas he came, with summer's breath,
To dwell amidst us, on the lake's green side. Many the times of flowers have been
since thenMany, but bringing naught like him again! “ Not with the hunter's bow and spear he came,
O'er the blue hills to chase the flying roe; Not the dark glory of the woods to tame,
Laying their cedars, like the corn-stalks, low; But to spread tidings of all holy things, Gladdening our souls, as with the morning's wings. “Doth not yon cypress whisper how we met,
I and my brethren that from earth are gone, Under its boughs to hear his voice, which yet
Seems through their gloom to send a silvery tone ? He told of One the graves' dark bonds who broke, And our hearts burned within us as he spoke.
“He told of far and sunny lands, which lie
Beyond the dust wherein our fathers dwell :
say 'Farewell !' He came to guide us thither ; but away The happy called him, and he might not stay. “We saw him slowly fade-athirst, perchance,
For the fresh waters of that lovely clime; Yet was there still a sunbeam in his glance,
And on his gleaming hair no touch of time
Therefore we hoped : but now the lake looks dim,
“We gathered round him in the dewy hour
Of one still morn, beneath his chosen tree; From his clear voice, at first, the words of power
Came low, like moanings of a distant sea; But swelled and shook the wilderness ere long, As if the spirit of the breeze grew strong. “And then once more they trembled on his tongue,
And his white eyelids fluttered, and his head Fell back, and mist upon his forehead hung
Know'st thou not how we pass to join the dead ? It is enough ! he sank upon my breast Our friend that loved us, he was gone to rest ! “ We buried him where he was wont to pray,
By the calm lake, e'en here at eventide ; We reared this cross in token where he lay,
For on the cross, he said, his Lord had died ! Now hath he surely reached, o'er mount and wave, That flowery land whose green turf hides no grave. “But I am sad! I mourn the clear light taken
Back from my people, o'er whose place it shone, The pathway to the better shore forsaken,
And the true words forgotten, save by one, Who hears them faintly sounding from the past, Mingled with death-songs in each fitful blast.
Then spoke the wanderer forth with kindling eye :
“Son of the wilderness ! despair thou not, Though the bright hour may seem to thee gone by,
And the cloud settled o'er thy nation's lot! Heaven darkly works—yet, where the seed hath been, There shall the fruitage, glowing yet, be seen.
"Hope on, hope ever !-by the sudden springing
Of green leaves which the winter hid so long ; And by the bursts of free, triumphant singing,
After cold silent months the woods among; And by the rending of the frozen chains, Which bound the glorious rivers on their plains ; “ Deem not the words of light that here were spoken,
But as a lovely song, to leave no trace ; Yet shall the gloom which wraps thy hills be broken,
And the full day-spring rise upon thy race ! And fading mists the better path disclose, And the wide desert blossom as the rose.
So by the cross they parted, in the wild,
Each fraught with musings for life's after day, Memories to visit one, the forest's child,
By many a blue stream in its lonely way; And upon one, 'midst busy throngs to press Deep thoughts and sad, yet full of holiness.
Receipt oF MY MOTHER'S
Oh, that those lips had language ! Life has passed