Vanished is the ancient splendor, and before my dreamy eye Not thy Councils, not thy Kaisers win for thee the world's regard, Thus, O Nuremberg, a wanderer from a region far away As he paced thy streets and court-yards, sang in thought his careless lay; Gathering from the pavement's crevice, as a floweret of the soil, THE OPEN WINDOW. The old house by the lindens I saw the nursery window The large Newfoundland house-dog They walked not under the lindens, The birds sang in the branches, But the voices of the children Will be heard in dreams alone. And the boy that walked beside me Why closer in mine,-ah, closer!- The charming touch in the last stanza has a pathos peculiar to Professor Longfellow. The next poem is also one which, if printed anonymously, we should, I think, be ready to assign to the right author THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS. L'éternité est une pendule, dont le balancier dit et redit sans cesse ces deux mots seulement, dans le silence des tombeaux: Toujours-jamais! Jamais toujours!-JAQUES BRIDAINE. Somewhat back from the village street Tall poplar-trees their shadows throw; "Forever-never! Never-forever!" Half-way up the stairs it stands, From its case of massive oak, Like a monk, who, under his cloak, Crosses himself, and sighs, alas ! With sorrowful voice to all who pass: "Forever-never! Never-forever!" Through days of sorrow and of mirth, Of changeful time, unchanged it has stood, It calmly repeats those words of awe: "Forever-never! Never-forever!" In that mansion used to be Free-hearted Hospitality; His great fires up the chimney roared; The stranger feasted at his board; But, like the skeleton at the feast, That warning time-piece never ceased: "Forever-never! Never-forever!" There groups of merry children played; And affluence of love and time! Even as a miser counts his gold Those hours the ancient time-piece told: "Forever-never! Never-forever!" From that chamber, clothed in white, The bride came forth on her wedding-night! There, in that silent room below, The dead lay in its shroud of snow! And in the hush that followed the prayer, Was heard the old clock on the stair: "Forever-never! Never-forever!" All are scattered now and fled, "Forever-never! Never-forever!" Never here, forever there, Where all parting, pain and care, The horologe of Eternity Sayeth this incessantly : "Forever-never! Never-forever!" TWILIGHT. The twilight is sad and cloudy, But in the fisherman's cottage Close, close it is pressed to the window, Were looking into the darkness, And a woman's waving shadow Now rising to the ceiling, Now bowing and bending low. What tale do the roaring ocean, And why do the roaring ocean And the night-wind wild and bleak, RESIGNATION. There is no flock, however watched and tended, But one dead lamb is there! There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, The air is full of farewells to the dying The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, Let us be patient! These severe afflictions But oftentimes celestial benedictions Assume this dark disguise. We see but dimly through the mists and vapors Amid these earthly damps, What seem to us but sad funereal tapers, May be heaven's distant lamps. There is no Death! What seems so is transition; This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life Elysian, Whose portal we call Death. She is not dead, the child of our affection, But gone unto that school Where she no longer needs our poor protection, And Christ himself doth rule. In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution, Day after day, we think what she is doing In those bright realms of air; Year after year, her tender steps pursuing, Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken, Not as a child shall we again behold her, In our embraces we again enfold her, But a fair maiden in her Father's mansion And beautiful with all the soul's expansion And though at times impetuous with emotion And anguish long suppressed, The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean, We will be patient and assuage the feeling We may not wholly stay; By silence sanctifying, not concealing, The grief that must have way. I add one simile from the "Address to a Child :" By what astrology of fear or hope And yet, upon its outer rim, A luminous circle faint and dim, And scarcely visible to us here, Rounds and completes the perfect sphere, A prophecy and intimation, A pale and feeble adumbration, Of the great world of light that lies Beyond all human destinies ! The concluding extract has a stronger recommendation than any that I can give; it is Mrs. Browning's favorite among the poems of Longfellow : |