Will evening bring no unsought fruitage home? Must the days pass and these poor lips be dumb, While strewing leaves sing falling through the air, And autumn gathers in her richest fruit ? Where is my spring departed? Where, O gods! Within my spirit still the building birds I hear, with voice more tender than when leaves Are budding and the happy earth is gay. Am I, indeed, grown dumb for evermore! Take me, O bark! Take me, thou flowing stream! Who knowest nought of death save when thy waves Rush to new life upon the ocean's breast. Bear thou me singing to the under world! [From Sophocles.] AGED SOPHOCLES ADDRESSING THE ATHENIANS BEFORE READING HIS EDIPUS COLONEUS. BOWED half with age and half with reverence, thus, I, Sophocles, now answer to your call; Questioned have I the cause and the reason learned. Lo, I am here that all the world may see These feeble limbs that signal of decay! But, know ye, ere the aged oak must die. Long after the strong years have bent his form, The spring still gently weaves a leafy crown, Fresh as of yore to deck his wintry head. And now, O people mine, who have loved my song, Ye shall be judges if the spring have brought Late unto me, the aged oak, a crown. Hear ye once more, ere yet the river of sleep Bear me away far on its darkening tide, The music breathed upon me from these fields. If to your ears, alas! the shattered strings No longer sing, but breathe a discord harsh, I will return and draw this mantle close About my head and lay me down to die. But if ye hear the wonted spirit call, Framing the natural song that fills this world To a diviner form, then shall ye all believe The love I bear to those most near to To the storm, To the voices of pleasure, Nor faint in the arms of the earth; But she followeth ever the form Of thy grape was no frost and no Who knows both our death and our FIRST APPEARANCE AT THE ODEON. "I AM Nicholas Tacchinardi,-hunchbacked, look you, and a fright; Caliban himself might never interpose so foul a sight. Granted; but I come not, masters, to exhibit form or size. Gaze not on my limbs, good people; lend your ears, and not your eyes. Let me try my voice to-night here,- keep your jests till I begin. If I fail to please you, curse me,- not before my voice you hear, Thrust me not from the Odéon. Hearken, and I've naught to fear." Then the crowd in pit and boxes jeered the dwarf, and mocked his shape; Bowing low, pale Tacchinardi, long accustomed to such threats, FRANCIS MILES FINCH. THE BLUE AND THE GRAY. By the flow of the inland river; Asleep are the ranks of the dead: Waiting the Judgment-Day; Under the other, the Gray. These in the robings of glory, Under the sod and the dew; Under the willow, the Gray. From the silence of sorrowful hours Lovingly laden with flowers, So, with an equal splendor, So, when the summer calleth Under the sod and the dew: I HEAR it often in the dark, Where is the voice that calls to me Oh, may it be that far within Those voices of surprise? Is just the heaven where God himself, Oh, God within, so close to me Be judge, be friend, be Father still, my very Thy words are sweet and strong; They fill my inward silences With music and with song. They send me challenges to right. They breathe my "Peace, be still!" |