Scorn? Would the angels laugh to mark
A bright soul driven,
Fiend-goaded, down the endless dark
From hope and heaven?
Let not the land once proud of him
Insult him now;
Nor brand with deeper shame his dim
Dishonour'd brow!
But let its humbled sons, instead,
From sea to lake
A long lament as for the Dead
In sadness make!
Of all we loved and honour'd nought
Save power remains,—
A fallen angel's pride of thought,
Still strong in chains.
All else is gone; from those great eyes
The soul hath fled:
When faith is lost, when honour dies,
The Man is dead.
Then pay the reverence of old days
To his dead fame:
Walk backward, with averted gaze,
And hide the shame!
THE RIVER-PATH.
No bird-song floated down the hill,
The tangled bank below was still;
No rustle from the birchen stem,
No ripple from the water's hem:
The dusk of twilight round us grew,
We felt the falling of the dew,
For from us ere the day was done
The wooded hills shut out the sun.
But on the river's farther side
We saw the hill-tops glorified :
A tender glow, exceeding fair,
A dream of day without its glare :
With us the damp, the chill, the gloom;
With them the sunset's rosy bloom :
While dark, through willowy vistas seen,
The river roll'd in shade between.
From out the darkness where we trod
We gazed upon those hills of God,
Whose light seem'd not of moon or sun.
We spake not, but our thought was one.
We paused, as if from that bright shore
Beckon'd our Dear Ones gone before;
And still'd our beating hearts to hear
The voices lost to mortal ear.
Sudden our pathway turn'd from night:
The hills swung open to the light;
Through their green gates the sunshine show'd,
A long slant splendour downward flow'd :
Down glade and glen and bank it roll'd;
It bridged the shaded stream with gold;
And, borne on piers of mist, allied
The shadowy with the sunlit side.
So (pray'd we), when our feet draw near
The river dark with mortal fear,
And the night cometh chill with dew,
O Father! let thy light break through!
So let the hills of doubt divide!
So bridge with faith the sunless tide!
So let the eyes that fail on earth
On thy eternal hills look forth,
And in thy beckoning Angels know
The Dear Ones whom we loved below!
In schools of wisdom all the day was spent:
His steps at eve the Rabbi homeward bent,
With homeward thoughts which dwelt upon the wife
And two fair children who consoled his life.
She, meeting at the threshold, led him in,
And, with these words preventing, did begin :-
"Ever rejoicing at your wish'd return,
Yet am I most so now: for since this morn
I have been much perplex'd and sorely tried
Upon one point which you shall now decide.
Some years ago, a friend into my care
Some jewels gave,-rich precious gems they were;
But having given them in my charge, this friend
Did afterward nor come for them, nor send,
But left them in my keeping for so long
That now it almost seems to me a wrong
That he should suddenly arrive to-day,
To take those jewels which he left away.
What think you? Shall I freely yield them back,
And with no murmuring ?-so henceforth to lack
Those gems myself, which I had learn'd to see
Almost as mine for ever, mine in fee."
"What question can be here? Your own true heart Must needs advise you of the only part:
That may be claim'd again which was but lent,
And should be yielded with no discontent;
Nor surely can we find herein a wrong,
That it was left us to enjoy so long."
"Good is the word!" she answer'd: "
And evermore that it is good allow!"
And, rising, to an inner chamber led;
And there she show'd him, stretch'd upon one bed, Two children pale. And he the jewels knew Which God had lent him and resumed anew.
Hear the sledges with the bells,
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night!
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight:
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells,-
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.
Hear the mellow wedding bells,
Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony fortells!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten-golden notes,
And all in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!
O, from out the sounding cells
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!
How it dwells
On the future! how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells,—
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!
Hear the loud alarum bells,
Brazen bells!
What a tale of terror now their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek
Out of tune,
In the clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavour,
Now, now to sit or never
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
O the bells, bells, bells,
What a tale their terror tells
Of despair!
How they clang, and clash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear it fully knows,
By the twanging,
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows;
Yet the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling,
And the wrangling,
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