The sunrise gun, with its hollow roar, And the music of that old song Throbs in my memory still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." I remember the sea-fight far away, In their graves, o'erlooking the tranquil bay Where they in battle died. And the sound of that mournful song Goes through me with a thrill: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." I can see the breezy dome of groves, In quiet neighborhoods. And the verse of that sweet old song, It flutters and murmurs still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." I remember the gleams and glooms that dart The song and the silence in the heart, And the voice of that fitful song Sings on, and is never still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." There are things of which I may not speak; And bring a pallor into the cheek, And a mist before the eye. And the words of that fatal song "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." Strange to me now are the forms I meet As they balance up and down, Are singing the beautiful song, Are sighing and whispering still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." And Deering's Woods are fresh and fair, And with joy that is almost pain My heart goes back to wander there, And among the dreams of the days that were, I find my lost youth again. And the strange and beautiful song, The groves are repeating it still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." THE CHILDREN'S HOUR BETWEEN the dark and the daylight, When the night is beginning to lower, Comes a pause in the day's occupations, That is known as the Children's Hour. I hear in the chamber above me From my study I see in the lamplight, Descending the broad hall stair, Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra, And Edith with golden hair. A whisper, and then a silence: Yet I know by their merry eyes A sudden rush from the stairway, They climb up into my turret O'er the arms and back of my chair; All its loose-flowing garments into one, So in majestic cadence rise and fall NATURE As a fond mother, when the day is o'er, Still gazing at them through the open door, So Nature deals with us, and takes away WAPENTAKE TO ALFRED TENNYSON POET! I come to touch thy lance with mine; Not as a knight, who on the listed field Of homage to the mastery, which is thine, Art thou, O sweet historian of the heart! A BALLAD OF THE FRENCH FLEET OCTOBER, 1746 MR. THOMAS PRINCE loquitur Had sworn by cross and crown There were rumors in the street, And the danger hovering near. "O Lord! we would not advise; But if in thy Providence A tempest should arise To drive the French Fleet hence, And scatter it far and wide, Or sink it in the sea, We should be satisfied, This was the prayer I made, For my soul was all on flame, And even as I prayed The answering tempest came; It came with a mighty power, Shaking the windows and walls, And tolling the bell in the tower, As it tolls at funerals. The lightning suddenly Unsheathed its flaming sword, And I cried: "Stand still, and see The salvation of the Lord!" The heavens were black with cloud, The sea was white with hail, And ever more fierce and loud Blew the October gale. The fleet it overtook, And the broad sails in the van Like the tents of Cushan shook, Or the curtains of Midian. HER ways were gentle while a babe, A holy smile was on her lip Whenever sleep was there; She slept, as sleeps the blossom, hushed Amid the silent air. And ere she left with tottling steps The low-roofed cottage door, And everywhere the child was traced No loneliness young Eva knew, The joyous bird upon the wing, Much dwelt she on the green hill-side, She loved all simple flowers that spring The opening bud that lightly swung She saw that pearly fingers oped Each tiny leaf became a scroll |