And hark! a hidden bird, To sudden utterance stirred As by a wondrous love too great to bear Burst into passionate song, Filling with his sweet trouble all the air. Then one, whose eager soul Could brook no small control, Said, "Let us thread this pleasant path, dear friend: If thus the way can be So beautiful to see, How much more beautiful must be the end! "Follow this solitude May shrine the haunted wood, Storied so sweetly in romance and rhyme,— And rarely peopled still By Fauns and Dryads of the olden time. "A spot of hallowed ground By mortal yet unfound, Sacred to nymph and sylvan deity, Where foiled Apollo glides, And bashful Daphne hides Safe in the shelter of her laurel-tree!" "Forbear!" the other cried, “O, leave the way untried! Those joys are sweetest which we only guess; That seeks to grasp the whole, Defeats itself by its own eagerness. "Let us not rudely shake The dew-drop from the brake Fringing the borders of this haunted dell; All the delights which are— The present and the far Lose half their charm by being known too well! And he mistakes who tries To search all mysteries,— Who leaves no cup undrained, no path untracked; Who seeks to know too much Brushes with ruthless touch The bloom of Fancy from the brier of Fact. “Keep one fair myth aloof From hard and actual proof, Preserve some dear delusions as they seem; Since the reality, How bright soe'er it be, Shows dull and tame beside our marvelous dream. "Leave this white page unscored, This rare realm unexplored, And let dear Fancy roam there as she will: Whatever page we turn, However much we learn, Let there be something left to dream of still!" Wherefore, for aught we know, The golden apples grow In the green vale to which that pathway leads; Still haunt its solitude, And Pan sits piping there among the reeds! FORGOTTEN. In this dim shadow, where She found the quiet which all tired hearts crave, The wild bees murmur, and the blossoms wave, Blows heedlessly across her grassy grave. Yet, when she lived on earth, She loved this leafy dell, and knew by name Squirrel and bird chirped welcome, when she came ; They frisk, and build, and warble all the same. From the great city near, Come the far voices of its deep unrest To touch her dead, deaf ear, And surge unechoed o'er her pulseless breast. The hearts which clung to her Have sought out other shrines, as all hearts must, Has worn their grief out, and replaced their trust; This little handful of forgotten dust. Grass waves, and insects hum, And then the snow blows bitterly across; Strange footsteps go and come, Breaking the dew-drops on the starry moss; Counting no longer either gain or loss. Ah, well,-'tis better so; Let the dust deepen as the years increase; Let the name perish, and the memory cease, That which through life she vainly prayed for,-Peace! GOING TO SLEEP. The light is fading down the sky, I hear the thrushes' evening song: Dim dreams my drowsy senses drown,— My life's brief spring went wasted by, My summer ended fruitlessly; I learned to hunger, strive and wait: Now all my fields are turning brown,— |