SONG OF THE SILENT LAND INTO the Silent Land! Ah! who shall lead us thither? Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather, Thither, O thither! Into the Silent Land? Into the Silent Land! To you, ye boundless regions Of all perfection, tender morning-visions Of beauteous souls, the Future's pledge and band! Shall bear Hope's tender blossoms Into the Silent Land! O Land! O Land! For all the broken-hearted, The mildest herald by our fate allotted Into the land of the great departed, Into the Silent Land! JOHANN GAUDENZ VON SALIS. (German.) Translation of HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW, THE ONE GRAY HAIR. THE wisest of the wise Listen to pretty lies, And love to hear them told; Doubt not that Solomon Listened to many a one: Some in his youth, and more when he grew old. I never sat among The choir of Wisdom's song, But pretty lies loved I As much as any king: When youth was on the wing, And (must it then be told?) when youth had quite gone by. Alas! and I have not When one pert lady said Bewildered with affright: I see (sit quiet now!) a white hair on your head!" Another, more benign, Drew out that hair of mine, And in her own dark hair THE SHEPHERD'S RESOLUTION. Pretended she had found That one, and twirled it round: Fair as she was, she never was so fair. WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR. THE SHEPHERD'S RESOLUTION. SHALL I, wasting in despair, Die, because a woman's fair? Be she fairer than the day, Or the flowery meads in May, What care I how fair she be? Shall my foolish heart be pined If she be not so to me, What care I how kind she be? Shall a woman's virtues move Me to perish for her love? Or her well-deservings known THE OLD CONTINENTALS. Be she with that goodness blest 'Cause her fortune seems too high, Shall I play the fool and die? Those that bear a noble mind Where they want of riches find Think what with them they would do And unless that mind I see, What care I how great she be? Great, or good, or kind, or fair, GEORGE WITHER. THE OLD CONTINENTALS. In their ragged regimentals Yielding not, While the grenadiers were lunging, THE OLD CONTINENTALS. And like hail fell the plunging Cannon-shot; When the files Of the Isles, From the smoky night-encampment, bore the banner of the ram pant Unicorn, And grummer, grummer, grummer, rolled the roll of the drummer, Through the morn! Then with eyes to the front all, Stood our sires; While the balls whistled deadly, As the roar On the shore, Swept the strong battle-breakers o'er the green-sodded acres And louder, louder, louder, cracked the black gunpowder, Now like smiths at their forges Cannoneers; And the villainous saltpetre" Rang a fierce, discordant metre Round our ears. As the swift Storm-drift, |