But still that vale in silent beauty dwelt
Within my memory. Home I came at last.
I stood upon a mountain height, and looked
Into the vale below; and smoke arose,
And heavy sounds; and through the thick dim air
Shot blackened turrets, and brick walls, and roofs
Of the red tile. I entered in the streets :
There were ten thousand hurrying to and fro;
And masted vessels stood upon the river,
And barges sullied the once dew-clear stream:
Where were the willows, where the cottages?
I sought my home; I sought, and found a city,—
Alas! for the green valley!
He sleeps the night wind o'er the battle-field
Gently, though each breeze bear away
Life from the dying.
He sleeps, though his dear and early friend
Though the ravening vulture and screaming crow
He sleeps,—where blood has been poured like rain. Another field before him :
And he sleeps as calm as his mother's eyes
Were watching o'er him.
To-morrow that youthful victor's name
Will be proudly given,
By the trumpet's voice, and the soldier's shout,
To the winds of heaven.
Yet life, how pitiful and how mean,
Thy noblest story;
When the high excitement of victory,
The fullness of glory,
Nor the sorrow felt for the friend of his youth,
Whose corpse he is keeping,
Can give his human weakness force
To keep from sleeping.
And this is the sum of our mortal state,
The hopes we number,—
Feverish, waking, danger, death,
And listless slumber.
MANMADIN, THE INDIAN CUPID,
FLOATING DOWN THE GANGES.
THERE is a darkness on the sky,
And the troubled waves run high,
And the lightning flash is breaking,
And the thunder peal is waking;
Reddening meteors, strange and bright,
Cross the rainbow's timid light,
As if mingled hope and fear,
Storm and sunshine, shook the sphere.
Tempest winds rush fierce along,
Bearing yet a sound of song,
Music's on the tempest's wing,
Wafting thee young Manmadin !
Pillowed on a lotus flower
Gathered in a summer hour,
Rides he o'er the mountain wave
Which would be a tall ship's grave'
At his back his bow is slung,
Sugar-cane, with wild bees strung,—
Bees born with the buds of spring,
Yet with each a deadly sting;
Grasping in his infant hand
Arrows in their silken band,
Each made of a signal flower,
Emblem of its varied power;
Some formed of the silver leaf
Of the almond, bright and brief,
Just a frail and lovely thing,
For but one hour's flourishing;
Others, on whose shaft there glows
The red beauty of the rose;
Some in spring's half-folded bloom,
Some in summer's full perfume;
Some with withered leaves and sere,
Falling with the falling year;
Some bright with the rainbow dyes
Of the tulip's vanities;
Some, bound with the lily's bell,
Breathe of love that dares not tell
Its sweet feelings; the dark leaves
Of the esignum, which grieves
Droopingly, round some were bound;
Others were with tendrils wound
Of the green and laughing vine,—
And the barb was dipped in wine.
But all these are summer ills,
Like the tree whose stem distils
Balm beneath its pleasant shade
In the wounds its thorns have made.
Though the flowers may fade and die,
"Tis but a light penalty.
All these bloom-clad darts are meant
But for a short-lived content!
Yet one arrow has a power
Lasting till life's latest hour-
Weary day and sleepless night,
Lightning gleams of fierce delight,
Fragrant and yet poisoned sighs,
Agonies and ecstacies;
Hopes, like fires amid the gloom,
Lighting only to consume!
Happiness one hasty draught,
And the lip has venom quaffed.
Doubt, despairing, crime, and craft,
Are upon that honeyed shaft!
It has made the crowned king
Crouch beneath his suffering;
Made the beauty's cheek more pale
Than the foldings of her veil:
Like a child the soldier kneel
Who had mocked at flame or steel;
Bade the fires of genius turn
On their own breasts, and there burn:
A wound, a blight, a curse, a doom,
Bowing young hearts to the tomb!
Well may storm be on the sky,
And the waters roll on high,
When Manmadin passes by.
Earth below, and heaven above,
Well may bend to thee, O Love!
SHE shrank from all, and her silent mood
Made her wish only for solitude:
Her eye sought the ground, as it could not brook, For innermost shame, on another's to look;
And the cheerings of comfort fell on her ear
Like deadliest words, that were curses to hear!
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