LXXV. THE CLOUD CONFINES.
DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI.--1828-1882.
The day is dark and the night To him that would search their heart; No lips of cloud that will part Nor morning song in the light: Only, gazing alone, To him wild shadows are shown, Deep under deep unknown And height above unknown height.
Still we say as we go,-- "Strange to think by the way, Whatever there is to know, That shall we know one day."
The Past is over and fled; Named new, we name it the old; Thereof some tale hath been told, But no word comes from the dead; Whether at all they be, Or whether as bond or free, Or whether they too were we, Or by what spell they have sped.
Still we say as we go,-- "Strange to think by the way, Whatever there is to know, That shall we know one day."
What of the heart of hate That beats in thy breast, O Time?-- Red strife from the furthest prime, And anguish of fierce debate; War that shatters her slain, And peace that grinds them as grain, And eyes fix"d ever in vain On the pitiless eyes of Fate.
Still we say as we go,-- "Strange to think by the way, Whatever there is to know, That shall we know one day."
What of the heart of love That bleeds in thy breast, O Man?-- Thy kisses s.n.a.t.c.h"d "neath the ban Of fangs that mock them above; Thy bells prolong"d unto knells, Thy hope that a breath dispels, Thy bitter forlorn farewells And the empty echoes thereof?
Still we say as we go,-- "Strange to think by the way, Whatever there is to know, That shall we know one day."
The sky leans dumb on the sea, Aweary with all its wings; And oh! the song the sea sings Is dark everlastingly.
Our past is clean forgot, Our present is and is not, Our future"s a seal"d seedplot, And what betwixt them are we?-- We who say as we go,-- "Strange to think by the way, Whatever there is to know, That shall we know one day."
LXXVI. BARBARA FRIETCHIE.
JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.--1807-
Up from the meadows rich with corn, Clear in the cool September morn,
The cl.u.s.ter"d spires of Frederick stand Green-wall"d by the hills of Maryland.
Round about them orchards sweep, Apple and peach tree fruited deep,--
Fair as a garden of the Lord To the eyes of the famish"d rebel horde,
On that pleasant morn of the early fall When Lee march"d over the mountain wall,--
Over the mountains winding down, Horse and foot, into Frederick town.
Forty flags with their silver stars, Forty flags with their crimson bars,
Flapp"d in the morning wind: the sun Of noon look"d down, and saw not one.
Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, Bow"d with her fourscore years and ten;
Bravest of all in Frederick town, She took up the flag the men haul"d down;
In her attic-window the staff she set, To show that one heart was loyal yet.
Up the street came the rebel tread, Stonewall Jackson riding ahead.
Under his slouch"d hat left and right He glanced: the old flag met his sight.
"Halt!"--the dust-brown ranks stood fast "Fire!"--out blazed the rifle-blast.
It shiver"d the window, pane and sash; It rent the banner with seam and gash.
Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff Dame Barbara s.n.a.t.c.h"d the silken scarf;
She lean"d far out on the window-sill, And shook it forth with a royal will.
"Shoot, if you must, this old grey head, But spare your country"s flag!" she said.
A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, Over the face of the leader came;
The n.o.bler nature within him stirr"d To life at that woman"s deed and word:
"Who touches a hair of yon grey head, Dies like a dog! March on!" he said.
All day long through Frederick street Sounded the tread of marching feet:
All day long that free flag toss"d Over the heads of the rebel host.
Ever its torn folds rose and fell On the loyal winds that lov"d it well;
And through the hill-gaps sunset light Shone over it with a warm good-night.
Barbara Frietchie"s work is o"er, And the Rebel rides on his raids no more
Honor to her! and let a tear Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall"s bier.
Over Barbara Frietchie"s grave, Flag of Freedom and Union, wave!
Peace and order and beauty draw Round thy symbol of light and law;
And ever the stars above look down On thy stars below in Frederick town!
LXXVII. CONTENTMENT.
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.--1809-
_"Man wants but little here below."_