FRANCIS L. DOMINICK WATERS
THEN sighed the Wandering Angel sore,And turned one lingering look, and last,Upon the dead; and, rising o'erThe lake, the groves, the dell, he passedOn sailing pinions, broad and bright,Along the footsteps of the night,And down the pathway of the wind,Until he faded westward far,—A glory in the deep enshrined,The brother of the morning star—And dropt upon the burning barOf the horizon, and passed onUnder its shadow, and was gone.And loud and shrilly sang the lark;And lovely waxed the risen day,And laughed through every dewy sparkThat on the groves and meadows lay;And all the level leas o'erflowedWith light; and all the copses glowedThroughout; and over every slopeTrembled a glory, like the hopeOf future summers, seen through tearsOf autumn, down the rolling years;And from the bosom of the brookA thousand happy memories shook;And on the still and smiling lakeThe lingering lilies seemed to wakeOnce more into their bygone bloom,And breathed a soul of fresh perfume:And all the sombre cypress litIn the light shaking over it;And even the hoary willow tookA smile from Nature's happy look.
THEN sighed the Wandering Angel sore,And turned one lingering look, and last,Upon the dead; and, rising o'erThe lake, the groves, the dell, he passedOn sailing pinions, broad and bright,Along the footsteps of the night,And down the pathway of the wind,Until he faded westward far,—A glory in the deep enshrined,The brother of the morning star—And dropt upon the burning barOf the horizon, and passed onUnder its shadow, and was gone.And loud and shrilly sang the lark;And lovely waxed the risen day,And laughed through every dewy sparkThat on the groves and meadows lay;And all the level leas o'erflowedWith light; and all the copses glowedThroughout; and over every slopeTrembled a glory, like the hopeOf future summers, seen through tearsOf autumn, down the rolling years;And from the bosom of the brookA thousand happy memories shook;And on the still and smiling lakeThe lingering lilies seemed to wakeOnce more into their bygone bloom,And breathed a soul of fresh perfume:And all the sombre cypress litIn the light shaking over it;And even the hoary willow tookA smile from Nature's happy look.
THEN sighed the Wandering Angel sore,And turned one lingering look, and last,Upon the dead; and, rising o'erThe lake, the groves, the dell, he passedOn sailing pinions, broad and bright,Along the footsteps of the night,And down the pathway of the wind,Until he faded westward far,—A glory in the deep enshrined,The brother of the morning star—And dropt upon the burning barOf the horizon, and passed onUnder its shadow, and was gone.
THEN sighed the Wandering Angel sore,
And turned one lingering look, and last,
Upon the dead; and, rising o'er
The lake, the groves, the dell, he passed
On sailing pinions, broad and bright,
Along the footsteps of the night,
And down the pathway of the wind,
Until he faded westward far,—
A glory in the deep enshrined,
The brother of the morning star—
And dropt upon the burning bar
Of the horizon, and passed on
Under its shadow, and was gone.
And loud and shrilly sang the lark;And lovely waxed the risen day,And laughed through every dewy sparkThat on the groves and meadows lay;And all the level leas o'erflowedWith light; and all the copses glowedThroughout; and over every slopeTrembled a glory, like the hopeOf future summers, seen through tearsOf autumn, down the rolling years;And from the bosom of the brookA thousand happy memories shook;And on the still and smiling lakeThe lingering lilies seemed to wakeOnce more into their bygone bloom,And breathed a soul of fresh perfume:And all the sombre cypress litIn the light shaking over it;And even the hoary willow tookA smile from Nature's happy look.
And loud and shrilly sang the lark;
And lovely waxed the risen day,
And laughed through every dewy spark
That on the groves and meadows lay;
And all the level leas o'erflowed
With light; and all the copses glowed
Throughout; and over every slope
Trembled a glory, like the hope
Of future summers, seen through tears
Of autumn, down the rolling years;
And from the bosom of the brook
A thousand happy memories shook;
And on the still and smiling lake
The lingering lilies seemed to wake
Once more into their bygone bloom,
And breathed a soul of fresh perfume:
And all the sombre cypress lit
In the light shaking over it;
And even the hoary willow took
A smile from Nature's happy look.