MARGARET L. WOODS
To the forgotten dead,Come, let us drink in silence ere we part.To every fervent yet resolvèd heartThat brought its tameless passion and its tears,Renunciation and laborious years,To lay the deep foundations of our race,To rear its mighty ramparts overheadAnd light its pinnacles with golden grace.To the unhonoured dead.To the forgotten dead,What dauntless hands were stretched to grasp the reinOf Fate and hurl into the void againHer thunder-hoofèd horses, rushing blindEarthward along the courses of the wind.Among the stars along the wind in vainTheir souls were scattered and their blood was shed,And nothing, nothing of them doth remain.To the thrice-perished dead.
To the forgotten dead,Come, let us drink in silence ere we part.To every fervent yet resolvèd heartThat brought its tameless passion and its tears,Renunciation and laborious years,To lay the deep foundations of our race,To rear its mighty ramparts overheadAnd light its pinnacles with golden grace.To the unhonoured dead.To the forgotten dead,What dauntless hands were stretched to grasp the reinOf Fate and hurl into the void againHer thunder-hoofèd horses, rushing blindEarthward along the courses of the wind.Among the stars along the wind in vainTheir souls were scattered and their blood was shed,And nothing, nothing of them doth remain.To the thrice-perished dead.
To the forgotten dead,Come, let us drink in silence ere we part.To every fervent yet resolvèd heartThat brought its tameless passion and its tears,Renunciation and laborious years,To lay the deep foundations of our race,To rear its mighty ramparts overheadAnd light its pinnacles with golden grace.To the unhonoured dead.
To the forgotten dead,
Come, let us drink in silence ere we part.
To every fervent yet resolvèd heart
That brought its tameless passion and its tears,
Renunciation and laborious years,
To lay the deep foundations of our race,
To rear its mighty ramparts overhead
And light its pinnacles with golden grace.
To the unhonoured dead.
To the forgotten dead,What dauntless hands were stretched to grasp the reinOf Fate and hurl into the void againHer thunder-hoofèd horses, rushing blindEarthward along the courses of the wind.Among the stars along the wind in vainTheir souls were scattered and their blood was shed,And nothing, nothing of them doth remain.To the thrice-perished dead.
To the forgotten dead,
What dauntless hands were stretched to grasp the rein
Of Fate and hurl into the void again
Her thunder-hoofèd horses, rushing blind
Earthward along the courses of the wind.
Among the stars along the wind in vain
Their souls were scattered and their blood was shed,
And nothing, nothing of them doth remain.
To the thrice-perished dead.
Peace, Shepherd, peace! What boots it singing on?Since long ago grace-giving Phoebus died,And all the train that loved the stream-bright sideOf the poetic mount with him are goneBeyond the shores of Styx and Acheron,In unexplorèd realms of night to hide.The clouds that show their shadows far and wideAre all of Heaven that visits Helicon.Yet here, where never muse or god did haunt,Still may some nameless power of Nature stray,Pleased with the reedy stream’s continual chantAnd purple pomp of these broad fields in May.The shepherds meet him where he herds the kine,And careless pass him by whose is the gift divine.
Peace, Shepherd, peace! What boots it singing on?Since long ago grace-giving Phoebus died,And all the train that loved the stream-bright sideOf the poetic mount with him are goneBeyond the shores of Styx and Acheron,In unexplorèd realms of night to hide.The clouds that show their shadows far and wideAre all of Heaven that visits Helicon.Yet here, where never muse or god did haunt,Still may some nameless power of Nature stray,Pleased with the reedy stream’s continual chantAnd purple pomp of these broad fields in May.The shepherds meet him where he herds the kine,And careless pass him by whose is the gift divine.
Peace, Shepherd, peace! What boots it singing on?Since long ago grace-giving Phoebus died,And all the train that loved the stream-bright sideOf the poetic mount with him are goneBeyond the shores of Styx and Acheron,In unexplorèd realms of night to hide.The clouds that show their shadows far and wideAre all of Heaven that visits Helicon.
Peace, Shepherd, peace! What boots it singing on?
Since long ago grace-giving Phoebus died,
And all the train that loved the stream-bright side
Of the poetic mount with him are gone
Beyond the shores of Styx and Acheron,
In unexplorèd realms of night to hide.
The clouds that show their shadows far and wide
Are all of Heaven that visits Helicon.
Yet here, where never muse or god did haunt,Still may some nameless power of Nature stray,Pleased with the reedy stream’s continual chantAnd purple pomp of these broad fields in May.The shepherds meet him where he herds the kine,And careless pass him by whose is the gift divine.
Yet here, where never muse or god did haunt,
Still may some nameless power of Nature stray,
Pleased with the reedy stream’s continual chant
And purple pomp of these broad fields in May.
The shepherds meet him where he herds the kine,
And careless pass him by whose is the gift divine.
Far from the earth the deep-descended dayLies dim in hidden sanctuaries of sleep.The wingèd winds couched on the threshold keepUneasy watch, and still expectant stayThe voice that bids their rushing host delayNo more to rise, and with tempestuous powerRend the wide veil of heaven. Long watching theySigh in the silence of the midnight hour.Hark! where the forests slow in slumber swayBelow the blue wild ridges, steep on steep,Thronging the sky—how shuddering as they leapThe impetuous waters go their fated way,And mourn in mountain chasms, and as they strayBy many a magic town and marble tower,As those that still unreconciled obey,Sigh in the silence of the midnight hour.Listen—the quiet darkness doth arrayThe toiling earth, and there is time to weep—A deeper sound is mingled with the sweepOf streams and winds that whisper far away.Oh listen! where the populous cities layLow in the lap of sleep their ancient dower,The changeless spirit of our changeful claySighs in the silence of the midnight hour.Sigh, watcher for a dawn remote and grey,Mourn, journeyer to an undesirèd deep,Eternal sower, thou that shalt not reap,Immortal, whom the plagues of God devour.Mourn—’tis the hour when thou wert wont to pray.Sigh in the silence of the midnight hour.
Far from the earth the deep-descended dayLies dim in hidden sanctuaries of sleep.The wingèd winds couched on the threshold keepUneasy watch, and still expectant stayThe voice that bids their rushing host delayNo more to rise, and with tempestuous powerRend the wide veil of heaven. Long watching theySigh in the silence of the midnight hour.Hark! where the forests slow in slumber swayBelow the blue wild ridges, steep on steep,Thronging the sky—how shuddering as they leapThe impetuous waters go their fated way,And mourn in mountain chasms, and as they strayBy many a magic town and marble tower,As those that still unreconciled obey,Sigh in the silence of the midnight hour.Listen—the quiet darkness doth arrayThe toiling earth, and there is time to weep—A deeper sound is mingled with the sweepOf streams and winds that whisper far away.Oh listen! where the populous cities layLow in the lap of sleep their ancient dower,The changeless spirit of our changeful claySighs in the silence of the midnight hour.Sigh, watcher for a dawn remote and grey,Mourn, journeyer to an undesirèd deep,Eternal sower, thou that shalt not reap,Immortal, whom the plagues of God devour.Mourn—’tis the hour when thou wert wont to pray.Sigh in the silence of the midnight hour.
Far from the earth the deep-descended dayLies dim in hidden sanctuaries of sleep.The wingèd winds couched on the threshold keepUneasy watch, and still expectant stayThe voice that bids their rushing host delayNo more to rise, and with tempestuous powerRend the wide veil of heaven. Long watching theySigh in the silence of the midnight hour.
Far from the earth the deep-descended day
Lies dim in hidden sanctuaries of sleep.
The wingèd winds couched on the threshold keep
Uneasy watch, and still expectant stay
The voice that bids their rushing host delay
No more to rise, and with tempestuous power
Rend the wide veil of heaven. Long watching they
Sigh in the silence of the midnight hour.
Hark! where the forests slow in slumber swayBelow the blue wild ridges, steep on steep,Thronging the sky—how shuddering as they leapThe impetuous waters go their fated way,And mourn in mountain chasms, and as they strayBy many a magic town and marble tower,As those that still unreconciled obey,Sigh in the silence of the midnight hour.
Hark! where the forests slow in slumber sway
Below the blue wild ridges, steep on steep,
Thronging the sky—how shuddering as they leap
The impetuous waters go their fated way,
And mourn in mountain chasms, and as they stray
By many a magic town and marble tower,
As those that still unreconciled obey,
Sigh in the silence of the midnight hour.
Listen—the quiet darkness doth arrayThe toiling earth, and there is time to weep—A deeper sound is mingled with the sweepOf streams and winds that whisper far away.Oh listen! where the populous cities layLow in the lap of sleep their ancient dower,The changeless spirit of our changeful claySighs in the silence of the midnight hour.
Listen—the quiet darkness doth array
The toiling earth, and there is time to weep—
A deeper sound is mingled with the sweep
Of streams and winds that whisper far away.
Oh listen! where the populous cities lay
Low in the lap of sleep their ancient dower,
The changeless spirit of our changeful clay
Sighs in the silence of the midnight hour.
Sigh, watcher for a dawn remote and grey,Mourn, journeyer to an undesirèd deep,Eternal sower, thou that shalt not reap,Immortal, whom the plagues of God devour.Mourn—’tis the hour when thou wert wont to pray.Sigh in the silence of the midnight hour.
Sigh, watcher for a dawn remote and grey,
Mourn, journeyer to an undesirèd deep,
Eternal sower, thou that shalt not reap,
Immortal, whom the plagues of God devour.
Mourn—’tis the hour when thou wert wont to pray.
Sigh in the silence of the midnight hour.