All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow, All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing, All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of patience! STILL stands the forest primeval; but far away from its shadow, ever, Thousands of aching brains, where theirs no longer are busy, Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs have ceased from their labours, Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have completed their journey! Still stands the forest primeval; but under the shade of its branches Dwells another race, with other customs and language. And by the evening fire repeat Evangeline's story, While from its rocky caverns the deep-voiced, neighbouring ocean Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest. Πότνια, πότνια νύξ, ὑπνοδότειρα τῶν πολυπόνων βροτῶν, Ερεβόθεν ἴθι μόλε μόλε κατάπτερο ̓Αγαμεμνόνιον ἐπὶ δόμον ὑπὸ γὰρ ἀλγέων, ὑπό τε συμφορᾶς διοιχόμεθ, οἰχόμεθα. EURIPIDES. VOICES OF THE NIGHT. PRELUDE. PLEASANT it was, when woods were green, Where, the long drooping boughs between, Or where the denser grove receives Beneath some patriarchal tree A slumberous sound,- -a sound that brings The feelings of a dream, As of innumerable wings, As, when a bell no longer swings, O'er meadow, lake, and stream. And dreams of that which cannot die, Dreams that the soul of youth engage And, loving still these quaint old themes, Even in the city's throng I feel the freshness of the streams, That, crossed by shades and sunny gleams, Water the green land of dreams, The holy land of song Therefore, at Pentecost, which brings The Spring, clothed like a bride, When nestling buds unfold their wings, And bishop's-caps have golden rings, Musing upon many things, I sought the woodlands wide The green trees whispered low and mild; They were my playmates when a child, |