The Grateful Indian Part 18

Appeared to me,--may I again behold it!

A light along the sea, so swiftly coming, Its motion by no flight of wing is equalled.

And when therefrom I had withdrawn a little Mine eyes, that I might question my conductor, Again I saw it brighter grown and larger.

Thereafter, on all sides of it, appeared I knew not what of white, and underneath, Little by little, there came forth another.

My master yet had uttered not a word, While the first brightness into wings unfolded; But, when he clearly recognised the pilot,

He cried aloud; "Quick, quick, and bow the knee!

Behold the Angel of G.o.d! fold up thy hands!

Henceforward shalt thou see such officers!

"See, how he scorns all human arguments, So that no oar he wants, nor other sail Than his own wings, between so distant sh.o.r.es!

"See, how he holds them, pointed straight to heaven, Fanning the air with the eternal pinions, That do not moult themselves like mortal hair!"

And then, as nearer and more near us came The Bird of Heaven, more glorious he appeared, So that the eye could not sustain his presence.

But down I cast it; and he came to sh.o.r.e With a small vessel, gliding swift and light, So that the water swallowed nought thereof.

Upon the stern stood the Celestial Pilot!

Beat.i.tude seemed written in his face!

And more than a hundred spirits sat within.

"_In exitu Israel_ out of Egypt!"

Thus sang they all together in one voice, With whatso in that Psalm is after written.

Then made he sign of holy rood upon them, Whereat all cast themselves upon the sh.o.r.e, And he departed swiftly as he came.

THE TERRESTRIAL PARADISE. FROM DANTE, PURGATORIO, XXVIII.

Longing already to search in and round The heavenly forest, dense and living green, Which to the eyes tempered the new-born day,

Withouten more delay I left the bank, Crossing the level country slowly, slowly, Over the soil, that everywhere breathed fragrance.

A gently-breathing air, that no mutation Had in itself, smote me upon the forehead, No heavier blow, than of a pleasant breeze,

Whereat the tremulous branches readily Did all of them bow downward towards that side Where its first shadow casts the Holy Mountain;

Yet not from their upright direction bent So that the little birds upon their tops Should cease the practice of their tuneful art;

But, with full-throated joy, the hours of prime Singing received they in the midst of foliage That made monotonous burden to their rhymes,

Even as from branch to branch it gathering swells, Through the pine forests on the sh.o.r.e of Chia.s.si, When Aeolus unlooses the Sirocco.

Already my slow steps had led me on Into the ancient wood so far, that I Could see no more the place where I had entered.

And lo! my farther course cut off a river, Which, towards the left hand, with its little waves, Bent down the gra.s.s, that on its margin sprang.

All waters that on earth most limpid are, Would seem to have within themselves some mixture, Compared with that, which nothing doth conceal,

Although it moves on with a brown, brown current, Under the shade perpetual, that never Ray of the sun lets in, nor of the moon.

SPRING.

From the French of Charles D'Orleans, Fifteenth Century.

Gentle Spring!--in suns.h.i.+ne clad, Well dost thou thy power display!

For Winter maketh the light heart sad, And thou--thou makest the sad heart gay.

He sees thee, and calls to his gloomy train, The sleet, and the snow, and the wind, and the rain; And they shrink away, and they flee in fear, When thy merry step draws near.

Winter giveth the fields and the trees, so old, Their beards of icicles and snow; And the rain, it raineth so fast and cold, We must cower over the embers low; And, snugly housed from the wind and weather, Mope like birds that are changing feather.

But the storm retires, and the sky grows clear, When thy merry step draws near.

Winter maketh the sun in the gloomy sky Wrap him round with a mantle of cloud; But, Heaven be praised, thy step is nigh; Thou tearest away the mournful shroud, And the earth looks bright, and Winter surly, Who has toiled for nought both late and early, Is banished afar by the new-born year, When thy merry step draws near.

SONG OF THE BELL. FROM THE GERMAN.

Bell! thou soundest merrily, When the bridal party To the church doth hie!

Bell! thou soundest solemnly, When, on Sabbath morning, Fields deserted lie!

Bell! thou soundest merrily; Tellest thou at evening, Bed-time draweth nigh!

Bell! thou soundest mournfully; Tellest thou the bitter Parting hath gone by!

Say! how canst thou mourn?

How canst thou rejoice?

Thou art but metal dull!

And yet all our sorrowings, And all our rejoicings, Thou dost feed them all!

G.o.d hath wonders many, Which we cannot fathom, Placed within thy form!

When the heart is sinking, Thou alone canst raise it, Trembling in the storm!

THE END.