Ye crags and peaks: I'm with you once again!

I hold to you the hands ye first beheld, To show they still are free. Methinks I hear A spirit in your echoes answer me, And bid your tenant welcome to his home Again!--O sacred forms, how proud you look!

How high you lift your heads into the sky!

How huge you are! how mighty, and how free!

Ye are the things that tower, that shine,--whose smile Makes glad, whose frown is terrible, whose forms, Robed or unrobed, do all the impress wear Of awe divine. Ye guards of liberty, I'm with you once again!--I call to you With all my voice!--I hold my hands to you, To show they still are free. I rush to you As though I could embrace you!

--Scaling yonder peak, I saw an eagle wheeling near its brow O'er the abyss;--his broad-expanded wings Lay calm and motionless upon the air, As if he floated there without their aid, By the sole act of his unlorded will, That buoyed him proudly up. Instinctively I bent my brow; yet kept he rounding still His airy circle, as in the delight Of measuring the ample range beneath And round about; absorbed, he heeded not The death that threatened him. I could not shoot!-- 'T was Liberty! I turned my bow aside, And let him soar away!

J. S. Knowles.

CXCV.

THE BARON'S LAST BANQUET.

O'er a low couch the setting sun had thrown its latest ray, Where, in his last, strong agony, a dying warrior lay,-- The stern old Baron Rudiger, whose frame had ne'er been bent By wasting pain, till time and toil its iron strength had spent.

"They come around me here, and say my days of life are o'er, That I shall mount my n.o.ble steed and lead my band no more; They come, and, to my beard, they dare to tell me now that I, Their own liege lord and master born, that I--ha! ha! must die.

"And what is death? I've dared him oft, before the Paynim spear; Think ye he's entered at my gate--has come to seek me here?

I've met him, faced him, scorned him, when the fight was raging hot;-- I'll try his might, I'll brave his power!--defy--and fear him not!

"Ho! sound the tocsin from my tower, and fire the culverin; Bid each retainer arm with speed; call every va.s.sal in.

Up with my banner on the wall,--the banquet board prepare,-- Throw wide the portal of my hall, and bring my armor there!"

An hundred hands were busy then; the banquet forth was spread, And rung the heavy oaken floor with many a martial tread; While from the rich, dark tracery, along the vaulted wall, Lights gleamed on harness, plume and spear, o'er the proud old Gothic hall.

Fast hurrying through the outer gate, the mailed retainers poured, On through the portal's frowning arch, and thronged around the board; While at its head, within his dark, carved, oaken chair of state, Armed cap-a-pie, stern Rudiger, with gilded falchion, sat.

"Fill every beaker up, my men! pour forth the cheering wine!

There 's life and strength in every drop,--thanksgiving to the vine!

Are ye all there, my va.s.sals true?--mine eyes are waxing dim: Fill round, my tried and fearless ones, each goblet to the brim!

"Ye're there, but yet I see you not!--forth draw each trusty sword, And let me hear your faithful steel clash once around my board!

I hear it faintly!--louder yet! What clogs my heavy breath?

Up, all!--and shout for Rudiger, 'Defiance unto death!'"

Bowl rang to bowl, steel clanged to steel, and rose a, deafening cry, That made the torches flare around, and shook the flags on high: "Ho! cravens! Do ye fear him? Slaves! traitors! have ye flown?

Ho! cowards, have ye left me to meet him here alone?

"But I defy him!--let him come!" Down rang the ma.s.sy cup, While from its sheath the ready blade came flashing half-way up; And with the black and heavy plumes scarce trembling on his head, There in his dark, carved, oaken chair, old Rudiger sat--dead!

A. G. Greene.

CXCVI.

THE WATER DRINKER.

O, water for me! Bright water for me, And wine for the tremulous debauchee.

Water cooleth the brow, and cooleth the brain, And maketh the faint one strong again; It comes o'er the sense like a breeze from the sea, All freshness, like infant purity; O, water, bright water, for me, for me!

Give wine, give wine, to the debauchee!

Fill to the brim! fill, fill to the brim; Let the flowing crystal kiss the rim!

For my hand is steady, my eye is true, For I, like the flowers, drink nothing but dew.

O, water, bright water's a mine of wealth, And the ores which it yieldeth are vigor and health.

So water, pure water, for one, for me!

And wine for the tremulous debauchee.

Fill again to the brim, again to the brim!

For water strengtheneth life and limb!

To the days of the aged it addeth length, To the might of the strong it addeth strength; It freshens the heart, it brightens the sight, 'T is like quaffing a goblet of morning light!

So, water, I will drink nothing but thee, Thou parent of health and energy!

When over the hills, like a gladsome bride, Morning walks forth in her beauty's pride, And, leading a band of laughing hours, Brushes the dew from the nodding flowers, O! cheerily then my voice is heard Mingling with that of the soaring bird, Who flingeth abroad his matin loud As he freshens his wing in the cold, gray cloud.

But when evening has quitted her sheltering yew, Drowsily flying, and weaving anew Her dusky meshes o'er land and sea, How gently, O sleep, fall thy poppies on me!

For I drink water, pure, cold, and bright, And my dreams are of heaven the livelong night.

So hurrah for thee, water! hurrah! hurrah!

Thou art silver and gold, thou art ribbon and star, Hurrah for bright water! hurrah! hurrah!

E. Johnson.

CXCVII.

CHAMOUNI.

Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star In his steep course? So long he seems to pause On thy bald, awful head, O sovereign Blanc!

The Arve and Arveiron at thy base Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful form!

Riseth from forth thy silent sea of pines, How silently! Around thee and above, Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black, An ebon ma.s.s: methinks thou piercest it, As will a wedge. But, when I look again, It is thine own calm home thy crystal shrine, Thy habitation from eternity!

O dread and silent mount! I gazed upon thee, Till thou, still present to the bodily sense, Didst vanish from my thought; entranced in prayer, I worshiped the Invisible alone.

Yet, like some sweet, beguiling melody,-- So sweet we know not we are listening to it,-- Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my thought, Yea, with my life, and life's own secret joy; Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused, Into the mighty vision pa.s.sing--there, As in her natural form, swelled vast to Heaven.

Awake, my soul! Not only pa.s.sive praise Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears, Mute thanks, and silent ecstasy! Awake, Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake!

Green vales and icy cliffs! all join my hymn.

Thou, first and chief, sole sovereign of the vale!

O, struggling with the darkness of the night, And visited all night by troops of stars, Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink,-- Companion of the morning star at dawn, Thyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawn Co-herald--wake! O wake! and utter praise!

Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth?

Who filled thy countenance with rosy light?

Who made thee parent of perpetual streams?

And you ye five wild torrents, fiercely glad!

Who called you forth from night and utter death, From dark and icy caverns called you forth, Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks, Forever shattered, and the same forever?

Who gave you your invulnerable life, Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy Unceasing thunder, and eternal foam?

And who commanded,--and the silence came,-- "Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest"?

Ye ice-falls! ye, that from the mountain's brow, Adown enormous ravines slope amain,-- Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge!

Motionless torrents! silent cataracts!

Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet?

"G.o.d!" let the torrents, like a shout of nations, Answer: and let the ice-plains echo, "G.o.d!"