The works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow illustrated : vol. IV : poetical works volume one : earlier poems : translations : The Spanish student and other poems |
 | JUVENILIA |
 | The works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow |  |
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JUVENILIA
AN EVENING IN AUTUMN
It was the season when the summer sun
Grows less intense, when the pure temperate air
Invites us, as the toils of day are done,
To holy thought, and all our feelings wear
A solemn stillness. A fair sylvan scene
With shadowy outline, like a painted screen
Grows less intense, when the pure temperate air
Invites us, as the toils of day are done,
To holy thought, and all our feelings wear
A solemn stillness. A fair sylvan scene
With shadowy outline, like a painted screen
Shut out the noisy world. The forest leaf
Put on the burnish'd livery of the fall,
The sickle lay beside the garner'd sheaf,
The mower's scythe hung idly on the wall;
And stretch'd at ease beneath the loaded mow,
Reposing labor wip'd his sun burnt brow.
Put on the burnish'd livery of the fall,
The sickle lay beside the garner'd sheaf,
The mower's scythe hung idly on the wall;
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Reposing labor wip'd his sun burnt brow.
It was vacation time, and studious care
Had lain the weary volume on its shelf;
The mind was free to range the bright pure air,
To breathe, disburden and unbend itself,
And like an uncag'd bird to soar on high,
A denizen of the unbounded sky.
Had lain the weary volume on its shelf;
The mind was free to range the bright pure air,
To breathe, disburden and unbend itself,
And like an uncag'd bird to soar on high,
A denizen of the unbounded sky.
Calmly the evening fell, and o'er the soul
Its holy influence came. The summer wind
Was scarcely audible, as its whisper stole
At intervals through the half open'd blind,
With a soft music like the sounds that swell
In the bright chambers of the wreathed shell.
Its holy influence came. The summer wind
Was scarcely audible, as its whisper stole
At intervals through the half open'd blind,
With a soft music like the sounds that swell
In the bright chambers of the wreathed shell.
And then anon it freshen'd, and without
The woodland wav'd its many rustling leaves,
And raised its arms aloft, and with a shout
Heaved upwards, as the troubled ocean heaves,
And like a bark upon the billow's breast
Rock'd to and fro the wild bird's little nest.
The woodland wav'd its many rustling leaves,
And raised its arms aloft, and with a shout
Heaved upwards, as the troubled ocean heaves,
And like a bark upon the billow's breast
Rock'd to and fro the wild bird's little nest.
All the day long the gently dropping rain
Had fallen, and the clouds hung dark and low;
But now their shadowy veil was raised again,
As the fresh evening breeze began to blow,
And through the dripping leaves, and the blue haze
That fill'd the woodland scene, in one wide blaze
Had fallen, and the clouds hung dark and low;
But now their shadowy veil was raised again,
As the fresh evening breeze began to blow,
And through the dripping leaves, and the blue haze
That fill'd the woodland scene, in one wide blaze
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Of gorgeous splendor stream'd the setting sun,
And made the forest walks and alleys green,
Bright with his presence. The glad brook, that ran
Down the slant upland, flash'd in silver sheen,
The wet leaves glisten'd, every bending spear
Of grass shone bright, and the wide atmosphere
And made the forest walks and alleys green,
Bright with his presence. The glad brook, that ran
Down the slant upland, flash'd in silver sheen,
The wet leaves glisten'd, every bending spear
Of grass shone bright, and the wide atmosphere
Seem'd slow descending in a golden shower,
As if the fable of mythology
Had then become, through some mysterious power,
A palpable creation, to the eye
Of the external and corporeal sense
Made visible and distinct. ...
As if the fable of mythology
Had then become, through some mysterious power,
A palpable creation, to the eye
Of the external and corporeal sense
Made visible and distinct. ...
Farewell, the setting sun! lo he has made
His grave beneath the hills, but he shall rise,
Wearing a brighter garment, and the shade
Pass like a phantom from before our eyes.
So shall the dead ascend from realms of night,
Wearing immortal crowns and clothed in light.
His grave beneath the hills, but he shall rise,
Wearing a brighter garment, and the shade
Pass like a phantom from before our eyes.
So shall the dead ascend from realms of night,
Wearing immortal crowns and clothed in light.
Th' unshadow'd splendor of the eternal ray
Pierces the gloom of death; the very tomb
Is radiant with its brightness, and the way
In which the spirit walks through earthly gloom
Heavenward grows brighter on the unseal'd eye.
And leads us to the mercy seat on high.
Pierces the gloom of death; the very tomb
Is radiant with its brightness, and the way
In which the spirit walks through earthly gloom
Heavenward grows brighter on the unseal'd eye.
And leads us to the mercy seat on high.
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And if in worlds, that lie beyond our own,
The spirit, when it sees its trembling light
Replenish'd from the blaze of God's own throne,
Can bend itself from that celestial height,
And like a guardian angel of this sphere,
Revisit those it left in sorrow here,
The spirit, when it sees its trembling light
Replenish'd from the blaze of God's own throne,
Can bend itself from that celestial height,
And like a guardian angel of this sphere,
Revisit those it left in sorrow here,
Oft in that holy hour, when day has fled,
The spirit of some dear departed friend
Has hover'd round me, and in whispers said,
That when life's transient dream was at an end,
Those that had loved in life should meet again,
Where there was neither sorrow, death, nor pain.
The spirit of some dear departed friend
Has hover'd round me, and in whispers said,
That when life's transient dream was at an end,
Those that had loved in life should meet again,
Where there was neither sorrow, death, nor pain.
THE SOUL
And is this education? This the training
Of an immortal spirit for the skies?
Would you, thus, teach it virtue, by restraining
Its heavenward aspirations till it dies?
Thus fit it, for a life beyond the grave,
By making it a helot and a slave
Of an immortal spirit for the skies?
Would you, thus, teach it virtue, by restraining
Its heavenward aspirations till it dies?
Thus fit it, for a life beyond the grave,
By making it a helot and a slave
To earth-born passions, and unholy lust,
And grovelling appetites? Oh! no. The soul,
Blazoned with shame, and foul with earthly dust,
And for an emblem bearing o'er the whole
The crafty serpent, not the peaceful dove,
Has no escutcheon for the courts above.
And grovelling appetites? Oh! no. The soul,
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And for an emblem bearing o'er the whole
The crafty serpent, not the peaceful dove,
Has no escutcheon for the courts above.
Why, then, prove false to Nature's noblest trust?
Why, thus, restrain the spirit's upward flight,
And make its dwelling in the loathsome dust,
Until “earth's shadow hath eclipsed its light”?
Why deck the flesh,—the sensual slave of sin,
And leave in rags the immortal guest within?
Why, thus, restrain the spirit's upward flight,
And make its dwelling in the loathsome dust,
Until “earth's shadow hath eclipsed its light”?
Why deck the flesh,—the sensual slave of sin,
And leave in rags the immortal guest within?
Beware! The Israelite of old, who tore
The lion in his path, when poor and blind,
He saw the blessed light of heaven no more,—
Shorn of his nobler strength, and forced to grind
In prison, and at times led forth to be
A pander to Philistine revelry,—
The lion in his path, when poor and blind,
He saw the blessed light of heaven no more,—
Shorn of his nobler strength, and forced to grind
In prison, and at times led forth to be
A pander to Philistine revelry,—
Destroyed himself, and with those that made
A cruel mockery of his sightless eyes!
So, too, the immortal soul, when once betrayed
To minister to lusts it doth despise,
A poor, blind slave—the scoff and jest of all,—
Expires,—and thousands perish in the fall!
A cruel mockery of his sightless eyes!
So, too, the immortal soul, when once betrayed
To minister to lusts it doth despise,
A poor, blind slave—the scoff and jest of all,—
Expires,—and thousands perish in the fall!
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TRUTH
Oh holy and eternal Truth! Thou art
An emanation of the Eternal Mind!
A glorious attribute—a noble part
Of uncreated being! Who can find,
By diligent searching—who can find out thee,
The Incomprehensible—the Deity!
An emanation of the Eternal Mind!
A glorious attribute—a noble part
Of uncreated being! Who can find,
By diligent searching—who can find out thee,
The Incomprehensible—the Deity!
The human mind is a reflection caught
From thee, a trembling shadow of thy ray.
Thy glory beams around us, but the thought
That heavenward wings its daring flight away,
Returns to where its flight was first begun,
Blinded and dark beneath the noon-day sun.
From thee, a trembling shadow of thy ray.
Thy glory beams around us, but the thought
That heavenward wings its daring flight away,
Returns to where its flight was first begun,
Blinded and dark beneath the noon-day sun.
The soul of man, though sighing after thee,
Hath never known thee, saving as it knows
The stars of heaven, whose glorious light we see,
The sun, whose radiance dazzles as it glows;
Something, that is beyond us, and above
The reach of human power, though not of human love.
Hath never known thee, saving as it knows
The stars of heaven, whose glorious light we see,
The sun, whose radiance dazzles as it glows;
Something, that is beyond us, and above
The reach of human power, though not of human love.
Vainly Philosophy may strive to teach
The secret of thy being. Its faint ray
Misguides our steps. Beyond the utmost reach
Of its untiring wing, the eternal day.
Of truth is shining on the longing eye,
Distant—unchanged—changeless—pure and high!
The secret of thy being. Its faint ray
Misguides our steps. Beyond the utmost reach
Of its untiring wing, the eternal day.
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Distant—unchanged—changeless—pure and high!
And yet thou hast not left thyself without
A revelation. All we feel and see
Within us and around, forbids to doubt,
Yet speaks so darkly and mysteriously
Of what we are and shall be evermore,
We doubt, and yet believe, and tremble and adore!
A revelation. All we feel and see
Within us and around, forbids to doubt,
Yet speaks so darkly and mysteriously
Of what we are and shall be evermore,
We doubt, and yet believe, and tremble and adore!
THE POET OF MILETUS
In ancient days, when in the Ionian land,
The poet of Miletus, unto whom
The Ephesians gave three thousand golden pieces
For singing them one song, desired to add
Four chords unto the seven-chorded lyre,
The poet of Miletus, unto whom
The Ephesians gave three thousand golden pieces
For singing them one song, desired to add
Four chords unto the seven-chorded lyre,
That he might give a more complete expression
To all the feelings struggling at his heart,
He was forbidden by the popular vote.
This happened some three centuries before Christ!
To all the feelings struggling at his heart,
He was forbidden by the popular vote.
This happened some three centuries before Christ!
Here, too, the popular voice forbids the poet
To add a single chord unto his lyre,
Although he takes no gold from the Ephesians,
And would but give an utterance more complete
To all the voices of humanity,
Even the swart Ethiop's inarticulate woe.
And this is eighteen centuries after Christ!
To add a single chord unto his lyre,
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And would but give an utterance more complete
To all the voices of humanity,
Even the swart Ethiop's inarticulate woe.
And this is eighteen centuries after Christ!
| The works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | |