Identifier: poem00long (find matches)
Title: Poems
Year: 1852 (1850s)
Authors: Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth, 1807-1882 Benham, Jane E. illus Foster, Myles Birket, 1825-1899, illus
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Publisher: London, D. Bogue
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Digitizing Sponsor: The Library of Congress

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o fields Elysian ? Seest thou shadows sailing by,As the dove, with startled eyeSees the falcons shadow fly ? Hearest thou voices on the shore,That our ears perceive no more,Deafened by the cataracts roar ? O, thou child of many prayers ! Life hath quicksands,—Life hath snares! Care and aere come unawares ! MAIDENHOOD. 271 Like the swell of some sweet tune,Morning rises into noon,May glides onward into June. Childhood is the bough, where slumberedBirds and blossoms many-numbered;—Age, that bough with snows encumbered. Gather, then, each flower that grows,When the young heart overflows,To embalm that tent of snows. Eear a lily in thy hand; Gates of brass cannot withstand One touch of that magic wand. Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth,In thy heart the dew of youth,On thy lips the smile of truth. O, that dew, like balm, shall stealInto wounds, that cannot heal,Even as sleep our eyes doth seal; And that smile, like sunshine, dartInto many a sunless heart,For a smile of God thou art.
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EXCELSIOR.The shades of night were falling fast,As through an Alpine village passedA vonth, who bore, mid snow and ice,A banner with the strange deviceExcelsior ! EXCELSIOR. 273 His brow was sad ; his eye beneath,Flashed like a faulchion from its sheath,And like a silver clarion rungThe accents of that unknown tongue,Excelsior! In happy homes he saw the light Of household fires gleam warm and bright; Above, the spectral glaciers shone, And from his lips escaped a groan, Excelsior! Try not the Pass! the old man said; Dark lowers the tempest overhead,The roaring torrent is deep and wide!And loud that clarion voice repliedExcelsior! O stay, the maiden said, and restThy weary head upon this breast!A tear stood in his bright blue eye,But still he answered, with a sigh,Exceisior! Beware the pine-trees withered branch !Beware the awful avalanche !This was the peasants last Good-night,A voice replied, far up the height,Excelsior ! 274 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. At break of day, as heavenwardThe pio

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