THE DYING SWAN. THE plain was grassy, wild and bare, Wide, wild, and open to the air, Which had built up everywhere An under-roof of doleful gray. With an inner voice the river ran, Adown it floated a dying swan, Which loudly did lament. It was the middle of the day, Ever the weary wind went on, And took the reed-tops as it went. Some blue peaks in the distance rose, And white against the cold-white sky, Shone out their crowning snows. One willow over the river wept, And shook the wave as the wind did sigh; Chasing itself at its own wild will, And far thro' the marsh green and still The tangled water-courses slept, Shot over with purple, and green, and yellow. The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul Of that waste place with joy Hidden in sorrow at first to the ear The warble was low, and full and clear; Prevailing in weakness the coronach stole But anon her awful jubilant voice, With a music strange and manifold, Flow'd forth on a carol free and bold: As when a mighty people rejoice With shawms, and with cymbals, and harps of gold, And the tumult of their acclaim is roll'd Through the open gates of the city afar, To the shepherd who watcheth the evening star. And the creeping mosses and clambering weeds, And the willow-branches hoar and dank, And the wavy swell of the soughing reeds, And the wave-worn horns of the echoing bank, And the silvery marsh-flowers that throng The desolate creeks and pools among, Were flooded over with eddying song. A DIRGE. I. Now is done thy long day's work; Fold thy palms across thy breast, Fold thine arms, turn to thy rest. Let them rave. Shadows of the silver birk Sweep the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. II. Thee nor carketh care nor slander; Nothing but the small cold worm Fretteth thine enshrouded form. Let them rave. Light and shadow ever wander O'er the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. |