VOICES OF THE NIGHT. PRELUDE. Πότνια, πότνια νύξ, ὑπνοδότειρα τῶν πολυπόνων βροτῶν, ὑπὸ γὰρ ἀλγέων, υπό τε συμφορᾶς PLEASANT it was, when woods were green, Or where the denser grove receives Beneath some patriarchal tree With one continuous sound ; A slumberous sound, a sound that brings The feelings of a dream, As of innumerable wings, As, when a bell no longer swings, O'er meadow, lake, and stream. And dreams of that which cannot die, Dreams that the soul of youth engage EURIPIDES. Old legends of the monkish page, And chronicles of Eld. And, loving still these quaint old themes, Even in the city's throng I feel the freshness of the streams, Water the green land of dreams, Therefore, at Pentecost, which brings I sought the woodlands wide. The green trees whispered low and mild; It was a sound of joy! They were my playmates when a child, And rocked me in their arms so wild! Still they looked at me and smiled, As if I were a boy; |