"Like a fair lady at her casement shines The Evening Star, the star of love and rest." The Evening Star - p. 51 DANTE. TUSCAN, that wanderest through the realms of gloom, Thy sacred song is like the trump of doom; As up the convent-walls, in golden streaks, TO-MORROW. "Tis late at night, and in the realm of sleep Far off I hear the crowing of the cocks, I dare not ask; I know not what is best; THE EVENING STAR. Lo! in the painted oriel of the West, And then anon she doth herself divest Of all her radiant garments, and reclines O my beloved, my sweet Hesperus! My morning and my evening star of love! As that fair planet in the sky above, Dost thou retire unto thy rest at night, OFT have I seen at some cathedral door A labourer, pausing in the dust and heat, Kneel to repeat his paternoster o'er; Far off the noises of the world retreat. So, as I enter here from day to day, And leave my burden at this minster gate, The tumult of the time disconsolate To inarticulate murmurs dies away, While the eternal ages watch and wait. II. How strange the sculptures that adorn these towers! And the vast minster seems a cross of flowers! Ah! from what agonies of heart and brain, What tenderness, what tears, what hate of wrong, What passionate outery of a soul in pain, III. I ENTER, and I see thee in the gloom Of the long aisles, O poet saturnine! And strive to make my steps keep pace with thine. The congregation of the dead make room For thee to pass; the votive tapers shine; Like rooks that haunt Ravenna's groves of pine The hovering echoes fly from tomb to tomb. From the confessionals I hear arise Rehearsals of forgotten tragedies, And lamentations from the crypts below; With the pathetic words, Although your sins IV. I LIFT mine eyes, and all the windows blaze No more rebukes, but smiles her words of praise. And benedictions of the Holy Ghost; And the melodious bells among the spires O'er all the house-tops and through heaven above V. O STAR of morning and of liberty i O bringer of the light whose splendour shines Forerunner of the day that is to be! The voices of the city and the sea, The voices of the mountains and the pines, Repeat thy song, till the familiar lines Are footpaths for the thought of Italy! Thy fame is blown abroad from all the heights, Through all the nations, and a sound is heard, As of a mighty wind, and men devout, Strangers of Rome, and the new proselytes, In their own language hear thy wondrous word, And many are amazed and many doubt. |