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“Beware the pine-tree's withered branch !
THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. UNDER a spreading chestnut tree
The village smithy stands; The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands ;
Are strong as iron bands.
His face is like the tan;
He earns whate'er he can,
For he owes not any man.
Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
With measured beat and slow,
When the evening sun is low.
Look in at the open door ;
And hear the bellows roar,
Like chaff from a threshing-floor.
And sits among his boys ;
He hears his daughter's voice
And it makes his heart rejoice.
Singing in Paradise !
How in the grave she lies;
A tear out of his eyes. Toiling-rejoicing—sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes ; Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close; Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night's repose. Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught ! Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought; Thus on its sounding anvil shaped Each burning deed and thought !
As the clocks were striking the hour,
Behind the dark church tower. I saw her bright reflection
In the waters under me, Like a golden goblet falling
And sinking into the sea. And far in the hazy distance
Of that lovely night in June, The blaze of the flaming furnace
Gleamed redder than the moon. Among the long, black rafters,
The wavering shadows lay, And the current that came from the ocean
Seemed to lift and bear them away ; As, sweeping and eddying through them,
Rose the belated tide;
The sea-weed floated wide.
Among the wooden piers,
That filled my eyes with tears.
In the days that had gone by,
And gazed on that wave and sky!
I had wished that the ebbing tide Would bear me away on its bosom
O’er the ocean wild and wide !
For my heart was hot and restless,
And my life was full of care, And the burden laid upon me
Seemed greater than I could bear.
It is buried in the sea;
Throws its shadow over me.
On its bridge with wooden piers, Like the odour of brine from the ocean
Comes the thought of other years.
Of care-encumbered men,
Have crossed the bridge since then. I see the long procession
Still passing to and fro,
And the old subdued and slow !
As long as the river flows,
As long as life has woes ;
And its shadows shall appear,
And its wavering image here.
THE LIGHT OF STARS. The night is come, but not too soon ;
And sinking silently,
Drops down behind the sky.
There is no light in earth or heaven,
But the cold light of stars ;
To the red planet Mars.
The star of love and dreams ?
A hero's armour gleams.
When I behold afar,
The shield of that red star.
And smile upon my pain ;
And I am strong again.
breast there is no light,
To the red planet Mars.
He rises in my breast,
And calm, and self-possessed. And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art,
That readest this brief psalm,
Be resolute and calm.
And thou shalt know ere long,
Voices of the Night.