THE SPELL OF THE HALCYON.
BY MARY N. EVANS.
In the midst of drear December,
With a strange and magic art,
Comes a gentle, mystic presence,
Melting stern old Winter’s heart;
Then the sullen sky, whose frowning
Chilled our hearts for weeks before,
Sudden smiles—and lo, above us,
Heaven’s bending blue once more!
Then the sunshine softly falleth,
Flooding earth with golden rays,
And the bleak fields stand transfigured
Through the brief, bright, “halcyon days;”
While the storm-scourged, wrathful billows,
Surging home with angry roar,
Stretch, a shining sea of silver,
Toward an unseen, sunny shore.
Do you ask me whence the magic,
Thus transforming Nature’s face?
Listen to the quaint old legend
Grecia wove with matchless grace;—
How true-hearted Alcyone
Plunged despairing, ’neath the wave,
Her loved husband, Ceyx, joining,
In his lonely ocean grave.
Father Neptune, late relenting,
When he saw their deathless love,
Changed them both to tiny birdies,
Skimming light, his waves above;
Then he bade them on his bosom
Build in peace their glad home-nest,
Hushing every wild storm-spirit,
For that season into rest.
Naught can harm the tiny nestlings—
Naught disturb the parents small,
For the spell of love undying
Softly broodeth over all!
Thus the heart of old December,
Throbbing fierce with rage malign,
Groweth warm, and sweet, and tender,
’Neath a sense of love divine.
So the home-love of the birdies
Reacheth far beyond their ken,
Crowning all the earth with blessing—
Bringing peace to weary men;
Even so from happy hearth-fires,
From each heart where love is king,
Goeth forth an influence holy,
Earth’s millennial dawn to bring!
Then all hail to Love immortal,
Hail! thou blessed heaven-born Dove!
Brood o’er all life’s troubled waters,
Till the earth is filled with love;
Comfort every grief-bowed mourner—
Bid all wars and tumults cease,
Till the world with glad hosannas,
Usher in the Prince of Peace!