PICTURES—III.
The sad slow dawn of winter; frozen trees
And trampled snow within a lonely wood;
One shrouded form, which to the city flees;
And one, a masquer, lying in his blood.
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A full sun blazing with unclouded day,
Till the bright waters mingle with the sky;
And on the dazzling verge, uplifted high,
White sails mysterious slowly pass away.
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Hidden in a trackless and primæval wood,
Long-buried temples of an unknown race,
And one colossal idol; on its face
A changeless sneer, blighting the solitude.
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A fair girl half undraped, who blithely sings;
Her white robe poised upon one budding breast;
While at her side, invisible, unconfessed,
Love folds her with the shelter of his wings.
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Black clouds embattled on a lurid sky,
And one keen flash, like an awakened soul,
Piercing the hidden depths, till momently
One seems to hear enormous thunders roll.
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Two helpless girls upon a blazing wall,
The keen flames leaping always high and higher;
But faster, faster than the hungry fire,
Brave hearts which climb to save them ere they fall.
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A youthful martyr, looking to the skies
From rack and stake, from torment and disgrace;
And suddenly heaven opened to his eyes,
A beckoning hand, a tender heavenly face.
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A home on a fair English hill; away
Stretch undulating plains, of gold and green,
With park and lake and glade, and homestead grey;
And crowning all, the blue sea dimly seen.
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A lifeless, voiceless, world of age-long snow,
Where the long winter creeps through endless night,
And safe within a low hut's speck of light,
Strong souls alert and hopeful, by the glow.
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A great ship forging slowly from the shore,
And on the broad deck weeping figures bent;
And on the gliding pierhead, sorrow-spent,
Those whom the voyagers shall see no more.