III. ACCOMPLICES. (Virginia, 1865.) THE Soft new grass is creeping o'er the graves Hark, what a burst of music from yon bower ! In its melodious summer madness raves. Ah, with what delicate touches of her hand, With what sweet voices, Nature seeks to screen The awful Crime of this distracted land, Sets her birds singing, while she spreads her green Mantle of velvet where the Murdered lie, As if to hide the horror from God's eye. IV. EGYPT. FANTASTIC Sleep is busy with my eyes : Sultry and still, a realm of mysteries; A wide-browed Sphinx, half buried in the sand, With orbless sockets stares across the land, The wofulest thing beneath these brooding skies Where all is woful, weird-lit vacancy. 'Tis neither midnight, twilight, nor moonrise. Lo! while I gaze, beyond the vast sand-sea The nebulous clouds are downward slowly drawn, And one bleared star, faint-glimmering like a bee, Is shut i' the rosy outstretched hand of Dawn. PAUL H. HAYNE. I. ANCIENT FABLES. YE pleasant myths of eld, why have ye fled? We list the rustling of immortal wings, Of gentle Genii to fair fortunes wed: The seas have lost their Nereids, the sad streams II. PENT in this common sphere of sensual shows, Of low-voiced waters, in some realm between In whose fair heaven a moon of shadowy round Dream by the drowsy streamlets Sleep hath crowned, And Care forgets to sigh, and Patience conquers Pain. III. Now, while the Rear-Guard of the flying Year, Good friend! turn with me to our in-door cheer; Sit thee down, And a rich vintage poet souls hold dear; But silver-throated clarions seem to thrill, And shouts of triumph peal along the shore. |