SONG.
To one whose footsteps fall
Upon a mountain's height,
Earth must seem very small,
And heaven infinite.
Then why do misty tears
Conceal each lofty crest,
If earth so far appears,
So near the land of rest?
Hush! for the mists withdraw
The Hidden shines in bliss;
Who in a valley saw
A heaven-light like this?
I think when earth can speak
(She will one of these days),
That every mountain-peak
Will give a shout of praise.
I did not care for the song that I sang;
I was not thinking of mountains at all;
Tiresome and strange in mine ears the words rang--
'Heaven is infinite, earth is so small'--
Rang in that eerie monotonous way
Words sometimes will, when _we_ don't will one bit.
Which proves they're alive--It is hard in the day,
But in the night _who_ can battle with it?
And a little sob rose up in my throat--
'Harry, Harry, Harry,' thrill'd through the sob;
I touch'd the guitar, and its answering note
Came unexpected, and made my heart throb.
SONG.
It was once upon a time,
Ere the roses bud and blow,
Underneath the scented lime,
Long ago, ah, long ago!
Is it I that was so fair,
When the sun is slanting low,
With a lily in my hair,
Ah, so very long ago?
Was my heart as light as this
Was the lily white as snow?
What a happy hour it is,
Long ago, ah, long ago?
Then the lily bloom'd to save,
Ere a tear had learn'd to flow
Now it lies upon a grave,
Ah, so very long ago!
While I sat singing, steps came on the path,
Outside the window--what marvel is this?
Steady and solemn, they make my heart wrath,
Steps come towards me, and they are not his!
Steps in the night time pass up to my door;
Then comes a knocking might waken the dead:
Instead of one Harry there must be four,
Only not one has his light springy tread.
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