Page:Zinzendorff and Other Poems.pdf/221

Rh  With what a doubly glorious ray His smile will light that sky Where ransom'd souls rejoicing lay Their robes of mourning by.

 

him in his reverie. Night had drawn Dense curtains o'er the slumbering, snow-rob'd earth, And a lone lamp its fitful lustre threw Upon his musing brow. 'Twas mark'd by age, And thought profound, perchance, with sadness ting'd, Yet from the piercing eye that beauty beam'd Which wrinkled Time respecteth. This was he, Whose shaft of Wit had touch'd the epic strain With poignant power, the father of the harp, In his own native vales. He seem'd to muse As if those lov'd retreats did spread themselves Again before his eye. The sighing wind Through the long branches of those ancient trees Where first his boyhood lisp'd the lore of song, Doth lull his soul. Then brighter visions come, A sound of music rises. 'Tis thy voice Connecticut! as when by vernal rains Surcharg'd, it swell'd in tuneful murmurs round The vine-clad mansion, where his children grew. But lo! the clangor of yon mighty lakes Holding hoarse conflict with the winged storm Breaks up the melody. And is it so? 