Six songs , opus 2

The twilight is sad and cloudy,
The wind blows wild and free,
And like the wings of [sea-birds]1
Flash the white caps of the sea.

But in the fisherman's cottage
There shines a ruddier light,
And a little face at the window
Peers out into the night.

Close, close it is pressed to the window,
As if those childish eyes
Were looking into the darkness,
To see some form arise.

And a woman's waving shadow
Is passing to and fro,
Now rising to the ceiling,
Now bowing and bending low.

What tale do the roaring ocean,
And the night-wind, bleak and wild,
As they beat at the crazy casement,
Tell to that little child?

And why do the roaring ocean,
And the night-wind, wild and bleak,
As they beat at the heart of the mother,
Drive the color from her cheek?

I heard a brooklet gushing
From its rocky fountains near
Down into the valley rushing
So fresh and wondrous clear.

I know not what came o'er me, 
Nor who the counsel gave;
But I must hasten downward
All with my pilgrim stave.

Downward and ever farther
And ever the brook beside;
And ever fresher murmured,
And ever clearer the tide.

Is this the way I was going?
Whither, O brooklet, say!
Thou hast with thy soft murmur,
Murmured my senses away.

What say I of a murmur
That can no murmur be?
'Tis the water nymphs that are singing,
Their roundelays under me.

Let them sing, my friend,
Let them murmur,
And wander merrily near;
The wheels of a mill are turning
In ev'ry brooklet clear.

      No hay pajaros en los nidos de antano.
                  -- Spanish Proverb

The sun is bright, -- the air is clear,
  The darting swallows soar and sing.
And from the stately elms I hear
  The bluebird prophesying Spring. 
So blue yon winding river flows,
  It seems an outlet from the sky,
Where waiting till the west-wind blows,
  The freighted clouds at anchor lie. 
All things are new;--the buds, the leaves,
  That gild the elm-tree's nodding crest,
And even the nest beneath the eaves;--
   There are no birds in last year's nest! 
All things rejoice in youth and love,
   The fulness of their first delight!
And learn from the soft heavens above
   The melting tenderness of night. 
Maiden, that read'st this simple rhyme,
   Enjoy thy youth, it will not stay;
Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime,
   For oh, it is not always May! 
Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth,
   To some good angel leave the rest;
For Time will teach thee soon the truth,
  There are no birds in last year's nest!

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
     And wild and sweet
     The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men! 

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
     Had rolled along
     The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men! 

Till, ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
     A voice, a chime,
     A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men! 

Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
     And with the sound
     The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men! 

It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
     And made forlorn
     The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men! 

And in despair I bowed my head;
"There is no peace on earth," I said:
     "For hate is strong,
     And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!" 

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead; nor doth he sleep!
     The Wrong shall fail,
     The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men!"

Solemnly, mournfully,
  Dealing its dole,
The Curfew Bell
  Is beginning to toll.
Cover the embers,
  [And put]1 out the light;
Toil comes with the morning,
  And rest with the night.
Dark grow the windows,
  And quenched is the fire;
Sound fades into silence,--
  All footsteps retire.
No voice in the [chambers]2,
  No sound in the hall!
Sleep and oblivion
  Reign over all!

The book is completed,
  And closed, like the day;
And the hand that has written it
  Lays it away.
Dim grow its fancies;
  Forgotten they lie;
Like coals in the ashes,
  They darken and die.
Song sinks into silence,
  The story is told,
The windows are darkened,
  The hearth-stone is cold.
Darker and darker
  The black shadows fall;
Sleep and oblivion
  Reign over all.