And then, while round them shadows gathered faster, And as the firelight fell, He read aloud the book wherein the Master Had writ of "Little Nell." Perhaps 't was boyish fancy, for the reader 5 10 15 But, as he read, from clustering pine and cedar The fir-trees, gathering closer in the shadows, Listened in every spray, While the whole camp, with "Nell" on English mead Lost is that camp, and wasted all its fire: Ah, towering pine and stately Kentish spire, Lost is that camp! but let its fragrant story 5 And on that grave where English oak and holly And laurel wreaths entwine, Deem it not all a too presumptuous folly, This spray of Western pine! July, 1870 THE ANGELUS Heard at the Mission Dolores, 1868 Bells of the Past, whose long-forgotten music Still fills the wide expanse, Tingeing the sober twilight of the Present I hear your call, and see the sun descending As down the coast the Mission voices blending Within the circle of your incantation No blight nor mildew falls; Nor fierce unrest, nor lust, nor low ambition Borne on the swell of your long waves receding, I see the dying glow of Spanish glory, The sunset dream and last! Before me rise the dome-shaped Mission towers, The white Presidio; 5 The swart commander in his leathern jerkin, The priest in stole of snow. Once more I see Portala's cross uplifting Above the setting sun; And past the headland, northward, slowly drifting The freighted galleon. O solemn bells! whose consecrated masses Recall the faith of old, O tinkling bells! that lulled with twilight music Your voices break and falter in the darkness, - And veiled and mystic, like the Host descending, 10 EDWARD ROWLAND SILL THE FOOL'S PRAYER The royal feast was done; the King Kneel now, and make for us a prayer!" The jester doffed his cap and bells, Behind the painted grin he wore. |