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THE SPIRIT OF THE YEAR.
THE SPIRIT OF THE YEAR.
The spirit of the year has flown,
The harp with song no more is strung,
That, like a mountain seraph tone,
Wild melody around us flung.
The clouds were touched with mystic power,
And hearts vibrated to the strain,
That, even in that solemn hour,
Commingled pleasure with its pain.
The harp with song no more is strung,
That, like a mountain seraph tone,
Wild melody around us flung.
The clouds were touched with mystic power,
And hearts vibrated to the strain,
That, even in that solemn hour,
Commingled pleasure with its pain.
The chords were touched, and proudly rose
The voice of the departed one,
While life was drawing to a close,
Ere yet its lingering task was done:
As rose the strain upon the air,
And cast o'er earth its magic spell,
A tone of sadness mingled there,
In token of its last farewell.
The voice of the departed one,
While life was drawing to a close,
Ere yet its lingering task was done:
As rose the strain upon the air,
And cast o'er earth its magic spell,
A tone of sadness mingled there,
In token of its last farewell.
"I join the noble dead," it said,
As passed the shadows from its wing—
"I go to join the mighty dead,
The greatness of their deeds to sing.
I stand upon that crumbling shore,
Whose dark waves gather round me fast,
And lo! to greet me come once more,
The kingly rulers of the past!
As passed the shadows from its wing—
"I go to join the mighty dead,
The greatness of their deeds to sing.
I stand upon that crumbling shore,
Whose dark waves gather round me fast,
And lo! to greet me come once more,
The kingly rulers of the past!
