ORPHEUS

Hush, thou noisy nightingale, Let thy sorrowful song be mute. Orpheus, with his lute, Sings to the vale. Weather-smitten, travel-worn, Fever-eyed and frail is he, Orpheus, Orpheus, the forlorn Of Eurydice. Trembling like a crazy shadow When a gust is in the trees, Phantom-like he flees Over mere and meadow. Twinkle on the lute his fingers. Hark! a ghostly music swings, Echoes, falls, echoes, lingers, Orpheus sings:— To-day, to-morrow, There is sorrow, But when Night, Holy Night, Putteth on Her sober gown, Then is there delight. Take thy fill Of rest, rest, O separate will,— Wayward, wayward, wayward will Of each wild creature, take thy rest Lulled on the breast Of the cool dark hill. Very deep, O baffled will, Be thy sleep On the sombre hill. But heart of the world, awake, awake, For Orpheus’ sake! Hungry lion, do not howl! Supple tiger tawny-barred, Chattering monkey, chequered snake, Privy wolf and spotted pard, Creatures that do use to prowl Through the forest, let you lie,— Not a sound, not a cry,— Soothèd by my lullaby. Cease, unquiet owl, to moan, Folded keep thy stealthy wings; Nightjar, stay thy monotone, Listen, listen, Orpheus sings. Shut you every wakeful eye Soothèd by my lullaby. Very deep Be thy sleep, Cruel, cruel, cruel will, Very deep Be thy sleep On the sombre hill. But, O heart, awake, awake, Wake and leap for Orpheus’ sake! Heart of all the world, awake For Orpheus’ sake! Cloudy waters of the sky Flow no longer; listening stars Stop their silver-wheelèd cars, Conquered by my lullaby. Each one, smitten by my spell, Holds him like a sentinel. Beauty on the brow of Night So complete is that despair, Gazing like a statue there, Changes to a grave delight. Never hath the swart Night been So unparalleled a queen. Very deep Is thy sleep, Wayward, wayward, wayward will, Very deep Is thy sleep On the sombre hill. But the heart, the heart is awake, Beating high for Orpheus’ sake, Everywhere awake, awake, For Orpheus’ sake.