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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, The Courtship of Miles Standish and Other Poems Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, The Courtship of Miles Standish and Other Poems
• Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
  The Courtship of Miles Standish and Other Poems
  Ticknor and Fields, Boston, 1858, Hardcover, , , Very Good /
  
  

  215 pp. Quarter leather with gilt-lettered spine, marbled boards and endpapers. Leather scuffed at extremities, but still pleasant. Title page gives 1859 date, verso of TP, 1858. Ads probably removed for binding.
  
  O my songs! whose winsome measures
  Filled my heart with secret rapture!
  Children of my golden leisures!
  Must even your delights and pleasures
  Fade and perish with the capture?
  
  Fair they seemed, those songs sonorous,
  When they came to me unbidden;
  Voices single, and in chorus,
  Like the wild birds singing o'er us
  In the dark of branches hidden.
  
  Disenchantment! Disillusion!
  Must each noble aspiration
  Come at last to this conclusion,
  Jarring discord, wild confusion,
  Lassitude, renunciation?
  
  Not with steeper fall nor faster,
  From the sun's serene dominions,
  Not through brighter realms nor vaster,
  In swift ruin and disaster,
  Icarus fell with shattered pinions!
  
  Sweet Pandora! dear Pandora!
  Why did mighty Jove create thee
  Coy as Thetis, fair as Flora,
  Beautiful as young Aurora,
  If to win thee is to hate thee?
  --Epimetheus, or the Poet's Afterthought
  

  
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HYMN TO THE NIGHT

I heard the trailing garments of the Night
Sweep through her marble halls!
I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light
From the celestial walls!

I felt her presence, by its spell of might,
Stoop o"er me from above;
The calm, majestic presence of the Night,
As of the one I love.

I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight,
The manifold, soft chimes,
That fill the haunted chambers of the Night,
Like some old poet's rhymes.

From the cool cisterns of the midnight air
My spirit drank repose;
The fountain of perpetual peace flows there, -
From those deep cisterns flows.

O holy Night! from thee I learn to bear
What man has borne before!
Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care,
And they complain no more. 

Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer!
Descend with broad-winged flight,
The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair,
The best-beloved Night!