In what a forge and what a heat
  Were shaped the anchors of thy hope! 
  Fear not each sudden sound and shock,
  ’Tis of the wave and not the rock;
  ’Tis but the flapping of the sail,
  And not a rent made by the gale! 
  In spite of rock and tempest-roar,
  In spite of false lights on the shore,
  Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea! 
  Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee,
  Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears,
  Our faith triumphant o’er our fears,
  Are all with thee,—­are all with thee.

* * * * *

From “Evangeline.”

=_369._= SONG OF THE MOCKING-BIRD, AT SUNSET.

  Softly the evening came.  The sun, from the western horizon,
  Like a magician, extended his golden wand o’er the landscape;
  Twinkling vapors arose; and sky and water and forest
  Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted and mingled together. 
  Hanging between two skies, a cloud with edges of silver,
  Floated the boat, with its dripping oars, on the motionless
        water. 
  Filled was Evangeline’s heart with inexpressible sweetness. 
  Touched by the magic spell, the sacred fountains of feeling
  Glowed with the light of love, as the skies and waters around
        her. 
  Then from a neighboring thicket the mocking-bird, wildest of
        singers,
  Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o’er the water,
  Shook from his little throat such floods of delirious music,
  That the whole air and the woods and the waves seemed silent
        to listen. 
  Plaintive at first were the tones and sad; then soaring to madness,
  Seemed they to follow or guide the revel of frenzied Bacchantes. 
  Single notes were then heard, in sorrowful, low lamentation;
  Till, having gathered them all, he flung them abroad in derision,
  As when, after a storm, a gust of wind through the tree-tops
  Shakes down the rattling rain in a crystal shower on the
        branches. 
  With such a prelude as this, and hearts that throbbed with
        emotion,
  Slowly they entered the Teche, where it flows through the green
        Opelousas,
  And through the amber air, above the crest of the woodland,
  Saw the column of smoke that arose from a neighboring dwelling;—­
  Sounds of a horn they heard, and the distant lowing of cattle.

* * * * *

From “The Song of Hiawatha.”

=_370._= HIAWATHA’S DEPARTURE.

    On the shore stood Hiawatha,
  Turned and waved his hand at parting;
  On the clear and luminous water
  Launched his birch canoe for sailing,
  From the pebbles of the margin
  Shoved it forth into the water;
  Whispered to it, “Westward! westward!”
  And with speed it darted forward. 
    And the evening sun descending
  Set the clouds on fire with redness,