LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. Voices of the Night. Πότνια, πότνια νύξ, ὑπνοδότειρα τῶν πολυπόνων βροτῶν, ὑπὸ γὰρ ἀλγέων, ὑπό τε συμφορᾶς διοιχόμεθ', οἰχόμεθα. EURIPIDES. PRELUDE. PLEASANT it was, when woods were green To lie amid some sylvan scene, Where, the long drooping boughs between, Or where the denser grove receives Beneath some patriarchal tree A slumberous sound,-a sound that brings As of innumerable wings, As, when a bell no longer swings, B And dreams of that which cannot die, Dreams that the soul of youth engage And, loving still these quaint old themes, I feel the freshness of the streams, Therefore, at Pentecost, which brings I sought the woodlands wide. The green trees whispered low and mild; They were my playmates when a child And ever whispered, mild and low, Into the woodlands hoar; Into the blithe and breathing air, Into the solemn wood, Solemn and silent everywhere! Nature with folded hands seemed there, Kneeling at her evening prayer! Like one in prayer I stood. Before me rose an avenue Of tall and sombrous pines; Abroad their fan-like branches grew, |