Every-Day Book
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August 26.

St. Zephyrinus, Pope, A. D. 219. St. Genesius, a Comedian, A. D. 303. St. Gelasinus, a Comedian at Heliopolis, A. D. 297. St. Genesius, of Arles, about the 4th Cent.


"Il cantar, che nel' animosi sente."

Nay, tell me not of lordly halls!
   My minstrels are the trees,
The moss and the rock are my tapestried walls,
   Earth's sounds my symphonies.

There's music sweeter to my soul
   In the weed by the wild wind fanned—
In the heave of the surge, than ever stole
   From mortal minstrel's hand.

There's mighty music in the roar
   Of the oaks on the mountain's side,
When the whirlwind bursts on their foreheads hoar,
   And the lightnings flash blue and wide.

There's mighty music in the swell
   Of winter's midnight wave—
When all above is the thunder peal,
   And all below is the grave.

There's music in the city's hum,
   Heard in the noontide glare,
When its thousand mingling voices come
   On the breast of the sultry air.

There's music in the mournful swing
   Of the lonely village bell—
And think of the spirit upon the wing,
   Releas'd by its solemn knell.

There's music in the forest-stream,
   As it plays thro' the deep ravine,
Where never summer's breath or beam
   Has pierced its woodland screen.

There's music in the thundering sweep
   Of the mountain waterfall,
As its torrents struggle, and foam and leap
   From the brow of its marble wall.

There's music in the dawning morn,
   Ere the lark his pinion dries—
'Tis the rush of the breeze thro' the dewy corn—
   Thro' the garden's perfumed dyes.

There[']s music on the twilight cloud
   As the clanging wild swans spring,
As homewards the screaming ravens crowd,
   Like squadrons upon the wing.

There's music in the depth of night,
   When the world is still and dim,
And the stars flame out in their pomp of light,
   Like thrones of the cherubim!


Banded Amaryllis. Amaryllis vittata.
Dedicated to St. Zephyrinus.