The Heritage

On summer evenings when the full moon shines Serene and fair, High in the crystal air, On hillsides deep in birches and in pines, Then in all hearts there stirs a hidden fire Of hope, or memory; Some their beloved dead more yearningly desire, Some dream of loves to be, Some weep their swift and sweet mortality.

But I remember only, 1Long centuries ago, A glen more dark and lonely 1Than these which now I know, The noise of waters flowing, And faint, salt breezes blowing, Ivy and myrtle growing, 1As here they do not grow.There, when the moon was at full we would come, we would come, To the shrilling of pipes, and the terrible tone of the drum Rolling long, rolling loud, as the voice that presages the rain, We would come to the cavern profound, to the holy domain. Then in the moonlight entrancing, 1Figures moved agile and fleet. Then there was dancing, ay, dancing, 1Leaping and stamping of feet,— Dancers that drifted and darted, 1Light as a leaf in the breeze, Circles that met and that parted, 1While the stars danced through the trees. Quickening, the drums beat the measure, 1All the night long on the hill,— Such was the Thunderer's pleasure. . . . 1This I remember me still.

O placid northern moon on this calm lake Beaming demure and tame, How can I take Aught of delight in thy pale flame? I ache For a communion I have known Long centuries ago, Which nevermore the world will seek, or will know; For a belief outgrown, Yet how much more my own Than creeds that hold me quiet on my knees; For rites that brought delights like these, And Gods I once knew how to please.