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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Poems + +Author: William Cullen Bryant + +Release Date: July 21, 2005 [EBook #16341] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by richyfourtytwo, Lesley Halamek and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + <br /> + + +<h1>POEMS</h1> +<br /><br /><br /> + + + +<h4>BY</h4> +<br /><br /><br /> + + + +<h2>WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.</h2> +<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + + + + +<h3>AUTHORIZED EDITION.</h3> +<br /><br /><br /> + + + + +<h5>DESSAU:</h5> + +<h5>KATZ BROTHERS.</h5> + +<h4>1854.</h4> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> + + + + +<h3>TO THE READER.</h3> + +<blockquote> +I have been asked to consent that an edition of +my poems should be published at Dessau in Germany, +solely for circulation on the continent of Europe. To +this request I have the more readily yielded, inasmuch +as the reputation enjoyed by the gentleman under whose +inspection the volume will pass through the press, +assures me that the edition will be faithfully and minutely +accurate.<br /><br /> + + <i>New York</i>, November 2, 1853.<br /><br /></blockquote> + +<p class="rindent">WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.</p> + +<br /><hr /><br /><br /> + + + + +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + +<table width="100%" cellpadding="20" align="center" border="0" summary="contents"> +<tr> + <td width="90%" valign="top"> + <span class="outdent">POEMS</span><br /><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page1">The Ages</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page12">Thanatopsis</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page15">The Yellow Violet</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page17">Inscription for the Entrance to a Wood</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page19">Song.—"Soon as the glazed and gleaming snow"</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page20">To a Waterfowl</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page22">Green River</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page24">A Winter Piece</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page28">The West Wind</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page29">The Burial-place. A Fragment</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page31">Blessed are they that Mourn</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page32">No Man knoweth his Sepulchre</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page33">A Walk at Sunset</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page35">Hymn to Death</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page40">The Massacre at Scio</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page41">The Indian Girl's Lament</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page43">Ode for an Agricultural Celebration</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page44">Rizpah</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page47">The Old Man's Funeral</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page49">The Rivulet</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page52">March</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page53">Sonnet.—To—</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page54">An Indian Story</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page57">Summer Wind</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page59">An Indian at the Burial-place of his Fathers</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page62">Song—"Dost thou idly ask to hear"</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page64">Hymn of the Waldenses</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page65">Monument Mountain</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page69">After a Tempest</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page71">Autumn Woods</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page73">Sonnet.—Mutation</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page74">Sonnet.—November</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page75">Song of the Greek Amazon</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page77">To a Cloud</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page79">The Murdered Traveller</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page81">Hymn to the North Star</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page83">The Lapse of Time</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page85">Song of the Stars</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page87">A Forest Hymn</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page91">"Oh fairest of the rural maids"</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page92">"I broke the spell that held me long"</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page93">June</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page95">A Song of Pitcairn's Island</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page97">The Skies</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page99">"I cannot forget with what fervid devotion"</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page100">To a Musquito</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page103">Lines on Revisiting the Country</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page105">The Death of the Flowers</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page107">Romero</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page109">A Meditation on Rhode Island Coal</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page113">The New Moon</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page115">Sonnet.—October</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page116">The Damsel of Peru</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page118">The African Chief</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page120">Spring in Town</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page122">The Gladness of Nature</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page123">The Disinterred Warrior</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page125">Sonnet.—Midsummer</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page126">The Greek Partisan</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page128">The Two Graves</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page131">The Conjunction of Jupiter and Venus</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page134">A Summer Ramble</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page136">Scene on the Banks of the Hudson</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page137">The Hurricane</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page139">Sonnet.—William Tell</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page140">The Hunter's Serenade</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page142">The Greek Boy</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page143">The Past</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page145">"Upon the mountain's distant head"</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page146">The Evening Wind</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page148">"When the firmament quivers with daylight's young beam"</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page149">"Innocent child and snow-white flower"</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page150">To the River Arve</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page152">Sonnet.—To Cole, the Painter, departing for Europe</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page153">To the fringed Gentian</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page154">The Twenty-second of December</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page155">Hymn of the City</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page156">The Prairies</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page160">Song of Marion's Men</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page162">The Arctic Lover</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page164">The Journey of Life</a><br /> + </td> + <td width="10%" class="right" valign="top"> + Page<br /><br /> + <a href="#page1">1</a><br /> + <a href="#page12">12</a><br /> + <a href="#page15">15</a><br /> + <a href="#page17">17</a><br /> + <a href="#page19">19</a><br /> + <a href="#page20">20</a><br /> + <a href="#page22">22</a><br /> + <a href="#page24">24</a><br /> + <a href="#page28">26</a><br /> + <a href="#page29">29</a><br /> + <a href="#page31">31</a><br /> + <a href="#page32">32</a><br /> + <a href="#page33">33</a><br /> + <a href="#page35">35</a><br /> + <a href="#page40">40</a><br /> + <a href="#page41">41</a><br /> + <a href="#page43">43</a><br /> + <a href="#page44">44</a><br /> + <a href="#page47">47</a><br /> + <a href="#page49">49</a><br /> + <a href="#page52">52</a><br /> + <a href="#page53">53</a><br /> + <a href="#page54">54</a><br /> + <a href="#page57">57</a><br /> + <a href="#page59">59</a><br /> + <a href="#page62">62</a><br /> + <a href="#page64">64</a><br /> + <a href="#page65">65</a><br /> + <a href="#page69">69</a><br /> + <a href="#page71">71</a><br /> + <a href="#page73">73</a><br /> + <a href="#page74">74</a><br /> + <a href="#page75">75</a><br /> + <a href="#page77">77</a><br /> + <a href="#page79">79</a><br /> + <a href="#page81">81</a><br /> + <a href="#page83">83</a><br /> + <a href="#page85">85</a><br /> + <a href="#page87">87</a><br /> + <a href="#page91">91</a><br /> + <a href="#page92">92</a><br /> + <a href="#page93">93</a><br /> + <a href="#page95">95</a><br /> + <a href="#page97">97</a><br /> + <a href="#page99">99</a><br /> + <a href="#page100">100</a><br /> + <a href="#page103">103</a><br /> + <a href="#page105">105</a><br /> + <a href="#page107">107</a><br /> + <a href="#page109">109</a><br /> + <a href="#page113">113</a><br /> + <a href="#page115">115</a><br /> + <a href="#page116">116</a><br /> + <a href="#page118">118</a><br /> + <a href="#page120">120</a><br /> + <a href="#page122">122</a><br /> + <a href="#page123">123</a><br /> + <a href="#page125">125</a><br /> + <a href="#page126">126</a><br /> + <a href="#page128">128</a><br /> + <a href="#page131">131</a><br /> + <a href="#page134">134</a><br /> + <a href="#page136">136</a><br /> + <a href="#page137">137</a><br /> + <a href="#page139">139</a><br /> + <a href="#page140">140</a><br /> + <a href="#page142">142</a><br /> + <a href="#page143">143</a><br /> + <a href="#page145">145</a><br /> + <a href="#page146">146</a><br /> + <a href="#page148">148</a><br /> + <a href="#page149">149</a><br /> + <a href="#page150">150</a><br /> + <a href="#page152">152</a><br /> + <a href="#page153">153</a><br /> + <a href="#page154">154</a><br /> + <a href="#page155">155</a><br /> + <a href="#page156">156</a><br /> + <a href="#page160">160</a><br /> + <a href="#page162">162</a><br /> + <a href="#page164">164</a><br /> + </td></tr> + <tr> + <td width="90%" valign="top"> + <span class="outdent">TRANSLATIONS.</span><br /><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page167">Version of a Fragment of Simonides</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page169">From the Spanish of Villegas</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page170">Mary Magdalen.</a> (From the Spanish of Bartolome Leonardo de Argensola)<br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page171">The Life of the Blessed.</a> (From the Spanish of Luis Ponce de Leon)<br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page173">Fatima and Raduan.</a> (From the Spanish)<br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page175">Love and Folly.</a> (From la Fontaine)<br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page177">The Siesta.</a> (From the Spanish)<br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page178">The Alcayde of Molina.</a> (From the Spanish)<br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page179">The Death of Aliatar.</a> (From the Spanish)<br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page182">Love in the Age of Chivalry.</a> (From Peyre Vidal, the Troubadour)<br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page183">The Love of God.</a> (From the Provençal of Bernard Rascas)<br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page184">From the Spanish</a> of Pedro de Castro y Añaya <br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page185">Sonnet.</a> (From the Portuguese of Semedo)<br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page186">Song.</a> (From the Spanish of Iglesias)<br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page187">The Count of Greiers.</a> (From the German of Uhland)<br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page189">The Serenade.</a> (From the Spanish)<br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page192">A Northern Legend.</a> (From the German of Uhland)<br /> + </td> + <td width="10%" class="right" valign="top"><br /><br /> + <a href="#page167">167</a><br /> + <a href="#page169">169</a><br /> + <a href="#page170">170</a><br /> + <a href="#page171">171</a><br /> + <a href="#page173">173</a><br /> + <a href="#page175">175</a><br /> + <a href="#page177">177</a><br /> + <a href="#page178">178</a><br /> + <a href="#page179">179</a><br /> + <a href="#page182">182</a><br /> + <a href="#page183">183</a><br /> + <a href="#page184">184</a><br /> + <a href="#page185">185</a><br /> + <a href="#page186">186</a><br /> + <a href="#page187">187</a><br /> + <a href="#page189">189</a><br /> + <a href="#page192">192</a><br /> + </td></tr> + + <tr> + <td width="90%" valign="top"> +<span class="outdent">LATER POEMS.</span><br /><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page195">To the Apennines</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page197">Earth</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page200">The Knight's Epitaph</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page202">The Hunter of the Prairies</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page204">Seventy-Six</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page206">The Living Lost</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page207">Catterskill Falls</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page211">The Strange Lady</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page213">Life</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page215">"Earth's children cleave to earth"</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page216">The Hunter's Vision</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page218">The Green Mountain Boys</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page219">A Presentiment</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page220">The Child's Funeral</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page222">The Battlefield</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page224">The Future Life</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page226">The Death of Schiller</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page227">The Fountain</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page231">The Winds</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page234">The Old Man's Counsel</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page237">Lines in Memory of William Leggett</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page238">An Evening Revery</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page240">The Painted Cup</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page241">A Dream</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page243">The Antiquity of Freedom</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page246">The Maiden's Sorrow</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page247">The Return of Youth</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page249">A Hymn of the Sea</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page251">Noon.</a> (From an unfinished Poem)<br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page253">The Crowded Street</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page255">The White-footed Deer</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page258">The Waning Moon</a><br /> + <a class="contents" href="#page260">The Stream of Life</a><br /><br /><br /> + +<span class="outdent"><a class="contents" href="#page263">NOTES</a></span><br /> +</td> +<td width="10%" class="right" valign="top"><br /><br /> + <a href="#page195">195</a><br /> + <a href="#page197">197</a><br /> + <a href="#page200">200</a><br /> + <a href="#page202">202</a><br /> + <a href="#page204">204</a><br /> + <a href="#page206">206</a><br /> + <a href="#page207">207</a><br /> + <a href="#page211">211</a><br /> + <a href="#page213">213</a><br /> + <a href="#page215">215</a><br /> + <a href="#page216">216</a><br /> + <a href="#page218">218</a><br /> + <a href="#page219">219</a><br /> + <a href="#page220">220</a><br /> + <a href="#page222">222</a><br /> + <a href="#page224">224</a><br /> + <a href="#page226">226</a><br /> + <a href="#page227">227</a><br /> + <a href="#page231">231</a><br /> + <a href="#page234">234</a><br /> + <a href="#page237">237</a><br /> + <a href="#page238">238</a><br /> + <a href="#page240">240</a><br /> + <a href="#page241">241</a><br /> + <a href="#page243">243</a><br /> + <a href="#page246">246</a><br /> + <a href="#page247">247</a><br /> + <a href="#page249">249</a><br /> + <a href="#page251">251</a><br /> + <a href="#page253">253</a><br /> + <a href="#page255">255</a><br /> + <a href="#page258">258</a><br /> + <a href="#page260">260</a><br /><br /><br /> + +<a href="#page263">263</a><br /> + </td> +</tr> +</table> + + + + + <br /><hr /><br /><br /><br /> + +<span class="page"><a name="page1" id="page1">[Page 1]</a></span> + + +<h1>POEMS.</h1> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr /> +<p class="center1"><a href="#page264">°</a>indicates a link to the Notes. Click on Poem's Name to return.</p><br /><br /><br /> + + +<h3>THE AGES.<a href="#n1">°</a></h3><br /> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<p class="indent1"> + When to the common rest that crowns our days,<br /> + Called in the noon of life, the good man goes,<br /> + Or full of years, and ripe in wisdom, lays<br /> + His silver temples in their last repose;<br /> + When, o'er the buds of youth, the death-wind blows,<br /> + And blights the fairest; when our bitter tears<br /> + Stream, as the eyes of those that love us close,<br /> + We think on what they were, with many fears<br /> +<span class="outdent1">Lest goodness die with them, and leave the coming years:</span></p><br /> + + +<h4>II.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> + And therefore, to our hearts, the days gone by,—<br /> + When lived the honoured sage whose death we wept,<br /> + And the soft virtues beamed from many an eye,<br /> + And beat in many a heart that long has slept,—<br /> + Like spots of earth where angel-feet have stepped—<br /> + Are holy; and high-dreaming bards have told<br /> + Of times when worth was crowned, and faith was kept,<br /> + Ere friendship grew a snare, or love waxed cold—<br /> +<span class="outdent1">Those pure and happy times—the golden days of old.</span></p><br /> + + +<h4>III.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> + Peace to the just man's memory,—let it grow<span class="page"><a name="page2" id="page2">[Page 2]</a></span><br /> + Greener with years, and blossom through the flight<br /> + Of ages; let the mimic canvas show<br /> + His calm benevolent features; let the light<br /> + Stream on his deeds of love, that shunned the sight<br /> + Of all but heaven, and in the book of fame,<br /> + The glorious record of his virtues write,<br /> + And hold it up to men, and bid them claim<br /> +<span class="outdent1">A palm like his, and catch from him the hallowed flame.</span></p><br /> + + +<h4>IV.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> + But oh, despair not of their fate who rise<br /> + To dwell upon the earth when we withdraw!<br /> + Lo! the same shaft by which the righteous dies,<br /> + Strikes through the wretch that scoffed at mercy's law,<br /> + And trode his brethren down, and felt no awe<br /> + Of Him who will avenge them. Stainless worth,<br /> + Such as the sternest age of virtue saw,<br /> + Ripens, meanwhile, till time shall call it forth<br /> +<span class="outdent1">From the low modest shade, to light and bless the earth.</span></p><br /> + + +<h4>V.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> + Has Nature, in her calm, majestic march<br /> + Faltered with age at last? does the bright sun<br /> + Grow dim in heaven? or, in their far blue arch,<br /> + Sparkle the crowd of stars, when day is done,<br /> + Less brightly? when the dew-lipped Spring comes on,<br /> + Breathes she with airs less soft, or scents the sky<br /> + With flowers less fair than when her reign begun?<br /> + Does prodigal Autumn, to our age, deny<br /> +<span class="outdent1">The plenty that once swelled beneath his sober eye?</span></p><br /> + + +<h4>VI.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> + Look on this beautiful world, and read the truth<br /> + In her fair page; see, every season brings<br /> + New change, to her, of everlasting youth;<br /> + Still the green soil, with joyous living things,<br /> + Swarms, the wide air is full of joyous wings,<span class="page"><a name="page3" id="page3">[Page 3]</a></span><br /> + And myriads, still, are happy in the sleep<br /> + Of ocean's azure gulfs, and where he flings<br /> + The restless surge. Eternal Love doth keep<br /> +<span class="outdent1">In his complacent arms, the earth, the air, the deep.</span></p><br /> + + +<h4>VII.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> + Will then the merciful One, who stamped our race<br /> + With his own image, and who gave them sway<br /> + O'er earth, and the glad dwellers on her face,<br /> + Now that our swarming nations far away<br /> + Are spread, where'er the moist earth drinks the day,<br /> + Forget the ancient care that taught and nursed<br /> + His latest offspring? will he quench the ray<br /> + Infused by his own forming smile at first,<br /> +<span class="outdent1">And leave a work so fair all blighted and accursed?</span></p><br /> + + +<h4>VIII.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> + Oh, no! a thousand cheerful omens give<br /> + Hope of yet happier days, whose dawn is nigh.<br /> + He who has tamed the elements, shall not live<br /> + The slave of his own passions; he whose eye<br /> + Unwinds the eternal dances of the sky,<br /> + And in the abyss of brightness dares to span<br /> + The sun's broad circle, rising yet more high,<br /> + In God's magnificent works his will shall scan—<br /> +<span class="outdent1">And love and peace shall make their paradise with man.</span></p><br /> + + +<h4>IX.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> + Sit at the feet of history—through the night<br /> + Of years the steps of virtue she shall trace,<br /> + And show the earlier ages, where her sight<br /> + Can pierce the eternal shadows o'er their face;—<br /> + When, from the genial cradle of our race,<br /> + Went forth the tribes of men, their pleasant lot<br /> + To choose, where palm-groves cooled their dwelling-place,<br /> + Or freshening rivers ran; and there forgot<br /> +<span class="outdent1">The truth of heaven, and kneeled to gods that heard them not.</span></p><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page4" id="page4">[Page 4]</a></span> +<h4>X.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> + Then waited not the murderer for the night,<br /> + But smote his brother down in the bright day,<br /> + And he who felt the wrong, and had the might,<br /> + His own avenger, girt himself to slay;<br /> + Beside the path the unburied carcass lay;<br /> + The shepherd, by the fountains of the glen,<br /> + Fled, while the robber swept his flock away,<br /> + And slew his babes. The sick, untended then,<br /> +<span class="outdent1">Languished in the damp shade, and died afar from men.</span></p><br /> + + +<h4>XI.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> + But misery brought in love—in passion's strife<br /> + Man gave his heart to mercy, pleading long,<br /> + And sought out gentle deeds to gladden life;<br /> + The weak, against the sons of spoil and wrong,<br /> + Banded, and watched their hamlets, and grew strong.<br /> + States rose, and, in the shadow of their might,<br /> + The timid rested. To the reverent throng,<br /> + Grave and time-wrinkled men, with locks all white,<br /> +<span class="outdent1">Gave laws, and judged their strifes, and taught the way of right;</span></p><br /> + + +<h4>XII.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> + Till bolder spirits seized the rule, and nailed<br /> + On men the yoke that man should never bear,<br /> + And drove them forth to battle. Lo! unveiled<br /> + The scene of those stern ages! What is there!<br /> + A boundless sea of blood, and the wild air<br /> + Moans with the crimson surges that entomb<br /> + Cities and bannered armies; forms that wear<br /> + The kingly circlet rise, amid the gloom,<br /> +<span class="outdent1">O'er the dark wave, and straight are swallowed in its womb.</span></p><br /> + + +<h4>XIII.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> + Those ages have no memory—but they left<br /> + A record in the desert—columns strown<br /> + On the waste sands, and statues fallen and cleft,<br /> + Heaped like a host in battle overthrown;<br /> + Vast ruins, where the mountain's ribs of stone<span class="page"><a name="page5" id="page5">[Page 5]</a></span><br /> + Were hewn into a city; streets that spread<br /> + In the dark earth, where never breath has blown<br /> + Of heaven's sweet air, nor foot of man dares tread<br /> +<span class="outdent1">The long and perilous ways—the Cities of the Dead:</span></p><br /> + + +<h4>XIV.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> + And tombs of monarchs to the clouds up-piled—<br /> + They perished—but the eternal tombs remain—<br /> + And the black precipice, abrupt and wild,<br /> + Pierced by long toil and hollowed to a fane;—<br /> + Huge piers and frowning forms of gods sustain<br /> + The everlasting arches, dark and wide,<br /> + Like the night-heaven, when clouds are black with rain.<br /> + But idly skill was tasked, and strength was plied,<br /> +<span class="outdent1">All was the work of slaves to swell a despot's pride.</span></p><br /> + + +<h4>XV.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> + And Virtue cannot dwell with slaves, nor reign<br /> + O'er those who cower to take a tyrant's yoke;<br /> + She left the down-trod nations in disdain,<br /> + And flew to Greece, when Liberty awoke,<br /> + New-born, amid those glorious vales, and broke<br /> + Sceptre and chain with her fair youthful hands:<br /> + As rocks are shivered in the thunder-stroke.<br /> + And lo! in full-grown strength, an empire stands<br /> +<span class="outdent1">Of leagued and rival states, the wonder of the lands.</span></p><br /> + + +<h4>XVI.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> + Oh, Greece! thy flourishing cities were a spoil<br /> + Unto each other; thy hard hand oppressed<br /> + And crushed the helpless; thou didst make thy soil<br /> + Drunk with the blood of those that loved thee best;<br /> + And thou didst drive, from thy unnatural breast,<br /> + Thy just and brave to die in distant climes;<br /> + Earth shuddered at thy deeds, and sighed for rest<br /> + From thine abominations; after times,<br /> +<span class="outdent1">That yet shall read thy tale, will tremble at thy crimes.</span></p><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page6" id="page6">[Page 6]</a></span> +<h4>XVII.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> + Yet there was that within thee which has saved<br /> + Thy glory, and redeemed thy blotted name;<br /> + The story of thy better deeds, engraved<br /> + On fame's unmouldering pillar, puts to shame<br /> + Our chiller virtue; the high art to tame<br /> + The whirlwind of the passions was thine own;<br /> + And the pure ray, that from thy bosom came,<br /> + Far over many a land and age has shone,<br /> +<span class="outdent1">And mingles with the light that beams from God's own throne;</span></p><br /> + + +<h4>XVIII.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> + And Rome—thy sterner, younger sister, she<br /> + Who awed the world with her imperial frown—<br /> + Rome drew the spirit of her race from thee,—<br /> + The rival of thy shame and thy renown.<br /> + Yet her degenerate children sold the crown<br /> + Of earth's wide kingdoms to a line of slaves;<br /> + Guilt reigned, and we with guilt, and plagues came down,<br /> + Till the north broke its floodgates, and the waves<br /> +<span class="outdent1">Whelmed the degraded race, and weltered o'er their graves.</span></p><br /> + + +<h4>XIX.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> + Vainly that ray of brightness from above,<br /> + That shone around the Galilean lake,<br /> + The light of hope, the leading star of love,<br /> + Struggled, the darkness of that day to break;<br /> + Even its own faithless guardians strove to slake,<br /> + In fogs of earth, the pure immortal flame;<br /> + And priestly hands, for Jesus' blessed sake,<br /> + Were red with blood, and charity became,<br /> +<span class="outdent1">In that stern war of forms, a mockery and a name.</span></p><br /> + + +<h4>XX.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> + They triumphed, and less bloody rites were kept<br /> + Within the quiet of the convent cell:<br /> + The well-fed inmates pattered prayer, and slept,<br /> + And sinned, and liked their easy penance well.<br /> + Where pleasant was the spot for men to dwell,<span class="page"><a name="page7" id="page7">[Page 7]</a></span><br /> + Amid its fair broad lands the abbey lay,<br /> + Sheltering dark orgies that were shame to tell,<br /> + And cowled and barefoot beggars swarmed the way,<br /> +<span class="outdent1">All in their convent weeds, of black, and white, and gray.</span></p><br /> + +<h4>XXI.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> + Oh, sweetly the returning muses' strain<br /> + Swelled over that famed stream, whose gentle tide<br /> + In their bright lap the Etrurian vales detain,<br /> + Sweet, as when winter storms have ceased to chide,<br /> + And all the new-leaved woods, resounding wide,<br /> + Send out wild hymns upon the scented air.<br /> + Lo! to the smiling Arno's classic side<br /> + The emulous nations of the west repair,<br /> +<span class="outdent1">And kindle their quenched urns, and drink fresh spirit there.</span></p><br /> + + +<h4>XXII.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> + Still, Heaven deferred the hour ordained to rend<br /> + From saintly rottenness the sacred stole;<br /> + And cowl and worshipped shrine could still defend<br /> + The wretch with felon stains upon his soul;<br /> + And crimes were set to sale, and hard his dole<br /> + Who could not bribe a passage to the skies;<br /> + And vice, beneath the mitre's kind control,<br /> + Sinned gaily on, and grew to giant size,<br /> +<span class="outdent1">Shielded by priestly power, and watched by priestly eyes.</span></p><br /> + + +<h4>XXIII.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> + At last the earthquake came—the shock, that hurled<br /> + To dust, in many fragments dashed and strown,<br /> + The throne, whose roots were in another world,<br /> + And whose far-stretching shadow awed our own.<br /> + From many a proud monastic pile, o'erthrown,<br /> + Fear-struck, the hooded inmates rushed and fled;<br /> + The web, that for a thousand years had grown<br /> + O'er prostrate Europe, in that day of dread<br /> +<span class="outdent1">Crumbled and fell, as fire dissolves the flaxen thread.</span></p><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page8" id="page8">[Page 8]</a></span> +<h4>XXIV.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> + The spirit of that day is still awake,<br /> + And spreads himself, and shall not sleep again;<br /> + But through the idle mesh of power shall break<br /> + Like billows o'er the Asian monarch's chain;<br /> + Till men are filled with him, and feel how vain,<br /> + Instead of the pure heart and innocent hands,<br /> + Are all the proud and pompous modes to gain<br /> + The smile of heaven;—till a new age expands<br /> +<span class="outdent1">Its white and holy wings above the peaceful lands.</span></p><br /> + + +<h4>XXV.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> + For look again on the past years;—behold,<br /> + How like the nightmare's dreams have flown away<br /> + Horrible forms of worship, that, of old,<br /> + Held, o'er the shuddering realms, unquestioned sway:<br /> + See crimes, that feared not once the eye of day,<br /> + Rooted from men, without a name or place:<br /> + See nations blotted out from earth, to pay<br /> + The forfeit of deep guilt;—with glad embrace<br /> +<span class="outdent1">The fair disburdened lands welcome a nobler race.</span></p><br /> + + +<h4>XXVI.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> + Thus error's monstrous shapes from earth are driven;<br /> + They fade, they fly—but truth survives their flight;<br /> + Earth has no shades to quench that beam of heaven;<br /> + Each ray that shone, in early time, to light<br /> + The faltering footsteps in the path of right,<br /> + Each gleam of clearer brightness shed to aid<br /> + In man's maturer day his bolder sight,<br /> + All blended, like the rainbow's radiant braid,<br /> +<span class="outdent1">Pour yet, and still shall pour, the blaze that cannot fade.</span></p><br /> + + +<h4>XXVII.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> + Late, from this western shore, that morning chased<br /> + The deep and ancient night, that threw its shroud<br /> + O'er the green land of groves, the beautiful waste,<br /> + Nurse of full streams, and lifter-up of proud<br /> + Sky-mingling mountains that o'erlook the cloud.<span class="page"><a name="page9" id="page9">[Page 9]</a></span><br /> + Erewhile, where yon gay spires their brightness rear,<br /> + Trees waved, and the brown hunter's shouts were loud<br /> + Amid the forest; and the bounding deer<br /> +<span class="outdent1">Fled at the glancing plume, and the gaunt wolf yelled near;</span></p><br /> + + +<h4>XXVIII.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> + And where his willing waves yon bright blue bay<br /> + Sends up, to kiss his decorated brim,<br /> + And cradles, in his soft embrace, the gay<br /> + Young group of grassy islands born of him,<br /> + And crowding nigh, or in the distance dim,<br /> + Lifts the white throng of sails, that bear or bring<br /> + The commerce of the world;—with tawny limb,<br /> + And belt and beads in sunlight glistening,<br /> +<span class="outdent1">The savage urged his skiff like wild bird on the wing.</span></p><br /> + + +<h4>XXIX.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> + Then all this youthful paradise around,<br /> + And all the broad and boundless mainland, lay<br /> + Cooled by the interminable wood, that frowned<br /> + O'er mount and vale, where never summer ray<br /> + Glanced, till the strong tornado broke his way<br /> + Through the gray giants of the sylvan wild;<br /> + Yet many a sheltered glade, with blossoms gay,<br /> + Beneath the showery sky and sunshine mild,<br /> +<span class="outdent1">Within the shaggy arms of that dark forest smiled.</span></p><br /> + + +<h4>XXX.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> + There stood the Indian hamlet, there the lake<br /> + Spread its blue sheet that flashed with many an oar,<br /> + Where the brown otter plunged him from the brake,<br /> + And the deer drank: as the light gale flew o'er,<br /> + The twinkling maize-field rustled on the shore;<br /> + And while that spot, so wild, and lone, and fair,<br /> + A look of glad and guiltless beauty wore,<br /> + And peace was on the earth and in the air,<br /> +<span class="outdent1">The warrior lit the pile, and bound his captive there:</span></p><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page10" id="page10">[Page 10]</a></span> +<h4>XXXI.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> + Not unavenged—the foeman, from the wood,<br /> + Beheld the deed, and when the midnight shade<br /> + Was stillest, gorged his battle-axe with blood;<br /> + All died—the wailing babe—the shrieking maid—<br /> + And in the flood of fire that scathed the glade,<br /> + The roofs went down; but deep the silence grew,<br /> + When on the dewy woods the day-beam played;<br /> + No more the cabin smokes rose wreathed and blue,<br /> +<span class="outdent1">And ever, by their lake, lay moored the light canoe.</span></p><br /> + + +<h4>XXXII.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> + Look now abroad—another race has filled<br /> + These populous borders—wide the wood recedes,<br /> + And towns shoot up, and fertile realms are tilled:<br /> + The land is full of harvests and green meads;<br /> + Streams numberless, that many a fountain feeds,<br /> + Shine, disembowered, and give to sun and breeze<br /> + Their virgin waters; the full region leads<br /> + New colonies forth, that toward the western seas<br /> +<span class="outdent1">Spread, like a rapid flame among the autumnal trees.</span></p><br /> + + +<h4>XXXIII.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> + Here the free spirit of mankind, at length,<br /> + Throws its last fetters off; and who shall place<br /> + A limit to the giant's unchained strength,<br /> + Or curb his swiftness in the forward race!<br /> + Far, like the cornet's way through infinite space<br /> + Stretches the long untravelled path of light,<br /> + Into the depths of ages: we may trace,<br /> + Distant, the brightening glory of its flight,<br /> +<span class="outdent1">Till the receding rays are lost to human sight.</span></p><br /> + + +<h4>XXXIV</h4> +<p class="indent1"> + Europe is given a prey to sterner fates,<br /> + And writhes in shackles; strong the arms that chain<br /> + To earth her struggling multitude of states;<br /> + She too is strong, and might not chafe in vain<br /> + Against them, but might cast to earth the train<span class="page"><a name="page11" id="page11">[Page 11]</a></span><br /> + That trample her, and break their iron net.<br /> + Yes, she shall look on brighter days and gain<br /> + The meed of worthier deeds; the moment set<br /> +<span class="outdent1">To rescue and raise up, draws near—but is not yet.</span></p><br /> + + +<h4>XXXV.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> + But thou, my country, thou shalt never fall,<br /> + Save with thy children—thy maternal care,<br /> + Thy lavish love, thy blessings showered on all—<br /> + These are thy fetters—seas and stormy air<br /> + Are the wide barrier of thy borders, where,<br /> + Among thy gallant sons that guard thee well,<br /> + Thou laugh'st at enemies: who shall then declare<br /> + The date of thy deep-founded strength, or tell<br /> +<span class="outdent1">How happy, in thy lap, the sons of men shall dwell.</span></p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page12" id="page12">[Page 12]</a></span> +<h3>THANATOPSIS.</h3> +<p class="indent1"> + To him who in the love of Nature holds<br /> +Communion with her visible forms, she speaks<br /> +A various language; for his gayer hours<br /> +She has a voice of gladness, and a smile<br /> +And eloquence of beauty, and she glides<br /> +Into his darker musings, with a mild<br /> +And healing sympathy, that steals away<br /> +Their sharpness, e're he is aware. When thoughts<br /> +Of the last bitter hour come like a blight<br /> +Over thy spirit, and sad images<br /> +Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,<br /> +And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,<br /> +Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;—<br /> +Go forth, under the open sky, and list<br /> +To Nature's teachings, while from all around—<br /> +Earth and her waters, and the depths of air,—<br /> +Comes a still voice—Yet a few days, and thee<br /> +The all-beholding sun shall see no more<br /> +In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,<br /> +Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears,<br /> +Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist<br /> +Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim<br /> +Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,<br /> +And, lost each human trace, surrendering up<br /> +Thine individual being, shalt thou go<span class="page"><a name="page13" id="page13">[Page 13]</a></span><br /> +To mix for ever with the elements,<br /> +To be a brother to the insensible rock<br /> +And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain<br /> +Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak<br /> +Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.<br /><br /> + + Yet not to thine eternal resting-place<br /> +Shalt thou retire alone—nor couldst thou wish<br /> +Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down<br /> +With patriarchs of the infant world—with kings,<br /> +The powerful of the earth—the wise, the good,<br /> +Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,<br /> +All in one mighty sepulchre.—The hills<br /> +Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun,—the vales<br /> +Stretching in pensive quietness between;<br /> +The venerable woods—rivers that move<br /> +In majesty, and the complaining brooks<br /> +That make the meadows green; and, poured round all,<br /> +Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste,—<br /> +Are but the solemn decorations all<br /> +Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,<br /> +The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,<br /> +Are shining on the sad abodes of death,<br /> +Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread<br /> +The globe are but a handful to the tribes<br /> +That slumber in its bosom.—Take the wings<br /> +Of morning—and the Barcan desert pierce,<br /> +Or lose thyself in the continuous woods<br /> +Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound,<br /> +Save his own dashings—yet—the dead are there:<br /> +And millions in those solitudes, since first<br /> +The flight of years began, have laid them down<br /> +In their last sleep—the dead reign there alone.<br /> +So shalt thou rest—-and what, if thou withdraw<br /> +Unheeded by the living, and no friend<br /> +Take note of thy departure? All that breathe<br /> +Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh<span class="page"><a name="page14" id="page14">[Page 14]</a></span><br /> +When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care<br /> +Plod on, and each one as before will chase<br /> +His favourite phantom; yet all these shall leave<br /> +Their mirth and their employments, and shall come,<br /> +And make their bed with thee. As the long train<br /> +Of ages glide away, the sons of men,<br /> +The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes<br /> +In the full strength of years, matron, and maid,<br /> +And the sweet babe, and the gray-headed man,—<br /> +Shall one by one be gathered to thy side,<br /> +By those, who in their turn shall follow them.<br /><br /> + + So live, that when thy summons comes to join<br /> +The innumerable caravan, that moves<br /> +To that mysterious realm, where each shall take<br /> +His chamber in the silent halls of death,<br /> +Thou go not like the quarry-slave at night,<br /> +Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed<br /> +By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,<br /> +Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch<br /> +About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page15" id="page15">[Page 15]</a></span> +<h3>THE YELLOW VIOLET.</h3> +<p class="indent1"> +When beechen buds begin to swell,<br /> + And woods the blue-bird's warble know,<br /> +The yellow violet's modest bell<br /> + Peeps from the last year's leaves below.<br /><br /> + +Ere russet fields their green resume,<br /> + Sweet flower, I love, in forest bare,<br /> +To meet thee, when thy faint perfume<br /> + Alone is in the virgin air.<br /><br /> + +Of all her train, the hands of Spring<br /> + First plant thee in the watery mould,<br /> +And I have seen thee blossoming<br /> + Beside the snow-bank's edges cold.<br /><br /> + +Thy parent sun, who bade thee view<br /> + Pale skies, and chilling moisture sip,<br /> +Has bathed thee in his own bright hue,<br /> + And streaked with jet thy glowing lip.<br /><br /> + +Yet slight thy form, and low thy seat,<span class="page"><a name="page16" id="page16">[Page 16]</a></span><br /> + And earthward bent thy gentle eye,<br /> +Unapt the passing view to meet,<br /> + When loftier flowers are flaunting nigh.<br /><br /> + +Oft, in the sunless April day,<br /> + Thy early smile has stayed my walk;<br /> +But midst the gorgeous blooms of May,<br /> + I passed thee on thy humble stalk.<br /><br /> + +So they, who climb to wealth, forget<br /> + The friends in darker fortunes tried.<br /> +I copied them—but I regret<br /> + That I should ape the ways of pride.<br /><br /> + +And when again the genial hour<br /> + Awakes the painted tribes of light,<br /> +I'll not o'erlook the modest flower<br /> + That made the woods of April bright.</p><br /> + + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page17" id="page17">[Page 17]</a></span> +<h3>INSCRIPTION FOR THE ENTRANCE TO A WOOD.</h3> +<p class="indent"> +Stranger, if thou hast learned a truth which needs<br /> +No school of long experience, that the world<br /> +Is full of guilt and misery, and hast seen<br /> +Enough of all its sorrows, crimes, and cares,<br /> +To tire thee of it, enter this wild wood<br /> +And view the haunts of Nature. The calm shade<br /> +Shall bring a kindred calm, and the sweet breeze<br /> +That makes the green leaves dance, shall waft a balm<br /> +To thy sick heart. Thou wilt find nothing here<br /> +Of all that pained thee in the haunts of men<br /> +And made thee loathe thy life. The primal curse<br /> +Fell, it is true, upon the unsinning earth,<br /> +But not in vengeance. God hath yoked to guilt<br /> +Her pale tormentor, misery. Hence, these shades<br /> +Are still the abodes of gladness; the thick roof<br /> +Of green and stirring branches is alive<br /> +And musical with birds, that sing and sport<br /> +In wantonness of spirit; while below<br /> +The squirrel, with raised paws and form erect,<br /> +Chirps merrily. Throngs of insects in the shade<br /> +Try their thin wings and dance in the warm beam<br /> +That waked them into life. Even the green trees<br /> +Partake the deep contentment; as they bend<br /> +To the soft winds, the sun from the blue sky<br /> +Looks in and sheds a blessing on the scene.<span class="page"><a name="page18" id="page18">[Page 18]</a></span><br /> +Scarce less the cleft-born wild-flower seems to enjoy<br /> +Existence, than the winged plunderer<br /> +That sucks its sweets. The massy rocks themselves,<br /> +And the old and ponderous trunks of prostrate trees<br /> +That lead from knoll to knoll a causey rude<br /> +Or bridge the sunken brook, and their dark roots,<br /> +With all their earth upon them, twisting high,<br /> +Breathe fixed tranquillity. The rivulet<br /> +Sends forth glad sounds, and tripping o'er its bed<br /> +Of pebbly sands, or leaping down the rocks,<br /> +Seems, with continuous laughter, to rejoice<br /> +In its own being. Softly tread the marge,<br /> +Lest from her midway perch thou scare the wren<br /> +That dips her bill in water. The cool wind,<br /> +That stirs the stream in play, shall come to thee,<br /> +Like one that loves thee nor will let thee pass<br /> +Ungreeted, and shall give its light embrace.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page19" id="page19">[Page 19]</a></span> +<h3>SONG.</h3> +<p class="indent1"> +Soon as the glazed and gleaming snow<br /> + Reflects the day-dawn cold and clear,<br /> +The hunter of the west must go<br /> + In depth of woods to seek the deer.<br /><br /> + +His rifle on his shoulder placed,<br /> + His stores of death arranged with skill,<br /> +His moccasins and snow-shoes laced,—<br /> + Why lingers he beside the hill?<br /><br /> + +Far, in the dim and doubtful light,<br /> + Where woody slopes a valley leave,<br /> +He sees what none but lover might,<br /> + The dwelling of his Genevieve.<br /><br /> + +And oft he turns his truant eye,<br /> + And pauses oft, and lingers near;<br /> +But when he marks the reddening sky,<br /> + He bounds away to hunt the deer.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page20" id="page20">[Page 20]</a></span> +<h3>TO A WATERFOWL.</h3> +<p class="indent1"> + Whither, midst falling dew,<br /> +While glow the heavens with the last steps of day,<br /> +Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue<br /> + Thy solitary way?<br /><br /> + + Vainly the fowler's eye<br /> +Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,<br /> +As, darkly painted on the crimson sky,<br /> + Thy figure floats along.<br /><br /> + + Seek'st thou the plashy brink<br /> +Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide,<br /> +Or where the rocking billows rise and sink<br /> + On the chafed ocean side?<br /><br /> + + There is a Power whose care<br /> +Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,—<br /> +The desert and illimitable air,—<br /> + Lone wandering, but not lost.<br /><br /> + + All day thy wings have fanned,<span class="page"><a name="page21" id="page21">[Page 21]</a></span><br /> +At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere,<br /> +Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,<br /> + Though the dark night is near.<br /><br /> + + And soon that toil shall end;<br /> +Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest,<br /> +And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend,<br /> + Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest.<br /><br /> + + Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven<br /> +Hath swallowed up thy form; yet, on my heart<br /> +Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given,<br /> + And shall not soon depart.<br /><br /> + + He who, from zone to zone,<br /> +Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,<br /> +In the long way that I must tread alone,<br /> + Will lead my steps aright.</p><br /><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page22" id="page22">[Page 22]</a></span> +<h3>GREEN RIVER.</h3> +<p class="indent1"> + When breezes are soft and skies are fair,<br /> +I steal an hour from study and care,<br /> +And hie me away to the woodland scene,<br /> +Where wanders the stream with waters of green,<br /> +As if the bright fringe of herbs on its brink<br /> +Had given their stain to the wave they drink;<br /> +And they, whose meadows it murmurs through,<br /> +Have named the stream from its own fair hue.<br /><br /> + + Yet pure its waters—its shallows are bright<br /> +With coloured pebbles and sparkles of light,<br /> +And clear the depths where its eddies play,<br /> +And dimples deepen and whirl away,<br /> +And the plane-tree's speckled arms o'ershoot<br /> +The swifter current that mines its root,<br /> +Through whose shifting leaves, as you walk the hill,<br /> +The quivering glimmer of sun and rill<br /> +With a sudden flash on the eye is thrown,<br /> +Like the ray that streams from the diamond stone.<br /> +Oh, loveliest there the spring days come,<br /> +With blossoms, and birds, and wild bees' hum;<br /> +The flowers of summer are fairest there,<br /> +And freshest the breath of the summer air;<br /> +And sweetest the golden autumn day<br /> +In silence and sunshine glides away.<br /><br /> + + Yet fair as thou art, thou shunnest to glide,<br /> +Beautiful stream! by the village side;<br /> +But windest away from haunts of men,<br /> +To quiet valley and shaded glen;<br /> +And forest, and meadow, and slope of hill,<br /> +Around thee, are lonely, lovely, and still.<br /> +Lonely—save when, by thy rippling tides,<span class="page"><a name="page23" id="page23">[Page 23]</a></span><br /> +From thicket to thicket the angler glides;<br /> +Or the simpler comes with basket and book,<br /> +For herbs of power on thy banks to look;<br /> +Or haply, some idle dreamer, like me,<br /> +To wander, and muse, and gaze on thee.<br /> +Still—save the chirp of birds that feed<br /> +On the river cherry and seedy reed,<br /> +And thy own wild music gushing out<br /> +With mellow murmur and fairy shout,<br /> +From dawn to the blush of another day,<br /> +Like traveller singing along his way.<br /><br /> + + That fairy music I never hear,<br /> +Nor gaze on those waters so green and clear,<br /> +And mark them winding away from sight,<br /> +Darkened with shade or flashing with light,<br /> +While o'er them the vine to its thicket clings,<br /> +And the zephyr stoops to freshen his wings,<br /> +But I wish that fate had left me free<br /> +To wander these quiet haunts with thee,<br /> +Till the eating cares of earth should depart,<br /> +And the peace of the scene pass into my heart;<br /> +And I envy thy stream, as it glides along,<br /> +Through its beautiful banks in a trance of song.<br /><br /> + + Though forced to drudge for the dregs of men,<br /> +And scrawl strange words with the barbarous pen,<br /> +And mingle among the jostling crowd,<br /> +Where the sons of strife are subtle and loud—<br /> +I often come to this quiet place,<br /> +To breathe the airs that ruffle thy face,<br /> +And gaze upon thee in silent dream,<br /> +For in thy lonely and lovely stream<br /> +An image of that calm life appears<br /> +That won my heart in my greener years.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page24" id="page24">[Page 24]</a></span> +<h3>A WINTER PIECE.</h3> +<p class="indent1"> + The time has been that these wild solitudes,<br /> +Yet beautiful as wild, were trod by me<br /> +Oftener than now; and when the ills of life<br /> +Had chafed my spirit—when the unsteady pulse<br /> +Beat with strange flutterings—I would wander forth<br /> +And seek the woods. The sunshine on my path<br /> +Was to me as a friend. The swelling hills,<br /> +The quiet dells retiring far between,<br /> +With gentle invitation to explore<br /> +Their windings, were a calm society<br /> +That talked with me and soothed me. Then the chant<br /> +Of birds, and chime of brooks, and soft caress<br /> +Of the fresh sylvan air, made me forget<br /> +The thoughts that broke my peace, and I began<br /> +To gather simples by the fountain's brink,<br /> +And lose myself in day-dreams. While I stood<br /> +In nature's loneliness, I was with one<br /> +With whom I early grew familiar, one<br /> +Who never had a frown for me, whose voice<br /> +Never rebuked me for the hours I stole<br /> +From cares I loved not, but of which the world<br /> +Deems highest, to converse with her. When shrieked<br /> +The bleak November winds, and smote the woods,<span class="page"><a name="page25" id="page25">[Page 25]</a></span><br /> +And the brown fields were herbless, and the shades,<br /> +That met above the merry rivulet,<br /> +Were spoiled, I sought, I loved them still,—they seemed<br /> +Like old companions in adversity.<br /> +Still there was beauty in my walks; the brook,<br /> +Bordered with sparkling frost-work, was as gay<br /> +As with its fringe of summer flowers. Afar,<br /> +The village with its spires, the path of streams,<br /> +And dim receding valleys, hid before<br /> +By interposing trees, lay visible<br /> +Through the bare grove, and my familiar haunts<br /> +Seemed new to me. Nor was I slow to come<br /> +Among them, when the clouds, from their still skirts,<br /> +Had shaken down on earth the feathery snow,<br /> +And all was white. The pure keen air abroad,<br /> +Albeit it breathed no scent of herb, nor heard<br /> +Love-call of bird, nor merry hum of bee,<br /> +Was not the air of death. Bright mosses crept<br /> +Over the spotted trunks, and the close buds,<br /> +That lay along the boughs, instinct with life,<br /> +Patient, and waiting the soft breath of Spring,<br /> +Feared not the piercing spirit of the North.<br /> +The snow-bird twittered on the beechen bough,<br /> +And 'neath the hemlock, whose thick branches bent<br /> +Beneath its bright cold burden, and kept dry<br /> +A circle, on the earth, of withered leaves,<br /> +The partridge found a shelter. Through the snow<br /> +The rabbit sprang away. The lighter track<br /> +Of fox, and the racoon's broad path, were there,<br /> +Crossing each other. From his hollow tree,<br /> +The squirrel was abroad, gathering the nuts<br /> +Just fallen, that asked the winter cold and sway<br /> +Of winter blast, to shake them from their hold.<br /><br /> + + But Winter has yet brighter scenes,—he boasts<br /> +Splendours beyond what gorgeous Summer knows;<br /> +Or Autumn with his many fruits, and woods<span class="page"><a name="page26" id="page26">[Page 26]</a></span><br /> +All flushed with many hues. Come when the rains<br /> +Have glazed the snow, and clothed the trees with ice;<br /> +While the slant sun of February pours<br /> +Into the bowers a flood of light. Approach!<br /> +The incrusted surface shall upbear thy steps,<br /> +And the broad arching portals of the grove<br /> +Welcome thy entering. Look! the massy trunks<br /> +Are cased in the pure crystal; each light spray,<br /> +Nodding and tinkling in the breath of heaven,<br /> +Is studded with its trembling water-drops,<br /> +That stream with rainbow radiance as they move.<br /> +But round the parent stem the long low boughs<br /> +Bend, in a glittering ring, and arbours hide<br /> +The glassy floor. Oh! you might deem the spot<br /> +The spacious cavern of some virgin mine,<br /> +Deep in the womb of earth—where the gems grow,<br /> +And diamonds put forth radiant rods and bud<br /> +With amethyst and topaz—and the place<br /> +Lit up, most royally, with the pure beam<br /> +That dwells in them. Or haply the vast hall<br /> +Of fairy palace, that outlasts the night,<br /> +And fades not in the glory of the sun;—<br /> +Where crystal columns send forth slender shafts<br /> +And crossing arches; and fantastic aisles<br /> +Wind from the sight in brightness, and are lost<br /> +Among the crowded pillars. Raise thine eye,—<br /> +Thou seest no cavern roof, no palace vault;<br /> +There the blue sky and the white drifting cloud<br /> +Look in. Again the wildered fancy dreams<br /> +Of spouting fountains, frozen as they rose,<br /> +And fixed, with all their branching jets, in air,<br /> +And all their sluices sealed. All, all is light;<br /> +Light without shade. But all shall pass away<br /> +With the next sun. From numberless vast trunks,<br /> +Loosened, the crashing ice shall make a sound<br /> +Like the far roar of rivers, and the eve<br /> +Shall close o'er the brown woods as it was wont.<br /><br /> + + And it is pleasant, when the noisy streams<span class="page"><a name="page27" id="page27">[Page 27]</a></span><br /> +Are just set free, and milder suns melt off<br /> +The plashy snow, save only the firm drift<br /> +In the deep glen or the close shade of pines,—<br /> +'Tis pleasant to behold the wreaths of smoke<br /> +Roll up among the maples of the hill,<br /> +Where the shrill sound of youthful voices wakes<br /> +The shriller echo, as the clear pure lymph,<br /> +That from the wounded trees, in twinkling drops,<br /> +Falls, mid the golden brightness of the morn,<br /> +Is gathered in with brimming pails, and oft,<br /> +Wielded by sturdy hands, the stroke of axe<br /> +Makes the woods ring. Along the quiet air,<br /> +Come and float calmly off the soft light clouds,<br /> +Such as you see in summer, and the winds<br /> +Scarce stir the branches. Lodged in sunny cleft,<br /> +Where the cold breezes come not, blooms alone<br /> +The little wind-flower, whose just opened eye<br /> +Is blue as the spring heaven it gazes at—<br /> +Startling the loiterer in the naked groves<br /> +With unexpected beauty, for the time<br /> +Of blossoms and green leaves is yet afar.<br /> +And ere it comes, the encountering winds shall oft<br /> +Muster their wrath again, and rapid clouds<br /> +Shade heaven, and bounding on the frozen earth<br /> +Shall fall their volleyed stores rounded like hail,<br /> +And white like snow, and the loud North again<br /> +Shall buffet the vexed forest in his rage.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page28" id="page28">[Page 28]</a></span> +<h3>THE WEST WIND.</h3> +<p class="indent1"> +Beneath the forest's skirts I rest,<br /> + Whose branching pines rise dark and high,<br /> +And hear the breezes of the West<br /> + Among the threaded foliage sigh.<br /><br /> + +Sweet Zephyr! why that sound of woe?<br /> + Is not thy home among the flowers?<br /> +Do not the bright June roses blow,<br /> + To meet thy kiss at morning hours?<br /><br /> + +And lo! thy glorious realm outspread—<br /> + Yon stretching valleys, green and gay,<br /> +And yon free hill-tops, o'er whose head<br /> + The loose white clouds are borne away.<br /><br /> + +And there the full broad river runs,<br /> + And many a fount wells fresh and sweet,<br /> +To cool thee when the mid-day suns<br /> + Have made thee faint beneath their heat.<br /><br /> + +Thou wind of joy, and youth, and love;<br /> + Spirit of the new-wakened year!<br /> +The sun in his blue realm above<br /> + Smooths a bright path when thou art here.<br /><br /> + +In lawns the murmuring bee is heard,<br /> + The wooing ring-dove in the shade;<br /> +On thy soft breath, the new-fledged bird<br /> + Takes wing, half happy, half afraid.<br /><br /> + +Ah! thou art like our wayward race;—<br /> + When not a shade of pain or ill<br /> +Dims the bright smile of Nature's face,<br /> + Thou lovest to sigh and murmur still.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page29" id="page29">[Page 29]</a></span> +<h3>THE BURIAL-PLACE.<a href="#n29">°</a></h3> + +<h4>A FRAGMENT.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> + Erewhile, on England's pleasant shores, our sires<br /> +Left not their churchyards unadorned with shades<br /> +Or blossoms; and indulgent to the strong<br /> +And natural dread of man's last home, the grave,<br /> +Its frost and silence—they disposed around,<br /> +To soothe the melancholy spirit that dwelt<br /> +Too sadly on life's close, the forms and hues<br /> +Of vegetable beauty.—There the yew,<br /> +Green even amid the snows of winter, told<br /> +Of immortality, and gracefully<br /> +The willow, a perpetual mourner, drooped;<br /> +And there the gadding woodbine crept about,<br /> +And there the ancient ivy. From the spot<br /> +Where the sweet maiden, in her blossoming years<br /> +Cut off, was laid with streaming eyes, and hands<br /> +That trembled as they placed her there, the rose<br /> +Sprung modest, on bowed stalk, and better spoke<br /> +Her graces, than the proudest monument.<br /> +There children set about their playmate's grave<br /> +The pansy. On the infant's little bed,<br /> +Wet at its planting with maternal tears,<br /> +Emblem of early sweetness, early death,<br /> +Nestled the lowly primrose. Childless dames,<br /> +And maids that would not raise the reddened eye—<br /> +Orphans, from whose young lids the light of joy<br /> +Fled early,—silent lovers, who had given<span class="page"><a name="page30" id="page30">[Page 30]</a></span><br /> +All that they lived for to the arms of earth,<br /> +Came often, o'er the recent graves to strew<br /> +Their offerings, rue, and rosemary, and flowers.<br /><br /> + + The pilgrim bands who passed the sea to keep<br /> +Their Sabbaths in the eye of God alone,<br /> +In his wide temple of the wilderness,<br /> +Brought not these simple customs of the heart<br /> +With them. It might be, while they laid their dead<br /> +By the vast solemn skirts of the old groves,<br /> +And the fresh virgin soil poured forth strange flowers<br /> +About their graves; and the familiar shades<br /> +Of their own native isle, and wonted blooms,<br /> +And herbs were wanting, which the pious hand<br /> +Might plant or scatter there, these gentle rites<br /> +Passed out of use. Now they are scarcely known,<br /> +And rarely in our borders may you meet<br /> +The tall larch, sighing in the burying-place,<br /> +Or willow, trailing low its boughs to hide<br /> +The gleaming marble. Naked rows of graves<br /> +And melancholy ranks of monuments<br /> +Are seen instead, where the coarse grass, between,<br /> +Shoots up its dull green spikes, and in the wind<br /> +Hisses, and the neglected bramble nigh,<br /> +Offers its berries to the schoolboy's hand,<br /> +In vain—they grow too near the dead. Yet here,<br /> +Nature, rebuking the neglect of man,<br /> +Plants often, by the ancient mossy stone,<br /> +The brier rose, and upon the broken turf<br /> +That clothes the fresher grave, the strawberry vine<br /> +Sprinkles its swell with blossoms, and lays forth<br /> +Her ruddy, pouting fruit. * * * * *</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page31" id="page31">[Page 31]</a></span> +<h3>"BLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN."</h3> + +<p class="indent1"> +Oh, deem not they are blest alone<br /> + Whose lives a peaceful tenor keep;<br /> +The Power who pities man, has shown<br /> + A blessing for the eyes that weep.<br /><br /> + +The light of smiles shall fill again<br /> + The lids that overflow with tears;<br /> +And weary hours of woe and pain<br /> + Are promises of happier years.<br /><br /> + +There is a day of sunny rest<br /> + For every dark and troubled night;<br /> +And grief may bide an evening guest,<br /> + But joy shall come with early light.<br /><br /> + +And thou, who, o'er thy friend's low bier,<br /> + Sheddest the bitter drops like rain,<br /> +Hope that a brighter, happier sphere<br /> + Will give him to thy arms again.<br /><br /> + +Nor let the good man's trust depart,<br /> + Though life its common gifts deny,—<br /> +Though with a pierced and broken heart,<br /> + And spurned of men, he goes to die.<br /><br /> + +For God has marked each sorrowing day<br /> + And numbered every secret tear,<br /> +And heaven's long age of bliss shall pay<br /> + For all his children suffer here.</p><br /><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page32" id="page32">[Page 32]</a></span> +<h3>"NO MAN KNOWETH HIS SEPULCHRE."</h3> +<p class="indent1"> +When he, who, from the scourge of wrong,<br /> + Aroused the Hebrew tribes to fly,<br /> +Saw the fair region, promised long,<br /> + And bowed him on the hills to die;<br /><br /> + +God made his grave, to men unknown,<br /> + Where Moab's rocks a vale infold,<br /> +And laid the aged seer alone<br /> + To slumber while the world grows old.<br /><br /> + +Thus still, whene'er the good and just<br /> + Close the dim eye on life and pain,<br /> +Heaven watches o'er their sleeping dust<br /> + Till the pure spirit comes again.<br /><br /> + +Though nameless, trampled, and forgot,<br /> + His servant's humble ashes lie,<br /> +Yet God has marked and sealed the spot,<br /> + To call its inmate to the sky.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page33" id="page33">[Page 33]</a></span> +<h3>A WALK AT SUNSET.</h3> +<p class="indent"> + When insect wings are glistening in the beam<br /> + Of the low sun, and mountain-tops are bright,<br /> + Oh, let me, by the crystal valley-stream,<br /> + Wander amid the mild and mellow light;<br /> +And while the wood-thrush pipes his evening lay,<br /> +Give me one lonely hour to hymn the setting day.<br /><br /> + + Oh, sun! that o'er the western mountains now<br /> + Goest down in glory! ever beautiful<br /> + And blessed is thy radiance, whether thou<br /> + Colourest the eastern heaven and night-mist cool,<br /> +Till the bright day-star vanish, or on high<br /> +Climbest and streamest thy white splendours from mid-sky.<br /><br /> + + Yet, loveliest are thy setting smiles, and fair,<br /> + Fairest of all that earth beholds, the hues<br /> + That live among the clouds, and flush the air,<br /> + Lingering and deepening at the hour of dews.<br /> +Then softest gales are breathed, and softest heard<br /> +The plaining voice of streams, and pensive note of bird.<br /><br /> + + They who here roamed, of yore, the forest wide,<br /> + Felt, by such charm, their simple bosoms won;<br /> + They deemed their quivered warrior, when he died,<br /> + Went to bright isles beneath the setting sun;<br /> +Where winds are aye at peace, and skies are fair,<br /> +And purple-skirted clouds curtain the crimson air.<br /><br /> + + So, with the glories of the dying day,<br /> + Its thousand trembling lights and changing hues,<br /> + The memory of the brave who passed away<br /> + Tenderly mingled;—fitting hour to muse<br /> +On such grave theme, and sweet the dream that shed<br /> +Brightness and beauty round the destiny of the dead.<br /><br /> + + For ages, on the silent forests here,<span class="page"><a name="page34" id="page34">[Page 34]</a></span><br /> + Thy beams did fall before the red man came<br /> + To dwell beneath them; in their shade the deer<br /> + Fed, and feared not the arrow's deadly aim.<br /> +Nor tree was felled, in all that world of woods,<br /> +Save by the beaver's tooth, or winds, or rush of floods.<br /><br /> + + Then came the hunter tribes, and thou didst look,<br /> + For ages, on their deeds in the hard chase,<br /> + And well-fought wars; green sod and silver brook<br /> + Took the first stain of blood; before thy face<br /> +The warrior generations came and passed,<br /> +And glory was laid up for many an age to last.<br /><br /> + + Now they are gone, gone as thy setting blaze<br /> + Goes down the west, while night is pressing on,<br /> + And with them the old tale of better days,<br /> + And trophies of remembered power, are gone.<br /> +Yon field that gives the harvest, where the plough<br /> +Strikes the white bone, is all that tells their story now.<br /><br /> + + I stand upon their ashes in thy beam,<br /> + The offspring of another race, I stand,<br /> + Beside a stream they loved, this valley stream;<br /> + And where the night-fire of the quivered band<br /> +Showed the gray oak by fits, and war-song rung,<br /> +I teach the quiet shades the strains of this new tongue.<br /><br /> + + Farewell! but thou shalt come again—thy light<br /> + Must shine on other changes, and behold<br /> + The place of the thronged city still as night—<br /> + States fallen—new empires built upon the old—<br /> +But never shalt thou see these realms again<br /> +Darkened by boundless groves, and roamed by savage men.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page35" id="page35">[Page 35]</a></span> +<h3>HYMN TO DEATH.</h3> +<p class="indent1"> +Oh! could I hope the wise and pure in heart<br /> +Might hear my song without a frown, nor deem<br /> +My voice unworthy of the theme it tries,—<br /> +I would take up the hymn to Death, and say<br /> +To the grim power: The world hath slandered thee<br /> +And mocked thee. On thy dim and shadowy brow<br /> +They place an iron crown, and call thee king<br /> +Of terrors, and the spoiler of the world,<br /> +Deadly assassin, that strik'st down the fair,<br /> +The loved, the good—that breathest on the lights<br /> +Of virtue set along the vale of life,<br /> +And they go out in darkness. I am come,<br /> +Not with reproaches, not with cries and prayers,<br /> +Such as have stormed thy stern, insensible ear<br /> +from the beginning. I am come to speak<br /> +Thy praises. True it is, that I have wept<br /> +Thy conquests, and may weep them yet again:<br /> +And thou from some I love wilt take a life<br /> +Dear to me as my own. Yet while the spell<br /> +Is on my spirit, and I talk with thee<br /> +In sight of all thy trophies, face to face,<br /> +Meet is it that my voice should utter forth<br /> +Thy nobler triumphs; I will teach the world<br /> +To thank thee.—Who are thine accusers?—Who?<br /> +The living!—they who never felt thy power,<br /> +And know thee not. The curses of the wretch<br /> +Whose crimes are ripe, his sufferings when thy hand<br /> +Is on him, and the hour he dreads is come,<br /> +Are writ among thy praises. But the good—<span class="page"><a name="page36" id="page36">[Page 36]</a></span><br /> +Does he whom thy kind hand dismissed to peace,<br /> +Upbraid the gentle violence that took off<br /> +His fetters, and unbarred his prison cell?<br /><br /> + + Raise then the hymn to Death. Deliverer!<br /> +God hath anointed thee to free the oppressed<br /> +And crush the oppressor. When the armed chief,<br /> +The conqueror of nations, walks the world,<br /> +And it is changed beneath his feet, and all<br /> +Its kingdoms melt into one mighty realm—<br /> +Thou, while his head is loftiest and his heart<br /> +Blasphemes, imagining his own right hand<br /> +Almighty, thou dost set thy sudden grasp<br /> +Upon him, and the links of that strong chain<br /> +That bound mankind are crumbled; thou dost break<br /> +Sceptre and crown, and beat his throne to dust.<br /> +Then the earth shouts with gladness, and her tribes<br /> +Gather within their ancient bounds again.<br /> +Else had the mighty of the olden time,<br /> +Nimrod, Sesostris, or the youth who feigned<br /> +His birth from Libyan Ammon, smitten yet<br /> +The nations with a rod of iron, and driven<br /> +Their chariot o'er our necks. Thou dost avenge,<br /> +In thy good time, the wrongs of those who know<br /> +No other friend. Nor dost thou interpose<br /> +Only to lay the sufferer asleep,<br /> +Where he who made him wretched troubles not<br /> +His rest—thou dost strike down his tyrant too.<br /> +Oh, there is joy when hands that held the scourge<br /> +Drop lifeless, and the pitiless heart is cold.<br /> +Thou too dost purge from earth its horrible<br /> +And old idolatries;—from the proud fanes<br /> +Each to his grave their priests go out, till none<br /> +Is left to teach their worship; then the fires<br /> +Of sacrifice are chilled, and the green moss<br /> +O'ercreeps their altars; the fallen images<br /> +Cumber the weedy courts, and for loud hymns,<span class="page"><a name="page37" id="page37">[Page 37]</a></span><br /> +Chanted by kneeling multitudes, the wind<br /> +Shrieks in the solitary aisles. When he<br /> +Who gives his life to guilt, and laughs at all<br /> +The laws that God or man has made, and round<br /> +Hedges his seat with power, and shines in wealth,—<br /> +Lifts up his atheist front to scoff at Heaven,<br /> +And celebrates his shame in open day,<br /> +Thou, in the pride of all his crimes, cutt'st off<br /> +The horrible example. Touched by thine,<br /> +The extortioner's hard hand foregoes the gold<br /> +Wrung from the o'er-worn poor. The perjurer,<br /> +Whose tongue was lithe, e'en now, and voluble<br /> +Against his neighbour's life, and he who laughed<br /> +And leaped for joy to see a spotless fame<br /> +Blasted before his own foul calumnies,<br /> +Are smit with deadly silence. He, who sold<br /> +His conscience to preserve a worthless life,<br /> +Even while he hugs himself on his escape,<br /> +Trembles, as, doubly terrible, at length,<br /> +Thy steps o'ertake him, and there is no time<br /> +For parley—nor will bribes unclench thy grasp.<br /> +Oft, too, dost thou reform thy victim, long<br /> +Ere his last hour. And when the reveller,<br /> +Mad in the chase of pleasure, stretches on,<br /> +And strains each nerve, and clears the path of life<br /> +Like wind, thou point'st him to the dreadful goal,<br /> +And shak'st thy hour-glass in his reeling eye,<br /> +And check'st him in mid course. Thy skeleton hand<br /> +Shows to the faint of spirit the right path,<br /> +And he is warned, and fears to step aside.<br /> +Thou sett'st between the ruffian and his crime<br /> +Thy ghastly countenance, and his slack hand<br /> +Drops the drawn knife. But, oh, most fearfully<br /> +Dost thou show forth Heaven's justice, when thy shafts<br /> +Drink up the ebbing spirit—then the hard<br /> +Of heart and violent of hand restores<br /> +The treasure to the friendless wretch he wronged.<br /> +Then from the writhing bosom thou dost pluck<span class="page"><a name="page38" id="page38">[Page 38]</a></span><br /> +The guilty secret; lips, for ages sealed,<br /> +Are faithless to the dreadful trust at length,<br /> +And give it up; the felon's latest breath<br /> +Absolves the innocent man who bears his crime;<br /> +The slanderer, horror-smitten, and in tears,<br /> +Recalls the deadly obloquy he forged<br /> +To work his brother's ruin. Thou dost make<br /> +Thy penitent victim utter to the air<br /> +The dark conspiracy that strikes at life,<br /> +And aims to whelm the laws; ere yet the hour<br /> +Is come, and the dread sign of murder given.<br /><br /> + + Thus, from the first of time, hast thou been found<br /> +On virtue's side; the wicked, but for thee,<br /> +Had been too strong for the good; the great of earth<br /> +Had crushed the weak for ever. Schooled in guile<br /> +For ages, while each passing year had brought<br /> +Its baneful lesson, they had filled the world<br /> +With their abominations; while its tribes,<br /> +Trodden to earth, imbruted, and despoiled,<br /> +Had knelt to them in worship; sacrifice<br /> +Had smoked on many an altar, temple roofs<br /> +Had echoed with the blasphemous prayer and hymn:<br /> +But thou, the great reformer of the world,<br /> +Tak'st off the sons of violence and fraud<br /> +In their green pupilage, their lore half learned—<br /> +Ere guilt had quite o'errun the simple heart<br /> +God gave them at their birth, and blotted out<br /> +His image. Thou dost mark them flushed with hope,<br /> +As on the threshold of their vast designs<br /> +Doubtful and loose they stand, and strik'st them down.<br /><br /> + + ° + ° + ° + ° + °<br /><br /> + + Alas! I little thought that the stern power<br /> +Whose fearful praise I sung, would try me thus<br /> +Before the strain was ended. It must cease—<br /> +For he is in his grave who taught my youth<br /> +The art of verse, and in the bud of life<span class="page"><a name="page39" id="page39">[Page 39]</a></span><br /> +Offered me to the muses. Oh, cut off<br /> +Untimely! when thy reason in its strength,<br /> +Ripened by years of toil and studious search,<br /> +And watch of Nature's silent lessons, taught<br /> +Thy hand to practise best the lenient art<br /> +To which thou gavest thy laborious days,<br /> +And, last, thy life. And, therefore, when the earth<br /> +Received thee, tears were in unyielding eyes<br /> +And on hard cheeks, and they who deemed thy skill<br /> +Delayed their death-hour, shuddered and turned pale<br /> +When thou wert gone. This faltering verse, which thou<br /> +Shalt not, as wont, o'erlook, is all I have<br /> +To offer at thy grave—this—and the hope<br /> +To copy thy example, and to leave<br /> +A name of which the wretched shall not think<br /> +As of an enemy's, whom they forgive<br /> +As all forgive the dead. Rest, therefore, thou<br /> +Whose early guidance trained my infant steps—<br /> +Rest, in the bosom of God, till the brief sleep<br /> +Of death is over, and a happier life<br /> +Shall dawn to waken thine insensible dust.<br /><br /> + + Now thou art not—and yet the men whose guilt<br /> +Has wearied Heaven for vengeance—he who bears<br /> +False witness—he who takes the orphan's bread,<br /> +And robs the widow—he who spreads abroad<br /> +Polluted hands of mockery of prayer,<br /> +Are left to cumber earth. Shuddering I look<br /> +On what is written, yet I blot not out<br /> +The desultory numbers—let them stand,<br /> +The record of an idle revery.</p><br /> + + + + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page40" id="page40">[Page 40]</a></span> +<h3>THE MASSACRE AT SCIO.<a href="#n40">°</a></h3> +<p class="indent2"> +Weep not for Scio's children slain;<br /> + Their blood, by Turkish falchions shed,<br /> +Sends not its cry to Heaven in vain<br /> + For vengeance on the murderer's head.<br /><br /> + +Though high the warm red torrent ran<br /> + Between the flames that lit the sky,<br /> +Yet, for each drop, an armed man<br /> + Shall rise, to free the land, or die.<br /><br /> + +And for each corpse, that in the sea<br /> + Was thrown, to feast the scaly herds,<br /> +A hundred of the foe shall be<br /> + A banquet for the mountain birds.<br /><br /> + +Stern rites and sad, shall Greece ordain<br /> + To keep that day, along her shore,<br /> +Till the last link of slavery's chain<br /> + Is shivered, to be worn no more.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page41" id="page41">[Page 41]</a></span> +<h3>THE INDIAN GIRL'S LAMENT.<a href="#n41">°</a></h3> +<p class="indent2"> +An Indian girl was sitting where<br /> + Her lover, slain in battle, slept;<br /> +Her maiden veil, her own black hair,<br /> + Came down o'er eyes that wept;<br /> +And wildly, in her woodland tongue,<br /> +This sad and simple lay she sung:<br /><br /> + +"I've pulled away the shrubs that grew<br /> + Too close above thy sleeping head,<br /> +And broke the forest boughs that threw<br /> + Their shadows o'er thy bed,<br /> +That, shining from the sweet south-west,<br /> +The sunbeams might rejoice thy rest.<br /><br /> + +"It was a weary, weary road<br /> + That led thee to the pleasant coast,<br /> +Where thou, in his serene abode,<br /> + Hast met thy father's ghost:<br /> +Where everlasting autumn lies<br /> +On yellow woods and sunny skies.<br /><br /> + +"Twas I the broidered mocsen made,<br /> + That shod thee for that distant land;<br /> +'Twas I thy bow and arrows laid<br /> + Beside thy still cold hand;<br /> +Thy bow in many a battle bent,<br /> +Thy arrows never vainly sent.<br /><br /> + +"With wampum belts I crossed thy breast,<span class="page"><a name="page42" id="page42">[Page 42]</a></span><br /> + And wrapped thee in the bison's hide,<br /> +And laid the food that pleased thee best,<br /> + In plenty, by thy side,<br /> +And decked thee bravely, as became<br /> +A warrior of illustrious name.<br /><br /> + +"Thou'rt happy now, for thou hast passed<br /> + The long dark journey of the grave,<br /> +And in the land of light, at last,<br /> + Hast joined the good and brave;<br /> +Amid the flushed and balmy air,<br /> +The bravest and the loveliest there.<br /><br /> + +"Yet, oft to thine own Indian maid<br /> + Even there thy thoughts will earthward stray,—<br /> +To her who sits where thou wert laid,<br /> + And weeps the hours away,<br /> +Yet almost can her grief forget,<br /> +To think that thou dost love her yet.<br /><br /> + +"And thou, by one of those still lakes<br /> + That in a shining cluster lie,<br /> +On which the south wind scarcely breaks<br /> + The image of the sky,<br /> +A bower for thee and me hast made<br /> +Beneath the many-coloured shade.<br /><br /> + +"And thou dost wait and watch to meet<br /> + My spirit sent to join the blessed,<br /> +And, wondering what detains my feet<br /> + From the bright land of rest,<br /> +Dost seem, in every sound, to hear<br /> +The rustling of my footsteps near."</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page43" id="page43">[Page 43]</a></span> +<h3>ODE FOR AN AGRICULTURAL CELEBRATION.</h3> +<p class="indent2"> +Far back in the ages,<br /> + The plough with wreaths was crowned;<br /> +The hands of kings and sages<br /> + Entwined the chaplet round;<br /> +Till men of spoil disdained the toil<br /> + By which the world was nourished,<br /> +And dews of blood enriched the soil<br /> + Where green their laurels flourished:<br /> +—Now the world her fault repairs—<br /> + The guilt that stains her story;<br /> +And weeps her crimes amid the cares<br /> + That formed her earliest glory.<br /><br /> + +The proud throne shall crumble,<br /> + The diadem shall wane,<br /> +The tribes of earth shall humble<br /> + The pride of those who reign;<br /> +And War shall lay his pomp away;—<br /> + The fame that heroes cherish,<br /> +The glory earned in deadly fray<br /> + Shall fade, decay, and perish.<br /> +Honour waits, o'er all the Earth,<br /> + Through endless generations,<br /> +The art that calls her harvests forth,<br /> + And feeds the expectant nations.</p><br /> + + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page44" id="page44">[Page 44]</a></span> +<h3>RIZPAH.</h3> + + + +<p> +And he delivered them into the hands of the Gibeonites, and they hanged +them in the hill before the Lord; and they fell all seven together, and were put +to death in the days of the harvest, in the first days, in the beginning of barley-harvest.</p> +<p> +And Rizpah, the daughter of Aiah, took sackcloth, and spread it for her +upon the rock, from the beginning of harvest until the water dropped upon them +out of heaven, and suffered neither the birds of the air to rest upon them by +day, nor the beasts of the field by night.</p> +<p class="rindent"> +2 SAMUEL, xxi. 10.</p> +<br /><br /> + +<p class="indent1"> + Hear what the desolate Rizpah said,<br /> +As on Gibeah's rocks she watched the dead.<br /> +The sons of Michal before her lay,<br /> +And her own fair children, dearer than they:<br /> +By a death of shame they all had died,<br /> +And were stretched on the bare rock, side by side.<br /> +And Rizpah, once the loveliest of all<br /> +That bloomed and smiled in the court of Saul,<br /> +All wasted with watching and famine now,<br /> +And scorched by the sun her haggard brow,<br /> +Sat mournfully guarding their corpses there,<br /> +And murmured a strange and solemn air;<br /> +The low, heart-broken, and wailing strain<br /> +Of a mother that mourns her children slain:<br /><br /> + + "I have made the crags my home, and spread<br /> +On their desert backs my sackcloth bed;<br /> +I have eaten the bitter herb of the rocks,<br /> +And drunk the midnight dew in my locks;<br /> +I have wept till I could not weep, and the pain<span class="page"><a name="page45" id="page45">[Page 45]</a></span><br /> +Of my burning eyeballs went to my brain.<br /> +Seven blackened corpses before me lie,<br /> +In the blaze of the sun and the winds of the sky.<br /> +I have watched them through the burning day,<br /> +And driven the vulture and raven away;<br /> +And the cormorant wheeled in circles round,<br /> +Yet feared to alight on the guarded ground.<br /> +And when the shadows of twilight came,<br /> +I have seen the hyena's eyes of flame,<br /> +And heard at my side his stealthy tread,<br /> +But aye at my shout the savage fled:<br /> +And I threw the lighted brand to fright<br /> +The jackal and wolf that yelled in the night.<br /><br /> + + "Ye were foully murdered, my hapless sons,<br /> +By the hands of wicked and cruel ones;<br /> +Ye fell, in your fresh and blooming prime,<br /> +All innocent, for your father's crime.<br /> +He sinned—but he paid the price of his guilt<br /> +When his blood by a nameless hand was spilt;<br /> +When he strove with the heathen host in vain,<br /> +And fell with the flower of his people slain,<br /> +And the sceptre his children's hands should sway<br /> +From his injured lineage passed away.<br /><br /> + + "But I hoped that the cottage roof would be<br /> +A safe retreat for my sons and me;<br /> +And that while they ripened to manhood fast,<br /> +They should wean my thoughts from the woes of the past.<br /> +And my bosom swelled with a mother's pride,<br /> +As they stood in their beauty and strength by my side,<br /> +Tall like their sire, with the princely grace<br /> +Of his stately form, and the bloom of his face.<br /><br /> + + "Oh, what an hour for a mother's heart,<br /> +When the pitiless ruffians tore us apart!<br /> +When I clasped their knees and wept and prayed,<span class="page"><a name="page46" id="page46">[Page 46]</a></span><br /> +And struggled and shrieked to Heaven for aid,<br /> +And clung to my sons with desperate strength,<br /> +Till the murderers loosed my hold at length,<br /> +And bore me breathless and faint aside,<br /> +In their iron arms, while my children died.<br /> +They died—and the mother that gave them birth<br /> +Is forbid to cover their bones with earth.<br /><br /> + + "The barley-harvest was nodding white,<br /> +When my children died on the rocky height,<br /> +And the reapers were singing on hill and plain,<br /> +When I came to my task of sorrow and pain.<br /> +But now the season of rain is nigh,<br /> +The sun is dim in the thickening sky,<br /> +And the clouds in sullen darkness rest<br /> +Where he hides his light at the doors of the west.<br /> +I hear the howl of the wind that brings<br /> +The long drear storm on its heavy wings;<br /> +But the howling wind and the driving rain<br /> +Will beat on my houseless head in vain:<br /> +I shall stay, from my murdered sons to scare<br /> +The beasts of the desert, and fowls of air."</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page47" id="page47">[Page 47]</a></span> +<h3>THE OLD MAN'S FUNERAL.</h3> +<p class="indent1"> +I saw an aged man upon his bier,<br /> + His hair was thin and white, and on his brow<br /> +A record of the cares of many a year;—<br /> + Cares that were ended and forgotten now.<br /> +And there was sadness round, and faces bowed,<br /> +And woman's tears fell fast, and children wailed aloud.<br /><br /> + +Then rose another hoary man and said,<br /> + In faltering accents, to that weeping train,<br /> +"Why mourn ye that our aged friend is dead?<br /> + Ye are not sad to see the gathered grain,<br /> +Nor when their mellow fruit the orchards cast,<br /> +Nor when the yellow woods shake down the ripened mast.<br /><br /> + +"Ye sigh not when the sun, his course fulfilled,<br /> + His glorious course, rejoicing earth and sky,<br /> +In the soft evening, when the winds are stilled,<br /> + Sinks where his islands of refreshment lie,<br /> +And leaves the smile of his departure, spread<br /> +O'er the warm-coloured heaven and ruddy mountain head.<br /><br /> + +"Why weep ye then for him, who, having won<br /> + The bound of man's appointed years, at last,<br /> +Life's blessings all enjoyed, life's labours done,<br /> + Serenely to his final rest has passed;<br /> +While the soft memory of his virtues, yet,<br /> +Lingers like twilight hues, when the bright sun is set?<br /><br /> + +"His youth was innocent; his riper age<span class="page"><a name="page48" id="page48">[Page 48]</a></span><br /> + Marked with some act of goodness every day;<br /> +And watched by eyes that loved him, calm, and sage,<br /> + Faded his late declining years away.<br /> +Cheerful he gave his being up, and went<br /> +To share the holy rest that waits a life well spent.<br /><br /> + +"That life was happy; every day he gave<br /> + Thanks for the fair existence that was his;<br /> +For a sick fancy made him not her slave,<br /> + To mock him with her phantom miseries.<br /> +No chronic tortures racked his aged limb,<br /> +For luxury and sloth had nourished none for him.<br /><br /> + +"And I am glad that he has lived thus long,<br /> + And glad that he has gone to his reward;<br /> +Nor can I deem that nature did him wrong,<br /> + Softly to disengage the vital cord.<br /> +For when his hand grew palsied, and his eye<br /> +Dark with the mists of age, it was his time to die."</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page49" id="page49">[Page 49]</a></span> +<h3>THE RIVULET.</h3> +<p class="indent2"> +This little rill, that from the springs<br /> +Of yonder grove its current brings,<br /> +Plays on the slope a while, and then<br /> +Goes prattling into groves again,<br /> +Oft to its warbling waters drew<br /> +My little feet, when life was new,<br /> +When woods in early green were dressed,<br /> +And from the chambers of the west<br /> +The warmer breezes, travelling out,<br /> +Breathed the new scent of flowers about,<br /> +My truant steps from home would stray,<br /> +Upon its grassy side to play,<br /> +List the brown thrasher's vernal hymn,<br /> +And crop the violet on its brim,<br /> +With blooming cheek and open brow,<br /> +As young and gay, sweet rill, as thou.<br /><br /> + + And when the days of boyhood came,<br /> +And I had grown in love with fame,<br /> +Duly I sought thy banks, and tried<br /> +My first rude numbers by thy side.<br /> +Words cannot tell how bright and gay<br /> +The scenes of life before me lay.<br /> +Then glorious hopes, that now to speak<br /> +Would bring the blood into my cheek,<br /> +Passed o'er me; and I wrote, on high,<br /> +A name I deemed should never die.<br /><br /> + id="page" + Years change thee not. Upon yon hill<span class="page"><a name="page50" id="page50">[Page 50]</a></span><br /> +The tall old maples, verdant still,<br /> +Yet tell, in grandeur of decay,<br /> +How swift the years have passed away,<br /> +Since first, a child, and half afraid,<br /> +I wandered in the forest shade.<br /> +Thou ever joyous rivulet,<br /> +Dost dimple, leap, and prattle yet;<br /> +And sporting with the sands that pave<br /> +The windings of thy silver wave,<br /> +And dancing to thy own wild chime,<br /> +Thou laughest at the lapse of time.<br /> +The same sweet sounds are in my ear<br /> +My early childhood loved to hear;<br /> +As pure thy limpid waters run,<br /> +As bright they sparkle to the sun;<br /> +As fresh and thick the bending ranks<br /> +Of herbs that line thy oozy banks;<br /> +The violet there, in soft May dew,<br /> +Comes up, as modest and as blue,<br /> +As green amid thy current's stress,<br /> +Floats the scarce-rooted watercress:<br /> +And the brown ground-bird, in thy glen,<br /> +Still chirps as merrily as then.<br /><br /> + + Thou changest not—but I am changed,<br /> +Since first thy pleasant banks I ranged;<br /> +And the grave stranger, come to see<br /> +The play-place of his infancy,<br /> +Has scarce a single trace of him<br /> +Who sported once upon thy brim.<br /> +The visions of my youth are past—<br /> +Too bright, too beautiful to last.<br /> +I've tried the world—it wears no more<br /> +The colouring of romance it wore.<br /> +Yet well has Nature kept the truth<br /> +She promised to my earliest youth.<br /> +The radiant beauty shed abroad<span class="page"><a name="page51" id="page51">[Page 51]</a></span><br /> +On all the glorious works of God,<br /> +Shows freshly, to my sobered eye,<br /> +Each charm it wore in days gone by.<br /><br /> + + A few brief years shall pass away,<br /> +And I, all trembling, weak, and gray,<br /> +Bowed to the earth, which waits to fold<br /> +My ashes in the embracing mould,<br /> +(If haply the dark will of fate<br /> +Indulge my life so long a date)<br /> +May come for the last time to look<br /> +Upon my childhood's favourite brook.<br /> +Then dimly on my eye shall gleam<br /> +The sparkle of thy dancing stream;<br /> +And faintly on my ear shall fall<br /> +Thy prattling current's merry call;<br /> +Yet shalt thou flow as glad and bright<br /> +As when thou met'st my infant sight.<br /><br /> + + And I shall sleep—and on thy side,<br /> +As ages after ages glide,<br /> +Children their early sports shall try,<br /> +And pass to hoary age and die.<br /> +But thou, unchanged from year to year,<br /> +Gayly shalt play and glitter here;<br /> +Amid young flowers and tender grass<br /> +Thy endless infancy shalt pass;<br /> +And, singing down thy narrow glen,<br /> +Shalt mock the fading race of men.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page52" id="page52">[Page 52]</a></span> +<h3>MARCH.</h3> +<p class="indent1"> +The stormy March is come at last,<br /> + With wind, and cloud, and changing skies,<br /> +I hear the rushing of the blast,<br /> + That through the snowy valley flies.<br /><br /> + +Ah, passing few are they who speak,<br /> + Wild stormy month! in praise of thee;<br /> +Yet, though thy winds are loud and bleak,<br /> + Thou art a welcome month to me.<br /><br /> + +For thou, to northern lands, again<br /> + The glad and glorious sun dost bring,<br /> +And thou hast joined the gentle train<br /> + And wear'st the gentle name of Spring.<br /><br /> + +And, in thy reign of blast and storm,<br /> + Smiles many a long, bright, sunny day,<br /> +When the changed winds are soft and warm,<br /> + And heaven puts on the blue of May.<br /><br /> + +Then sing aloud the gushing rills<br /> + And the full springs, from frost set free,<br /> +That, brightly leaping down the hills,<br /> + Are just set out to meet the sea.<br /><br /> + +The year's departing beauty hides<br /> + Of wintry storms the sullen threat;<br /> +But in thy sternest frown abides<br /> + A look of kindly promise yet.<br /><br /> + +Thou bring'st the hope of those calm skies,<br /> + And that soft time of sunny showers,<br /> +When the wide bloom, on earth that lies,<br /> + Seems of a brighter world than ours.</p><br /> + + + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page53" id="page53">[Page 53]</a></span> +<h3>SONNET TO ——.</h3> +<p class="indent1"> +Ay, thou art for the grave; thy glances shine<br /> + Too brightly to shine long; another Spring<br /> +Shall deck her for men's eyes,—but not for thine—<br /> + Sealed in a sleep which knows no wakening.<br /> +The fields for thee have no medicinal leaf,<br /> + And the vexed ore no mineral of power;<br /> +And they who love thee wait in anxious grief<br /> + Till the slow plague shall bring the fatal hour.<br /> +Glide softly to thy rest then; Death should come<br /> + Gently, to one of gentle mould like thee,<br /> +As light winds wandering through groves of bloom<br /> + Detach the delicate blossom from the tree.<br /> +Close thy sweet eyes, calmly, and without pain;<br /> +And we will trust in God to see thee yet again.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page54" id="page54">[Page 54]</a></span> +<h3>AN INDIAN STORY.</h3> +<p class="indent1"> +"I know where the timid fawn abides<br /> + In the depths of the shaded dell,<br /> +Where the leaves are broad and the thicket hides,<br /> +With its many stems and its tangled sides,<br /> + From the eye of the hunter well.<br /><br /> + +"I know where the young May violet grows,<br /> + In its lone and lowly nook,<br /> +On the mossy bank, where the larch-tree throws<br /> +Its broad dark boughs, in solemn repose,<br /> + Far over the silent brook.<br /><br /> + +"And that timid fawn starts not with fear<br /> + When I steal to her secret bower;<br /> +And that young May violet to me is dear,<br /> +And I visit the silent streamlet near,<br /> + To look on the lovely flower."<br /><br /> + +Thus Maquon sings as he lightly walks<br /> + To the hunting-ground on the hills;<br /> +'Tis a song of his maid of the woods and rocks,<br /> +With her bright black eyes and long black looks,<br /> + And voice like the music of rills.<br /><br /> + +He goes to the chase—but evil eyes<br /> + Are at watch in the thicker shades;<br /> +For she was lovely that smiled on his sighs,<br /> +And he bore, from a hundred lovers, his prize,<br /> + The flower of the forest maids.<br /><br /> + +The boughs in the morning wind are stirred,<span class="page"><a name="page55" id="page55">[Page 55]</a></span><br /> + And the woods their song renew,<br /> +With the early carol of many a bird,<br /> +And the quickened tune of the streamlet heard<br /> + Where the hazels trickle with dew.<br /><br /> + +And Maquon has promised his dark-haired maid,<br /> + Ere eve shall redden the sky,<br /> +A good red deer from the forest shade,<br /> +That bounds with the herd through grove and glade,<br /> + At her cabin-door shall lie.<br /><br /> + +The hollow woods, in the setting sun,<br /> + Ring shrill with the fire-bird's lay;<br /> +And Maquon's sylvan labours are done,<br /> +And his shafts are spent, but the spoil they won<br /> + He bears on his homeward way.<br /><br /> + +He stops near his bower—his eye perceives<br /> + Strange traces along the ground—<br /> +At once to the earth his burden he heaves,<br /> +He breaks through the veil of boughs and leaves,<br /> + And gains its door with a bound.<br /><br /> + +But the vines are torn on its walls that leant,<br /> + And all from the young shrubs there<br /> +By struggling hands have the leaves been rent,<br /> +And there hangs on the sassafras, broken and bent,<br /> + One tress of the well-known hair.<br /><br /> + +But where is she who, at this calm hour,<br /> + Ever watched his coming to see?<br /> +She is not at the door, nor yet in the bower;<br /> +He calls—but he only hears on the flower<br /> + The hum of the laden bee.<br /><br /> + +It is not a time for idle grief,<span class="page"><a name="page56" id="page56">[Page 56]</a></span><br /> + Nor a time for tears to flow;<br /> +The horror that freezes his limbs is brief—<br /> +He grasps his war-axe and bow, and a sheaf<br /> + Of darts made sharp for the foe.<br /><br /> + +And he looks for the print of the ruffian's feet,<br /> + Where he bore the maiden away;<br /> +And he darts on the fatal path more fleet<br /> +Than the blast that hurries the vapour and sleet<br /> + O'er the wild November day.<br /><br /> + +'Twas early summer when Maquon's bride<br /> + Was stolen away from his door;<br /> +But at length the maples in crimson are dyed,<br /> +And the grape is black on the cabin side,—<br /> + And she smiles at his hearth once more.<br /><br /> + +But far in the pine-grove, dark and cold,<br /> + Where the yellow leaf falls not,<br /> +Nor the autumn shines in scarlet and gold,<br /> +There lies a hillock of fresh dark mould,<br /> + In the deepest gloom of the spot.<br /><br /> + +And the Indian girls, that pass that way,<br /> + Point out the ravisher's grave;<br /> +"And how soon to the bower she loved," they say,<br /> +"Returned the maid that was borne away<br /> + From Maquon, the fond and the brave."</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page57" id="page57">[Page 57]</a></span> +<h3>SUMMER WIND.</h3> +<p class="indent1"> + It is a sultry day; the sun has drunk<br /> +The dew that lay upon the morning grass;<br /> +There is no rustling in the lofty elm<br /> +That canopies my dwelling, and its shade<br /> +Scarce cools me. All is silent, save the faint<br /> +And interrupted murmur of the bee,<br /> +Settling on the sick flowers, and then again<br /> +Instantly on the wing. The plants around<br /> +Feel the too potent fervours: the tall maize<br /> +Rolls up its long green leaves; the clover droops<br /> +Its tender foliage, and declines its blooms.<br /> +But far in the fierce sunshine tower the hills,<br /> +With all their growth of woods, silent and stern,<br /> +As if the scorching heat and dazzling light<br /> +Were but an element they loved. Bright clouds,<br /> +Motionless pillars of the brazen heaven,—<br /> +Their bases on the mountains—their white tops<br /> +Shining in the far ether—fire the air<br /> +With a reflected radiance, and make turn<br /> +The gazer's eye away. For me, I lie<br /> +Languidly in the shade, where the thick turf,<br /> +Yet virgin from the kisses of the sun,<br /> +Retains some freshness, and I woo the wind<br /> +That still delays its coming. Why so slow,<br /> +Gentle and voluble spirit of the air?<span class="page"><a name="page58" id="page58">[Page 58]</a></span><br /> +Oh, come and breathe upon the fainting earth<br /> +Coolness and life. Is it that in his caves<br /> +He hears me? See, on yonder woody ridge,<br /> +The pine is bending his proud top, and now<br /> +Among the nearer groves, chestnut and oak<br /> +Are tossing their green boughs about. He comes!<br /> +Lo, where the grassy meadow runs in waves!<br /> +The deep distressful silence of the scene<br /> +Breaks up with mingling of unnumbered sounds<br /> +And universal motion. He is come,<br /> +Shaking a shower of blossoms from the shrubs,<br /> +And bearing on their fragrance; and he brings<br /> +Music of birds, and rustling of young boughs,<br /> +And sound of swaying branches, and the voice<br /> +Of distant waterfalls. All the green herbs<br /> +Are stirring in his breath; a thousand flowers,<br /> +By the road-side and the borders of the brook,<br /> +Nod gayly to each other; glossy leaves<br /> +Are twinkling in the sun, as if the dew<br /> +Were on them yet, and silver waters break<br /> +Into small waves and sparkle as he comes.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page59" id="page59">[Page 59]</a></span> +<h3>AN INDIAN AT THE BURIAL-PLACE OF HIS FATHERS.</h3> +<p class="indent2"> +It is the spot I came to seek,—<br /> + My fathers' ancient burial-place<br /> +Ere from these vales, ashamed and weak,<br /> + Withdrew our wasted race.<br /> +It is the spot—I know it well—<br /> +Of which our old traditions tell.<br /><br /> + +For here the upland bank sends out<br /> + A ridge toward the river-side;<br /> +I know the shaggy hills about,<br /> + The meadows smooth and wide,—<br /> +The plains, that, toward the southern sky,<br /> +Fenced east and west by mountains lie.<br /><br /> + +A white man, gazing on the scene,<br /> + Would say a lovely spot was here,<br /> +And praise the lawns, so fresh and green,<br /> + Between the hills so sheer.<br /> +I like it not—I would the plain<br /> +Lay in its tall old groves again.<br /><br /> + +The sheep are on the slopes around,<br /> + The cattle in the meadows feed,<br /> +And labourers turn the crumbling ground,<br /> + Or drop the yellow seed,<br /> +And prancing steeds, in trappings gay,<br /> +Whirl the bright chariot o'er the way.<br /><br /> + +Methinks it were a nobler sight<span class="page"><a name="page60" id="page60">[Page 60]</a></span><br /> + To see these vales in woods arrayed,<br /> +Their summits in the golden light,<br /> + Their trunks in grateful shade,<br /> +And herds of deer, that bounding go<br /> +O'er hills and prostrate trees below.<br /><br /> + +And then to mark the lord of all,<br /> + The forest hero, trained to wars,<br /> +Quivered and plumed, and lithe and tall,<br /> + And seamed with glorious scars,<br /> +Walk forth, amid his reign, to dare<br /> +The wolf, and grapple with the bear.<br /><br /> + +This bank, in which the dead were laid,<br /> + Was sacred when its soil was ours;<br /> +Hither the artless Indian maid<br /> + Brought wreaths of beads and flowers,<br /> +And the gray chief and gifted seer<br /> +Worshipped the god of thunders here.<br /><br /> + +But now the wheat is green and high<br /> + On clods that hid the warrior's breast,<br /> +And scattered in the furrows lie<br /> + The weapons of his rest;<br /> +And there, in the loose sand, is thrown<br /> +Of his large arm the mouldering bone.<br /><br /> + +Ah, little thought the strong and brave<br /> + Who bore their lifeless chieftain forth—<br /> +Or the young wife, that weeping gave<br /> + Her first-born to the earth,<br /> +That the pale race, who waste us now,<br /> +Among their bones should guide the plough.<br /><br /> + +They waste us—ay—like April snow<span class="page"><a name="page61" id="page61">[Page 61]</a></span><br /> + In the warm noon, we shrink away;<br /> +And fast they follow, as we go<br /> + Towards the setting day,—<br /> +Till they shall fill the land, and we<br /> +Are driven into the western sea.<br /><br /> + +But I behold a fearful sign,<br /> + To which the white men's eyes are blind;<br /> +Their race may vanish hence, like mine,<br /> + And leave no trace behind,<br /> +Save ruins o'er the region spread,<br /> +And the white stones above the dead.<br /><br /> + +Before these fields were shorn and tilled,<br /> + Full to the brim our rivers flowed;<br /> +The melody of waters filled<br /> + The fresh and boundless wood;<br /> +And torrents dashed and rivulets played,<br /> +And fountains spouted in the shade.<br /><br /> + +Those grateful sounds are heard no more,<br /> + The springs are silent in the sun;<br /> +The rivers, by the blackened shore,<br /> + With lessening current run;<br /> +The realm our tribes are crushed to get<br /> +May be a barren desert yet.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page62" id="page62">[Page 62]</a></span> +<h3>SONG.</h3> +<p class="indent3"> +Dost thou idly ask to hear<br /> + At what gentle seasons<br /> +Nymphs relent, when lovers near<br /> + Press the tenderest reasons?<br /> +Ah, they give their faith too oft<br /> + To the careless wooer;<br /> +Maidens' hearts are always soft:<br /> + Would that men's were truer!<br /><br /> + +Woo the fair one, when around<br /> + Early birds are singing;<br /> +When, o'er all the fragrant ground.<br /> + Early herbs are springing:<br /> +When the brookside, bank, and grove,<br /> + All with blossoms laden,<br /> +Shine with beauty, breathe of love,—<br /> + Woo the timid maiden.<br /><br /> + +Woo her when, with rosy blush,<br /> + Summer eve is sinking;<br /> +When, on rills that softly gush,<br /> + Stars are softly winking;<br /> +When, through boughs that knit the bower,<span class="page"><a name="page63" id="page63">[Page 63]</a></span><br /> + Moonlight gleams are stealing;<br /> +Woo her, till the gentle hour<br /> + Wake a gentler feeling.<br /><br /> + +Woo her, when autumnal dyes<br /> + Tinge the woody mountain;<br /> +When the dropping foliage lies<br /> + In the weedy fountain;<br /> +Let the scene, that tells how fast<br /> + Youth is passing over,<br /> +Warn her, ere her bloom is past,<br /> + To secure her lover.<br /><br /> + +Woo her, when the north winds call<br /> + At the lattice nightly;<br /> +When, within the cheerful hall,<br /> + Blaze the fagots brightly;<br /> +While the wintry tempest round<br /> + Sweeps the landscape hoary,<br /> +Sweeter in her ear shall sound<br /> + Love's delightful story.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page64" id="page64">[Page 64]</a></span> +<h3>HYMN OF THE WALDENSES.</h3> +<p class="indent1"> +Hear, Father, hear thy faint afflicted flock<br /> +Cry to thee, from the desert and the rock;<br /> +While those, who seek to slay thy children, hold<br /> +Blasphemous worship under roofs of gold;<br /> +And the broad goodly lands, with pleasant airs<br /> +That nurse the grape and wave the grain, are theirs.<br /><br /> + +Yet better were this mountain wilderness,<br /> +And this wild life of danger and distress—<br /> +Watchings by night and perilous flight by day,<br /> +And meetings in the depths of earth to pray,<br /> +Better, far better, than to kneel with them,<br /> +And pay the impious rite thy laws condemn.<br /><br /> + +Thou, Lord, dost hold the thunder; the firm land<br /> +Tosses in billows when it feels thy hand;<br /> +Thou dashest nation against nation, then<br /> +Stillest the angry world to peace again.<br /> +Oh, touch their stony hearts who hunt thy sons—<br /> +The murderers of our wives and little ones.<br /><br /> + +Yet, mighty God, yet shall thy frown look forth<br /> +Unveiled, and terribly shall shake the earth.<br /> +Then the foul power of priestly sin and all<br /> +Its long-upheld idolatries shall fall.<br /> +Thou shalt raise up the trampled and oppressed,<br /> +And thy delivered saints shall dwell in rest.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page65" id="page65">[Page 65]</a></span> +<h3>MONUMENT MOUNTAIN.<a href="#n65">°</a></h3> +<p class="indent1"> + Thou who wouldst see the lovely and the wild<br /> +Mingled in harmony on Nature's face,<br /> +Ascend our rocky mountains. Let thy foot<br /> +Fail not with weariness, for on their tops<br /> +The beauty and the majesty of earth,<br /> +Spread wide beneath, shall make thee to forget<br /> +The steep and toilsome way. There, as thou stand'st,<br /> +The haunts of men below thee, and around<br /> +The mountain summits, thy expanding heart<br /> +Shall feel a kindred with that loftier world<br /> +To which thou art translated, and partake<br /> +The enlargement of thy vision. Thou shalt look<br /> +Upon the green and rolling forest tops,<br /> +And down into the secrets of the glens,<br /> +And streams, that with their bordering thickets strive<br /> +To hide their windings. Thou shalt gaze, at once,<br /> +Here on white villages, and tilth, and herds,<br /> +And swarming roads, and there on solitudes<br /> +That only hear the torrent, and the wind,<br /> +And eagle's shriek. There is a precipice<br /> +That seems a fragment of some mighty wall,<br /> +Built by the hand that fashioned the old world,<br /> +To separate its nations, and thrown down<br /> +When the flood drowned them. To the north, a path<br /> +Conducts you up the narrow battlement.<br /> +Steep is the western side, shaggy and wild<br /> +With mossy trees, and pinnacles of flint,<br /> +And many a hanging crag. But, to the east,<br /> +Sheer to the vale go down the bare old cliffs,—<br /> +Huge pillars, that in middle heaven upbear<br /> +Their weather-beaten capitals, here dark<span class="page"><a name="page66" id="page66">[Page 66]</a></span><br /> +With the thick moss of centuries, and there<br /> +Of chalky whiteness where the thunderbolt<br /> +Has splintered them. It is a fearful thing<br /> +To stand upon the beetling verge, and see<br /> +Where storm and lightning, from that huge gray wall,<br /> +Have tumbled down vast blocks, and at the base<br /> +Dashed them in fragments, and to lay thine ear<br /> +Over the dizzy depth, and hear the sound<br /> +Of winds, that struggle with the woods below,<br /> +Come up like ocean murmurs. But the scene<br /> +Is lovely round; a beautiful river there<br /> +Wanders amid the fresh and fertile meads,<br /> +The paradise he made unto himself,<br /> +Mining the soil for ages. On each side<br /> +The fields swell upward to the hills; beyond,<br /> +Above the hills, in the blue distance, rise<br /> +The mighty columns with which earth props heaven.<br /><br /> + + There is a tale about these reverend rocks,<br /> +A sad tradition of unhappy love,<br /> +And sorrows borne and ended, long ago,<br /> +When over these fair vales the savage sought<br /> +His game in the thick woods. There was a maid,<br /> +The fairest of the Indian maids, bright-eyed,<br /> +With wealth of raven tresses, a light form,<br /> +And a gay heart. About her cabin-door<br /> +The wide old woods resounded with her song<br /> +And fairy laughter all the summer day.<br /> +She loved her cousin; such a love was deemed,<br /> +By the morality of those stern tribes,<br /> +Incestuous, and she struggled hard and long<br /> +Against her love, and reasoned with her heart,<br /> +As simple Indian maiden might. In vain.<br /> +Then her eye lost its lustre, and her step<br /> +Its lightness, and the gray-haired men that passed<br /> +Her dwelling, wondered that they heard no more<br /> +The accustomed song and laugh of her, whose looks<span class="page"><a name="page67" id="page67">[Page 67]</a></span><br /> +Were like the cheerful smile of Spring, they said,<br /> +Upon the Winter of their age. She went<br /> +To weep where no eye saw, and was not found<br /> +When all the merry girls were met to dance,<br /> +And all the hunters of the tribe were out;<br /> +Nor when they gathered from the rustling husk<br /> +The shining ear; nor when, by the river's side,<br /> +Thay pulled the grape and startled the wild shades<br /> +With sounds of mirth. The keen-eyed Indian dames<br /> +Would whisper to each other, as they saw<br /> +Her wasting form, and say <i>the girl will die</i>.<br /><br /> + + One day into the bosom of a friend,<br /> +A playmate of her young and innocent years,<br /> +She poured her griefs. "Thou know'st, and thou alone,"<br /> +She said, "for I have told thee, all my love,<br /> +And guilt, and sorrow. I am sick of life.<br /> +All night I weep in darkness, and the morn<br /> +Glares on me, as upon a thing accursed,<br /> +That has no business on the earth. I hate<br /> +The pastimes and the pleasant toils that once<br /> +I loved; the cheerful voices of my friends<br /> +Have an unnatural horror in mine ear.<br /> +In dreams my mother, from the land of souls,<br /> +Calls me and chides me. All that look on me<br /> +Do seem to know my shame; I cannot bear<br /> +Their eyes; I cannot from my heart root out<br /> +The love that wrings it so, and I must die."<br /><br /> + + It was a summer morning, and they went<br /> +To this old precipice. About the cliffs<br /> +Lay garlands, ears of maize, and shaggy skins<br /> +Of wolf and bear, the offerings of the tribe<br /> +Here made to the Great Spirit, for they deemed,<br /> +Like worshippers of the elder time, that God<br /> +Doth walk on the high places and affect<span class="page"><a name="page68" id="page68">[Page 68]</a></span><br /> +The earth-o'erlooking mountains. She had on<br /> +The ornaments with which her father loved<br /> +To deck the beauty of his bright-eyed girl,<br /> +And bade her wear when stranger warriors came<br /> +To be his guests. Here the friends sat them down,<br /> +And sang, all day, old songs of love and death,<br /> +And decked the poor wan victim's hair with flowers,<br /> +And prayed that safe and swift might be her way<br /> +To the calm world of sunshine, where no grief<br /> +Makes the heart heavy and the eyelids red.<br /> +Beautiful lay the region of her tribe<br /> +Below her—waters resting in the embrace<br /> +Of the wide forest, and maize-planted glades<br /> +Opening amid the leafy wilderness.<br /> +She gazed upon it long, and at the sight<br /> +Of her own village peeping through the trees,<br /> +And her own dwelling, and the cabin roof<br /> +Of him she loved with an unlawful love,<br /> +And came to die for, a warm gush of tears<br /> +Ran from her eyes. But when the sun grew low<br /> +And the hill shadows long, she threw herself<br /> +From the steep rock and perished. There was scooped<br /> +Upon the mountain's southern slope, a grave;<br /> +And there they laid her, in the very garb<br /> +With which the maiden decked herself for death,<br /> +With the same withering wild flowers in her hair.<br /> +And o'er the mould that covered her, the tribe<br /> +Built up a simple monument, a cone<br /> +Of small loose stones. Thenceforward all who passed,<br /> +Hunter, and dame, and virgin, laid a stone<br /> +In silence on the pile. It stands there yet.<br /> +And Indians from the distant West, who come<br /> +To visit where their fathers' bones are laid,<br /> +Yet tell the sorrowful tale, and to this day<br /> +The mountain where the hapless maiden died<br /> +Is called the Mountain of the Monument.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page69" id="page69">[Page 69]</a></span> +<h3>AFTER A TEMPEST.</h3> +<p class="indent1"> + The day had been a day of wind and storm;—<br /> + The wind was laid, the storm was overpast,—<br /> + And stooping from the zenith bright and warm<br /> + Shone the great sun on the wide earth at last.<br /> + I stood upon the upland slope, and cast<br /> + My eye upon a broad and beauteous scene,<br /> + Where the vast plain lay girt by mountains vast,<br /> + And hills o'er hills lifted their heads of green,<br /> +<span class="outdent1">With pleasant vales scooped out and villages between.</span><br /><br /> + + The rain-drops glistened on the trees around,<br /> + Whose shadows on the tall grass were not stirred,<br /> + Save when a shower of diamonds, to the ground,<br /> + Was shaken by the flight of startled bird;<br /> + For birds were warbling round, and bees were heard<br /> + About the flowers; the cheerful rivulet sung<br /> + And gossiped, as he hastened ocean-ward;<br /> + To the gray oak the squirrel, chiding, clung,<br /> +<span class="outdent1">And chirping from the ground the grasshopper upsprung.</span><br /> + + And from beneath the leaves that kept them dry<br /> + Flew many a glittering insect here and there,<br /> + And darted up and down the butterfly,<br /> + That seemed a living blossom of the air.<br /> + The flocks came scattering from the thicket, where<br /> + The violent rain had pent them; in the way<br /> + Strolled groups of damsels frolicksome and fair;<br /> + The farmer swung the scythe or turned the hay,<br /> +<span class="outdent1">And 'twixt the heavy swaths his children were at play.</span><br /><br /> + + It was a scene of peace—and, like a spell,<span class="page"><a name="page70" id="page70">[Page 70]</a></span><br /> + Did that serene and golden sunlight fall<br /> + Upon the motionless wood that clothed the fell,<br /> + And precipice upspringing like a wall,<br /> + And glassy river and white waterfall,<br /> + And happy living things that trod the bright<br /> + And beauteous scene; while far beyond them all,<br /> + On many a lovely valley, out of sight,<br /> +<span class="outdent1">Was poured from the blue heavens the same soft golden light.</span><br /><br /> + + I looked, and thought the quiet of the scene<br /> + An emblem of the peace that yet shall be,<br /> + When o'er earth's continents, and isles between,<br /> + The noise of war shall cease from sea to sea,<br /> + And married nations dwell in harmony;<br /> + When millions, crouching in the dust to one,<br /> + No more shall beg their lives on bended knee,<br /> + Nor the black stake be dressed, nor in the sun<br /> +<span class="outdent1">The o'erlaboured captive toil, and wish his life were done.</span><br /><br /> + + Too long, at clash of arms amid her bowers<br /> + And pools of blood, the earth has stood aghast,<br /> + The fair earth, that should only blush with flowers<br /> + And ruddy fruits; but not for aye can last<br /> + The storm, and sweet the sunshine when 'tis past.<br /> + Lo, the clouds roll away—they break—they fly,<br /> + And, like the glorious light of summer, cast<br /> + O'er the wide landscape from the embracing sky,<br /> +<span class="outdent1">On all the peaceful world the smile of heaven shall lie.</span></p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page71" id="page71">[Page 71]</a></span> +<h3>AUTUMN WOODS.</h3> +<p class="indent2"> + Ere, in the northern gale,<br /> +The summer tresses of the trees are gone,<br /> +The woods of Autumn, all around our vale,<br /> + Have put their glory on.<br /><br /> + + The mountains that infold,<br /> +In their wide sweep, the coloured landscape round,<br /> +Seem groups of giant kings, in purple and gold,<br /> + That guard the enchanted ground.<br /><br /> + + I roam the woods that crown<br /> +The upland, where the mingled splendours glow,<br /> +Where the gay company of trees look down<br /> + On the green fields below.<br /><br /> + + My steps are not alone<br /> +In these bright walks; the sweet south-west, at play,<br /> +Flies, rustling, where the painted leaves are strown<br /> + Along the winding way.<br /><br /> + + And far in heaven, the while,<br /> +The sun, that sends that gale to wander here,<br /> +Pours out on the fair earth his quiet smile,—<br /> + The sweetest of the year.<br /><br /> + + Where now the solemn shade,<br /> +Verdure and gloom where many branches meet;<br /> +So grateful, when the noon of summer made<br /> + The valleys sick with heat?<br /><br /> + + Let in through all the trees<span class="page"><a name="page72" id="page72">[Page 72]</a></span><br /> +Come the strange rays; the forest depths are bright?<br /> +Their sunny-coloured foliage, in the breeze,<br /> + Twinkles, like beams of light.<br /><br /> + + The rivulet, late unseen,<br /> +Where bickering through the shrubs its waters run,<br /> +Shines with the image of its golden screen,<br /> + And glimmerings of the sun.<br /><br /> + + But 'neath yon crimson tree,<br /> +Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame,<br /> +Nor mark, within its roseate canopy,<br /> + Her blush of maiden shame.<br /><br /> + + Oh, Autumn! why so soon<br /> +Depart the hues that make thy forests glad;<br /> +Thy gentle wind and thy fair sunny noon,<br /> + And leave thee wild and sad!<br /><br /> + + Ah! 'twere a lot too blessed<br /> +For ever in thy coloured shades to stray;<br /> +Amid the kisses of the soft south-west<br /> + To rove and dream for aye;<br /><br /> + + And leave the vain low strife<br /> +That makes men mad—the tug for wealth and power,<br /> +The passions and the cares that wither life,<br /> + And waste its little hour.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page73" id="page73">[Page 73]</a></span> +<h3>MUTATION.</h3> + +<h4>A SONNET.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> +They talk of short-lived pleasure—be it so—<br /> + Pain dies as quickly: stern, hard-featured pain<br /> +Expires, and lets her weary prisoner go.<br /> + The fiercest agonies have shortest reign;<br /> + And after dreams of horror, comes again<br /> +The welcome morning with its rays of peace;<br /> + Oblivion, softly wiping out the stain,<br /> +Makes the strong secret pangs of shame to cease:<br /> +Remorse is virtue's root; its fair increase<br /> + Are fruits of innocence and blessedness:<br /> +Thus joy, o'erborne and bound, doth still release<br /> + His young limbs from the chains that round him press.<br /> +Weep not that the world changes—did it keep<br /> +A stable, changeless state, 'twere cause indeed to weep.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page74" id="page74">[Page 74]</a></span> +<h3>NOVEMBER.</h3> + +<h4>A SONNET.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> +Yet one smile more, departing, distant sun!<br /> + One mellow smile through the soft vapoury air,<br /> +Ere, o'er the frozen earth, the loud winds run,<br /> + Or snows are sifted o'er the meadows bare.<br /> +One smile on the brown hills and naked trees,<br /> + And the dark rocks whose summer wreaths are cast,<br /> +And the blue gentian flower, that, in the breeze,<br /> + Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last.<br /> +Yet a few sunny days, in which the bee<br /> + Shall murmur by the hedge that skirts the way,<br /> +The cricket chirp upon the russet lea,<br /> + And man delight to linger in thy ray.<br /> +Yet one rich smile, and we will try to bear<br /> +The piercing winter frost, and winds, and darkened air.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page75" id="page75">[Page 75]</a></span> +<h3>SONG OF THE GREEK AMAZON.</h3> +<p class="indent3"> +I buckle to my slender side<br /> + The pistol and the scimitar,<br /> +And in my maiden flower and pride<br /> + Am come to share the tasks of war.<br /> +And yonder stands my fiery steed,<br /> + That paws the ground and neighs to go,<br /> +My charger of the Arab breed,—<br /> + I took him from the routed foe.<br /><br /> + +My mirror is the mountain spring,<br /> + At which I dress my ruffled hair;<br /> +My dimmed and dusty arms I bring,<br /> + And wash away the blood-stain there.<br /> +Why should I guard from wind and sun<br /> + This cheek, whose virgin rose is fled?<br /> +It was for one—oh, only one—<br /> + I kept its bloom, and he is dead.<br /><br /> + +But they who slew him—unaware<br /> + Of coward murderers lurking nigh—<br /> +And left him to the fowls of air,<br /> + Are yet alive—and they must die.<br /> +They slew him—and my virgin years<span class="page"><a name="page76" id="page76">[Page 76]</a></span><br /> + Are vowed to Greece and vengeance now,<br /> +And many an Othman dame, in tears,<br /> + Shall rue the Grecian maiden's vow.<br /><br /> + +I touched the lute in better days,<br /> + I led in dance the joyous band;<br /> +Ah! they may move to mirthful lays<br /> + Whose hands can touch a lover's hand.<br /> +The march of hosts that haste to meet<br /> + Seems gayer than the dance to me;<br /> +The lute's sweet tones are not so sweet<br /> + As the fierce shout of victory.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page77" id="page77">[Page 77]</a></span> +<h3>TO A CLOUD.</h3> +<p class="indent1"> +Beautiful cloud! with folds so soft and fair,<br /> + Swimming in the pure quiet air!<br /> +Thy fleeces bathed in sunlight, while below<br /> + Thy shadow o'er the vale moves slow;<br /> +Where, midst their labour, pause the reaper train<br /> + As cool it comes along the grain.<br /> +Beautiful cloud! I would I were with thee<br /> + In thy calm way o'er land and sea:<br /> +To rest on thy unrolling skirts, and look<br /> + On Earth as on an open book;<br /> +On streams that tie her realms with silver bands,<br /> + And the long ways that seem her lands;<br /> +And hear her humming cities, and the sound<br /> + Of the great ocean breaking round.<br /> +Ay—I would sail upon thy air-borne car<br /> + To blooming regions distant far,<br /> +To where the sun of Andalusia shines<br /> + On his own olive-groves and vines,<br /> +Or the soft lights of Italy's bright sky<br /> + In smiles upon her ruins lie.<br /> +But I would woo the winds to let us rest<br /> + O'er Greece long fettered and oppressed,<br /> +Whose sons at length have heard the call that comes<br /> + From the old battle-fields and tombs,<br /> +And risen, and drawn the sword, and on the foe<span class="page"><a name="page78" id="page78">[Page 78]</a></span><br /> + Have dealt the swift and desperate blow,<br /> +And the Othman power is cloven, and the stroke<br /> + Has touched its chains, and they are broke.<br /> +Ay, we would linger till the sunset there<br /> + Should come, to purple all the air,<br /> +And thou reflect upon the sacred ground<br /> + The ruddy radiance streaming round.<br /><br /> + +Bright meteor! for the summer noontide made!<br /> + Thy peerless beauty yet shall fade.<br /> +The sun, that fills with light each glistening fold,<br /> + Shall set, and leave thee dark and cold:<br /> +The blast shall rend thy skirts, or thou mayst frown<br /> + In the dark heaven when storms come down;<br /> +And weep in rain, till man's inquiring eye<br /> + Miss thee, for ever, from the sky.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page79" id="page79">[Page 79]</a></span> +<h3>THE MURDERED TRAVELLER.<a href="#n79">°</a></h3> +<p class="indent2"> +When spring, to woods and wastes around,<br /> + Brought bloom and joy again,<br /> +The murdered traveller's bones were found,<br /> + Far down a narrow glen.<br /><br /> + +The fragrant birch, above him, hung<br /> + Her tassels in the sky;<br /> +And many a vernal blossom sprung,<br /> + And nodded careless by.<br /><br /> + +The red-bird warbled, as he wrought<br /> + His hanging nest o'erhead,<br /> +And fearless, near the fatal spot,<br /> + Her young the partridge led.<br /><br /> + +But there was weeping far away,<br /> + And gentle eyes, for him,<br /> +With watching many an anxious day,<br /> + Were sorrowful and dim.<br /><br /> + +They little knew, who loved him so,<span class="page"><a name="page80" id="page80">[Page 80]</a></span><br /> + The fearful death he met,<br /> +When shouting o'er the desert snow,<br /> + Unarmed, and hard beset;—<br /><br /> + +Nor how, when round the frosty pole<br /> + The northern dawn was red,<br /> +The mountain wolf and wild-cat stole<br /> + To banquet on the dead;—<br /><br /> + +Nor how, when strangers found his bones,<br /> + They dressed the hasty bier,<br /> +And marked his grave with nameless stones,<br /> + Unmoistened by a tear.<br /><br /> + +But long they looked, and feared, and wept,<br /> + Within his distant home;<br /> +And dreamed, and started as they slept,<br /> + For joy that he was come.<br /><br /> + +Long, long they looked—but never spied<br /> + His welcome step again,<br /> +Nor knew the fearful death he died<br /> + Far down that narrow glen.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page81" id="page81">[Page 81]</a></span> +<h3>HYMN TO THE NORTH STAR.</h3> +<p class="indent1"> + The sad and solemn night<br /> + Hath yet her multitude of cheerful fires;<br /> + The glorious host of light<br /> + Walk the dark hemisphere till she retires;<br /> + All through her silent watches, gliding slow,<br /> +Her constellations come, and climb the heavens, and go.<br /><br /> + + Day, too, hath many a star<br /> + To grace his gorgeous reign, as bright as they:<br /> + Through the blue fields afar,<br /> + Unseen, they follow in his flaming way:<br /> + Many a bright lingerer, as the eve grows dim,<br /> +Tells what a radiant troop arose and set with him.<br /><br /> + + And thou dost see them rise,<br /> + Star of the Pole! and thou dost see them set.<br /> + Alone, in thy cold skies,<br /> + Thou keep'st thy old unmoving station yet,<br /> + Nor join'st the dances of that glittering train,<br /> +Nor dipp'st thy virgin orb in the blue western main.<br /><br /> + + There, at morn's rosy birth,<span class="page"><a name="page82" id="page82">[Page 82]</a></span><br /> + Thou lookest meekly through the kindling air,<br /> + And eve, that round the earth<br /> + Chases the day, beholds thee watching there;<br /> + There noontide finds thee, and the hour that calls<br /> +The shapes of polar flame to scale heaven's azure walls.<br /><br /> + + Alike, beneath thine eye,<br /> + The deeds of darkness and of light are done;<br /> + High towards the star-lit sky<br /> + Towns blaze—the smoke of battle blots the sun—<br /> + The night-storm on a thousand hills is loud—<br /> +And the strong wind of day doth mingle sea and cloud.<br /><br /> + + On thy unaltering blaze<br /> + The half-wrecked mariner, his compass lost,<br /> + Fixes his steady gaze,<br /> + And steers, undoubting, to the friendly coast;<br /> + And they who stray in perilous wastes, by night,<br /> +Are glad when thou dost shine to guide their footsteps right.<br /><br /> + + And, therefore, bards of old,<br /> + Sages, and hermits of the solemn wood,<br /> + Did in thy beams behold<br /> + A beauteous type of that unchanging good,<br /> + That bright eternal beacon, by whose ray<br /> +The voyager of time should shape his heedful way.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page83" id="page83">[Page 83]</a></span> +<h3>THE LAPSE OF TIME.</h3> +<p class="indent2"> +Lament who will, in fruitless tears,<br /> + The speed with which our moments fly;<br /> +I sigh not over vanished years,<br /> + But watch the years that hasten by.<br /><br /> + +Look, how they come,—a mingled crowd<br /> + Of bright and dark, but rapid days;<br /> +Beneath them, like a summer cloud,<br /> + The wide world changes as I gaze.<br /><br /> + +What! grieve that time has brought so soon<br /> + The sober age of manhood on!<br /> +As idly might I weep, at noon,<br /> + To see the blush of morning gone.<br /><br /> + +Could I give up the hopes that glow<br /> + In prospect like Elysian isles;<br /> +And let the cheerful future go,<br /> + With all her promises and smiles?<br /><br /> + +The future!—cruel were the power<br /> + Whose doom would tear thee from my heart.<br /> +Thou sweetener of the present hour!<br /> + We cannot—no—we will not part.<br /><br /> + +Oh, leave me, still, the rapid flight<br /> + That makes the changing seasons gay,<br /> +The grateful speed that brings the night,<br /> + The swift and glad return of day;<br /><br /> + +The months that touch, with added grace,<span class="page"><a name="page84" id="page84">[Page 84]</a></span><br /> + This little prattler at my knee,<br /> +In whose arch eye and speaking face<br /> + New meaning every hour I see;<br /><br /> + +The years, that o'er each sister land<br /> + Shall lift the country of my birth,<br /> +And nurse her strength, till she shall stand<br /> + The pride and pattern of the earth:<br /><br /> + +Till younger commonwealths, for aid,<br /> + Shall cling about her ample robe,<br /> +And from her frown shall shrink afraid<br /> + The crowned oppressors of the globe.<br /><br /> + +True—time will seam and blanch my brow—<br /> + Well—I shall sit with aged men,<br /> +And my good glass will tell me how<br /> + A grizzly beard becomes me then.<br /><br /> + +And then should no dishonour lie<br /> + Upon my head, when I am gray,<br /> +Love yet shall watch my fading eye,<br /> + And smooth the path of my decay.<br /><br /> + +Then haste thee, Time—'tis kindness all<br /> + That speeds thy winged feet so fast:<br /> +Thy pleasures stay not till they pall,<br /> + And all thy pains are quickly past.<br /><br /> + +Thou fliest and bear'st away our woes,<br /> + And as thy shadowy train depart,<br /> +The memory of sorrow grows<br /> + A lighter burden on the heart.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page85" id="page85">[Page 85]</a></span> +<h3>SONG OF THE STARS.</h3> +<p class="indent1"> +When the radiant morn of creation broke,<br /> +And the world in the smile of God awoke,<br /> +And the empty realms of darkness and death<br /> +Were moved through their depths by his mighty breath,<br /> +And orbs of beauty and spheres of flame<br /> +From the void abyss by myriads came,—<br /> +In the joy of youth as they darted away,<br /> +Through the widening wastes of space to play,<br /> +Their silver voices in chorus rang,<br /> +And this was the song the bright ones sang:<br /><br /> + +"Away, away, through the wide, wide sky,<br /> +The fair blue fields that before us lie,—<br /> +Each sun with the worlds that round him roll,<br /> +Each planet, poised on her turning pole;<br /> +With her isles of green, and her clouds of white,<br /> +And her waters that lie like fluid light.<br /><br /> + +"For the source of glory uncovers his face,<br /> +And the brightness o'erflows unbounded space;<br /> +And we drink as we go the luminous tides<br /> +In our ruddy air and our blooming sides:<br /> +Lo, yonder the living splendours play;<br /> +Away, on our joyous path, away!<br /><br /> + +"Look, look, through our glittering ranks afar,<span class="page"><a name="page86" id="page86">[Page 86]</a></span><br /> +In the infinite azure, star after star,<br /> +How they brighten and bloom as they swiftly pass!<br /> +How the verdure runs o'er each rolling mass!<br /> +And the path of the gentle winds is seen,<br /> +Where the small waves dance, and the young woods lean.<br /><br /> + +"And see where the brighter day-beams pour,<br /> +How the rainbows hang in the sunny shower;<br /> +And the morn and eve, with their pomp of hues,<br /> +Shift o'er the bright planets and shed their dews;<br /> +And 'twixt them both, o'er the teeming ground,<br /> +With her shadowy cone the night goes round!<br /><br /> + +"Away, away! in our blossoming bowers,<br /> +In the soft air wrapping these spheres of ours,<br /> +In the seas and fountains that shine with morn,<br /> +See, Love is brooding, and Life is born,<br /> +And breathing myriads are breaking from night,<br /> +To rejoice, like us, in motion and light.<br /><br /> + +"Glide on in your beauty, ye youthful spheres,<br /> +To weave the dance that measures the years;<br /> +Glide on, in the glory and gladness sent,<br /> +To the farthest wall of the firmament,—<br /> +The boundless visible smile of Him,<br /> +To the veil of whose brow your lamps are dim."</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page87" id="page87">[Page 87]</a></span> +<h3>A FOREST HYMN.</h3> +<p class="indent1"> + The groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned<br /> +To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave,<br /> +And spread the roof above them,—ere he framed<br /> +The lofty vault, to gather and roll back<br /> +The sound of anthems; in the darkling wood,<br /> +Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down,<br /> +And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks<br /> +And supplication. For his simple heart<br /> +Might not resist the sacred influences<br /> +Which, from the stilly twilight of the place,<br /> +And from the gray old trunks that high in heaven<br /> +Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the sound<br /> +Of the invisible breath that swayed at once<br /> +All their green tops, stole over him, and bowed<br /> +His spirit with the thought of boundless power<br /> +And inaccessible majesty. Ah, why<br /> +Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect<br /> +God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore<br /> +Only among the crowd, and under roofs<br /> +That our frail hands have raised? Let me, at least,<br /> +Here, in the shadow of this aged wood,<br /> +Offer one hymn—thrice happy, if it find<br /> +Acceptance in His ear.<br /><br /> + + + +Father, thy hand<span class="page"><a name="page88" id="page88">[Page 88]</a></span><br /> +Hath reared these venerable columns, thou<br /> +Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down<br /> +Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose<br /> +All these fair ranks of trees. They, in thy sun,<br /> +Budded, and shook their green leaves in thy breeze,<br /> +And shot towards heaven. The century-living crow,<br /> +Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died<br /> +Among their branches, till, at last, they stood,<br /> +As now they stand, massy, and tall, and dark,<br /> +Fit shrine for humble worshipper to hold<br /> +Communion with his Maker. These dim vaults,<br /> +These winding aisles, of human pomp or pride<br /> +Report not. No fantasting carvings show<br /> +The boast of our vain race to change the form<br /> +Of thy fair works. But thou art here—thou fill'st<br /> +The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds<br /> +That run along the summit of these trees<br /> +In music;—thou art in the cooler breath<br /> +That from the inmost darkness of the place<br /> +Comes, scarcely felt; the barky trunks, the ground,<br /> +The fresh moist ground, are all instinct with thee.<br /> +Here is continual worship;—nature, here,<br /> +In the tranquillity that thou dost love,<br /> +Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly, around,<br /> +From perch to perch, the solitary bird<br /> +Passes: and yon clear spring, that, midst its herbs,<br /> +Wells softly forth and visits the strong roots<br /> +Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale<br /> +Of all the good it does. Thou hast not left<br /> +Thyself without a witness, in these shades,<br /> +Of thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, and grace<br /> +Are here to speak of thee. This mighty oak—<br /> +By whose immovable stem I stand and seem<br /> +Almost annihilated—not a prince,<br /> +In all that proud old world beyond the deep,<br /> +Ere wore his crown as loftily as he<br /> +Wears the green coronal of leaves with which<br /> +Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his root<span class="page"><a name="page89" id="page89">[Page 89]</a></span><br /> +Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare<br /> +Of the broad sun. That delicate forest flower<br /> +With scented breath, and look so like a smile,<br /> +Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mould,<br /> +An emanation of the indwelling Life,<br /> +A visible token of the upholding Love,<br /> +That are the soul of this wide universe.<br /><br /> + + My heart is awed within me when I think<br /> +Of the great miracle that still goes on,<br /> +In silence, round me—the perpetual work<br /> +Of thy creation, finished, yet renewed<br /> +For ever. Written on thy works I read<br /> +The lesson of thy own eternity.<br /> +Lo! all grow old and die—but see again,<br /> +How on the faltering footsteps of decay<br /> +Youth presses—ever gay and beautiful youth<br /> +In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees<br /> +Wave not less proudly that their ancestors<br /> +Moulder beneath them. Oh, there is not lost<br /> +One of earth's charms: upon her bosom yet,<br /> +After the flight of untold centuries,<br /> +The freshness of her far beginning lies<br /> +And yet shall lie. Life mocks the idle hate<br /> +Of his arch enemy Death—yea, seats himself<br /> +Upon the tyrant's throne—the sepulchre,<br /> +And of the triumphs of his ghastly foe<br /> +Makes his own nourishment. For he came forth<br /> +From thine own bosom, and shall have no end.<br /><br /> + + There have been holy men who hid themselves<br /> +Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave<br /> +Their lives to thought and prayer, till they outlived<br /> +The generation born with them, nor seemed<br /> +Less aged than the hoary trees and rocks<br /> +Around them;—and there have been holy men<br /> +Who deemed it were not well to pass life thus.<span class="page"><a name="page90" id="page90">[Page 90]</a></span><br /> +But let me often to these solitudes<br /> +Retire, and in thy presence reassure<br /> +My feeble virtue. Here its enemies,<br /> +The passions, at thy plainer footsteps shrink<br /> +And tremble and are still. Oh, God! when thou<br /> +Dost scare the world with tempests, set on fire<br /> +The heavens with falling thunderbolts, or fill,<br /> +With all the waters of the firmament,<br /> +The swift dark whirlwind that uproots the woods<br /> +And drowns the villages; when, at thy call,<br /> +Uprises the great deep and throws himself<br /> +Upon the continent, and overwhelms<br /> +Its cities—who forgets not, at the sight<br /> +Of these tremendous tokens of thy power,<br /> +His pride, and lays his strifes and follies by?<br /> +Oh, from these sterner aspects of thy face<br /> +Spare me and mine, nor let us need the wrath<br /> +Of the mad unchained elements to teach<br /> +Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate<br /> +In these calm shades thy milder majesty,<br /> +And to the beautiful order of thy works<br /> +Learn to conform the order of our lives.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page91" id="page91">[Page 91]</a></span> +<h3>"OH FAIREST OF THE RURAL MAIDS."</h3> +<p class="indent3"> +Oh fairest of the rural maids!<br /> +Thy birth was in the forest shades;<br /> +Green boughs, and glimpses of the sky,<br /> +Were all that met thy infant eye.<br /><br /> + +Thy sports, thy wanderings, when a child,<br /> +Were ever in the sylvan wild;<br /> +And all the beauty of the place<br /> +Is in thy heart and on thy face.<br /><br /> + +The twilight of the trees and rocks<br /> +Is in the light shade of thy locks;<br /> +Thy step is as the wind, that weaves<br /> +Its playful way among the leaves.<br /><br /> + +Thine eyes are springs, in whose serene<br /> +And silent waters heaven is seen;<br /> +Their lashes are the herbs that look<br /> +On their young figures in the brook.<br /><br /> + +The forest depths, by foot unpressed,<br /> +Are not more sinless than thy breast;<br /> +The holy peace, that fills the air<br /> +Of those calm solitudes, is there.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page92" id="page92">[Page 92]</a></span> +<h3>"I BROKE THE SPELL THAT HELD ME LONG."</h3> +<p class="indent2"> +I broke the spell that held me long,<br /> +The dear, dear witchery of song.<br /> +I said, the poet's idle lore<br /> +Shall waste my prime of years no more,<br /> +For Poetry, though heavenly born,<br /> +Consorts with poverty and scorn.<br /><br /> + +I broke the spell—nor deemed its power<br /> +Could fetter me another hour.<br /> +Ah, thoughtless! how could I forget<br /> +Its causes were around me yet?<br /> +For wheresoe'er I looked, the while,<br /> +Was nature's everlasting smile.<br /><br /> + +Still came and lingered on my sight<br /> +Of flowers and streams the bloom and light,<br /> +And glory of the stars and sun;—<br /> +And these and poetry are one.<br /> +They, ere the world had held me long,<br /> +Recalled me to the love of song.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page93" id="page93">[Page 93]</a></span> +<h3>JUNE.</h3> +<p class="indent2"> +I gazed upon the glorious sky<br /> + And the green mountains round,<br /> +And thought that when I came to lie<br /> + Within the silent ground,<br /> +'Twere pleasant, that in flowery June,<br /> +When brooks send up a cheerful tune,<br /> + And groves a joyous sound,<br /> +The sexton's hand, my grave to make,<br /> +The rich, green mountain turf should break.<br /><br /> + +A cell within the frozen mould,<br /> + A coffin borne through sleet,<br /> +And icy clods above it rolled,<br /> + While fierce the tempests beat—<br /> +Away!—I will not think of these—<br /> +Blue be the sky and soft the breeze,<br /> + Earth green beneath the feet,<br /> +And be the damp mould gently pressed<br /> +Into my narrow place of rest.<br /><br /> + +There through the long, long summer hours,<br /> + The golden light should lie,<br /> +And thick young herbs and groups of flowers<br /> + Stand in their beauty by.<br /> +The oriole should build and tell<br /> +His love-tale close beside my cell;<br /> + The idle butterfly<br /> +Should rest him there, and there be heard<br /> +The housewife bee and humming-bird.<br /><br /> + +And what if cheerful shouts at noon<span class="page"><a name="page94" id="page94">[Page 94]</a></span><br /> + Come, from the village sent,<br /> +Or songs of maids, beneath the moon<br /> + With fairy laughter blent?<br /> +And what if, in the evening light,<br /> +Betrothed lovers walk in sight<br /> + Of my low monument?<br /> +I would the lovely scene around<br /> +Might know no sadder sight nor sound.<br /><br /> + +I know, I know I should not see<br /> + The season's glorious show,<br /> +Nor would its brightness shine for me,<br /> + Nor its wild music flow;<br /> +But if, around my place of sleep,<br /> +The friends I love should come to weep,<br /> + They might not haste to go.<br /> +Soft airs, and song, and light, and bloom,<br /> +Should keep them lingering by my tomb.<br /><br /> + +These to their softened hearts should bear<br /> + The thought of what has been,<br /> +And speak of one who cannot share<br /> + The gladness of the scene;<br /> +Whose part, in all the pomp that fills<br /> +The circuit of the summer hills,<br /> + Is—that his grave is green;<br /> +And deeply would their hearts rejoice<br /> +To hear again his living voice.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page95" id="page95">[Page 95]</a></span> +<h3>A SONG OF PITCAIRN'S ISLAND.</h3> +<p class="indent2"> +Come take our boy, and we will go<br /> + Before our cabin door;<br /> +The winds shall bring us, as they blow,<br /> + The murmurs of the shore;<br /> +And we will kiss his young blue eyes,<br /> +And I will sing him, as he lies,<br /> + Songs that were made of yore:<br /> +I'll sing, in his delighted ear,<br /> +The island lays thou lov'st to hear.<br /><br /> + +And thou, while stammering I repeat,<br /> + Thy country's tongue shalt teach;<br /> +'Tis not so soft, but far more sweet<br /> + Than my own native speech:<br /> +For thou no other tongue didst know,<br /> +When, scarcely twenty moons ago,<br /> + Upon Tahete's beach,<br /> +Thou cam'st to woo me to be thine,<br /> +With many a speaking look and sign.<br /><br /> + +I knew thy meaning—thou didst praise<br /> + My eyes, my locks of jet;<br /> +Ah! well for me they won thy gaze,—<br /> + But thine were fairer yet!<br /> +I'm glad to see my infant wear<br /> +Thy soft blue eyes and sunny hair,<br /> + And when my sight is met<br /> +By his white brow and blooming cheek,<br /> +I feel a joy I cannot speak.<br /><br /> + +Come talk of Europe's maids with me,<span class="page"><a name="page96" id="page96">[Page 96]</a></span><br /> + Whose necks and cheeks, they tell,<br /> +Outshine the beauty of the sea,<br /> + White foam and crimson shell.<br /> +I'll shape like theirs my simple dress,<br /> +And bind like them each jetty tress,<br /> + A sight to please thee well:<br /> +And for my dusky brow will braid<br /> +A bonnet like an English maid.<br /><br /> + +Come, for the low sunlight calls,<br /> + We lose the pleasant hours;<br /> +'Tis lovelier than these cottage walls,—<br /> + That seat among the flowers.<br /> +And I will learn of thee a prayer,<br /> +To Him who gave a home so fair,<br /> + A lot so blest as ours—<br /> +The God who made, for thee and me,<br /> +This sweet lone isle amid the sea.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page97" id="page97">[Page 97]</a></span> +<h3>THE SKIES.</h3> +<p class="indent2"> +Ay! gloriously thou standest there,<br /> + Beautiful, boundles firmament!<br /> +That, swelling wide o'er earth and air,<br /> + And round the horizon bent,<br /> +With thy bright vault, and sapphire wall,<br /> +Dost overhang and circle all.<br /><br /> + +Far, far below thee, tall old trees<br /> + Arise, and piles built up of old,<br /> +And hills, whose ancient summits freeze<br /> + In the fierce light and cold.<br /> +The eagle soars his utmost height,<br /> +Yet far thou stretchest o'er his flight.<br /><br /> + +Thou hast thy frowns—with thee on high<br /> + The storm has made his airy seat,<br /> +Beyond that soft blue curtain lie<br /> + His stores of hail and sleet.<br /> +Thence the consuming lightnings break,<br /> +There the strong hurricanes awake.<br /><br /> + +Yet art thou prodigal of smiles—<br /> + Smiles, sweeter than thy frowns are stern:<br /> +Earth sends, from all her thousand isles,<br /> + A shout at thy return.<br /> +The glory that comes down from thee,<br /> +Bathes, in deep joy, the land and sea.<br /><br /> + +The sun, the gorgeous sun is thine,<span class="page"><a name="page98" id="page98">[Page 98]</a></span><br /> + The pomp that brings and shuts the day,<br /> +The clouds that round him change and shine,<br /> + The airs that fan his way.<br /> +Thence look the thoughtful stars, and there<br /> +The meek moon walks the silent air.<br /><br /> + +The sunny Italy may boast<br /> + The beauteous tints that flush her skies,<br /> +And lovely, round the Grecian coast,<br /> + May thy blue pillars rise.<br /> +I only know how fair they stand<br /> +Around my own beloved land.<br /><br /> + +And they are fair—a charm is theirs,<br /> + That earth, the proud green earth, has not—<br /> +With all the forms, and hues, and airs,<br /> + That haunt her sweetest spot.<br /> +We gaze upon thy calm pure sphere,<br /> +And read of Heaven's eternal year.<br /><br /> + +Oh, when, amid the throng of men,<br /> + The heart grows sick of hollow mirth,<br /> +How willingly we turn us then<br /> + Away from this cold earth,<br /> +And look into thy azure breast,<br /> +For seats of innocence and rest!</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page99" id="page99">[Page 99]</a></span> +<h3>"I CANNOT FORGET WITH WHAT FERVID DEVOTION."</h3> +<p class="indent1"> +I cannot forget with what fervid devotion<br /> + I worshipped the vision of verse and of fame.<br /> +Each gaze at the glories of earth, sky, and ocean,<br /> + To my kindled emotions, was wind over flame.<br /><br /> + +And deep were my musings in life's early blossom,<br /> + Mid the twilight of mountain groves wandering long;<br /> +How thrilled my young veins, and how throbbed my full bosom,<br /> + When o'er me descended the spirit of song.<br /><br /> + +'Mong the deep-cloven fells that for ages had listened<br /> + To the rush of the pebble-paved river between,<br /> +Where the kingfisher screamed and gray precipice glistened,<br /> + All breathless with awe have I gazed on the scene;<br /><br /> + +Till I felt the dark power o'er my reveries stealing,<br /> + From his throne in the depth of that stern solitude,<br /> +And he breathed through my lips, in that tempest of feeling,<br /> + Strains lofty or tender, though artless and rude.<br /><br /> + +Bright visions! I mixed with the world, and ye faded;<br /> + No longer your pure rural worshipper now;<br /> +In the haunts your continual presence pervaded,<br /> + Ye shrink from the signet of care on my brow.<br /><br /> + +In the old mossy groves on the breast of the mountain,<br /> + In deep lonely glens where the waters complain,<br /> +By the shade of the rock, by the gush of the fountain,<br /> + I seek your loved footsteps, but seek them in vain.<br /><br /> + +Oh, leave not, forlorn and for ever forsaken,<br /> + Your pupil and victim to life and its tears!<br /> +But sometimes return, and in mercy awaken<br /> + The glories ye showed to his earlier years.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page100" id="page100">[Page 100]</a></span> +<h3>TO A MUSQUITO.</h3> +<p class="indent1"> +Fair insect! that, with threadlike legs spread out,<br /> + And blood-extracting bill and filmy wing,<br /> +Does murmur, as thou slowly sail'st about,<br /> + In pitiless ears full many a plaintive thing,<br /> +And tell how little our large veins should bleed,<br /> +Would we but yield them to thy bitter need.<br /><br /> + +Unwillingly, I own, and, what is worse,<br /> + Full angrily men hearken to thy plaint;<br /> +Thou gettest many a brush, and many a curse,<br /> + For saying thou art gaunt, and starved, and faint:<br /> +Even the old beggar, while he asks for food,<br /> +Would kill thee, hapless stranger, if he could.<br /><br /> + +I call thee stranger, for the town, I ween,<br /> + Has not the honour of so proud a birth,—<br /> +Thou com'st from Jersey meadows, fresh and green,<br /> + The offspring of the gods, though born on earth;<br /> +For Titan was thy sire, and fair was she,<br /> +The ocean nymph that nursed thy infancy.<br /><br /> + +Beneath the rushes was thy cradle swung,<span class="page"><a name="page101" id="page101">[Page 101]</a></span><br /> + And when, at length, thy gauzy wings grew strong,<br /> +Abroad to gentle airs their folds were flung,<br /> + Rose in the sky and bore thee soft along;<br /> +The south wind breathed to waft thee on thy way,<br /> +And danced and shone beneath the billowy bay.<br /><br /> + +Calm rose afar the city spires, and thence<br /> + Came the deep murmur of its throng of men,<br /> +And as its grateful odours met thy sense,<br /> + They seemed the perfumes of thy native fen.<br /> +Fair lay its crowded streets, and at the sight<br /> +Thy tiny song grew shriller with delight.<br /><br /> + +At length thy pinions fluttered in Broadway—<br /> + Ah, there were fairy steps, and white necks kissed<br /> +By wanton airs, and eyes whose killing ray<br /> + Shone through the snowy veils like stars through mist;<br /> +And fresh as morn, on many a cheek and chin,<br /> +Bloomed the bright blood through the transparent skin.<br /><br /> + +Sure these were sights to touch an anchorite!<br /> + What! do I hear thy slender voice complain?<br /> +Thou wailest, when I talk of beauty's light,<br /> + As if it brought the memory of pain:<br /> +Thou art a wayward being—well—come near,<br /> +And pour thy tale of sorrow in my ear.<br /><br /> + +What sayst thou—slanderer!—rouge makes thee sick?<br /> + And China bloom at best is sorry food?<br /> +And Rowland's Kalydor, if laid on thick,<br /> + Poisons the thirsty wretch that bores for blood?<br /> +Go! 'twas a just reward that met thy crime—<br /> +But shun the sacrilege another time.<br /><br /> + +That bloom was made to look at, not to touch;<span class="page"><a name="page102" id="page102">[Page 102]</a></span><br /> + To worship, not approach, that radiant white;<br /> +And well might sudden vengeance light on such<br /> + As dared, like thee, most impiously to bite.<br /> +Thou shouldst have gazed at distance and admired,<br /> +Murmured thy adoration and retired.<br /><br /> + +Thou'rt welcome to the town—but why come here<br /> + To bleed a brother poet, gaunt like thee?<br /> +Alas! the little blood I have is dear,<br /> + And thin will be the banquet drawn from me.<br /> +Look round—the pale-eyed sisters in my cell,<br /> +Thy old acquaintance, Song and Famine, dwell.<br /><br /> + +Try some plump alderman, and suck the blood<br /> + Enriched by generous wine and costly meat;<br /> +On well-filled skins, sleek as thy native mud,<br /> + Fix thy light pump and press thy freckled feet:<br /> +Go to the men for whom, in ocean's hall,<br /> +The oyster breeds, and the green turtle sprawls.<br /><br /> + +There corks are drawn, and the red vintage flows<br /> + To fill the swelling veins for thee, and now<br /> +The ruddy cheek and now the ruddier nose<br /> + Shall tempt thee, as thou flittest round the brow;<br /> +And when the hour of sleep its quiet brings,<br /> +No angry hand shall rise to brush thy wings.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page103" id="page103">[Page 103]</a></span> +<h3>LINES ON REVISITING THE COUNTRY.</h3> +<p class="indent1"> +I stand upon my native hills again,<br /> + Broad, round, and green, that in the summer sky<br /> +With garniture of waving grass and grain,<br /> + Orchards, and beechen forests, basking lie,<br /> +While deep the sunless glens are scooped between,<br /> +Where brawl o'er shallow beds the streams unseen.<br /><br /> + +A lisping voice and glancing eyes are near,<br /> + And ever restless feet of one, who, now,<br /> +Gathers the blossoms of her fourth bright year;<br /> + There plays a gladness o'er her fair young brow,<br /> +As breaks the varied scene upon her sight,<br /> +Upheaved and spread in verdure and in light.<br /><br /> + +For I have taught her, with delighted eye,<br /> + To gaze upon the mountains,—to behold,<br /> +With deep affection, the pure ample sky,<br /> + And clouds along its blue abysses rolled,—<br /> +To love the song of waters, and to hear<br /> +The melody of winds with charmed ear.<br /><br /> + +Here, I have 'scaped the city's stifling heat,<span class="page"><a name="page104" id="page104">[Page 104]</a></span><br /> + Its horrid sounds, and its polluted air;<br /> +And, where the season's milder fervours beat,<br /> + And gales, that sweep the forest borders, bear<br /> +The song of bird, and sound of running stream,<br /> +Am come awhile to wander and to dream.<br /><br /> + +Ay, flame thy fiercest, sun! thou canst not wake,<br /> + In this pure air, the plague that walks unseen.<br /> +The maize leaf and the maple bough but take,<br /> + From thy strong heats, a deeper, glossier green.<br /> +The mountain wind, that faints not in thy ray,<br /> +Sweeps the blue steams of pestilence away.<br /><br /> + +The mountain wind! most spiritual thing of all<br /> + The wide earth knows; when, in the sultry time,<br /> +He stoops him from his vast cerulean hall,<br /> + He seems the breath of a celestial clime!<br /> +As if from heaven's wide-open gates did flow<br /> +Health and refreshment on the world below.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page105" id="page105">[Page 105]</a></span> +<h3>THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS.</h3> +<p class="indent"> +The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,<br /> +Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sear.<br /> +Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead;<br /> +They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread.<br /> +The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay,<br /> +And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day.<br /><br /> + +Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood<br /> +In brighter light, and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood?<br /> +Alas! they all are in their graves, the gentle race, of flowers<br /> +Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours.<br /> +The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain<br /> +Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again.<br /><br /> + +The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago,<br /> +And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow;<br /> +But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood,<br /> +And the yellow sun-flower by the brook in autumn beauty stood,<br /> +Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague on men,<br /> +And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland, glade, and glen.<br /><br /> + +And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days will come,<span class="page"><a name="page106" id="page106">[Page 106]</a></span><br /> +To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home;<br /> +When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still,<br /> +And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill,<br /> +The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore,<br /> +And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more.<br /><br /> + +And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died,<br /> +The fair meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side:<br /> +In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the forest cast the leaf,<br /> +And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief:<br /> +Yet not unmeet it was that one, like that young friend of ours,<br /> +So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page107" id="page107">[Page 107]</a></span> +<h3>ROMERO.</h3> +<p class="indent2"> +When freedom, from the land of Spain,<br /> + By Spain's degenerate sons was driven,<br /> +Who gave their willing limbs again<br /> + To wear the chain so lately riven;<br /> +Romero broke the sword he wore—<br /> + "Go, faithful brand," the warrior said,<br /> +"Go, undishonoured, never more<br /> + The blood of man shall make thee red:<br /> + I grieve for that already shed;<br /> +And I am sick at heart to know,<br /> +That faithful friend and noble foe<br /> +Have only bled to make more strong<br /> +The yoke that Spain has worn so long.<br /> +Wear it who will, in abject fear—<br /> + I wear it not who have been free;<br /> +The perjured Ferdinand shall hear<br /> + No oath of loyalty from me."<br /> +Then, hunted by the hounds of power,<br /> + Romero chose a safe retreat,<br /> +Where bleak Nevada's summits tower<br /> + Above the beauty at their feet.<br /> +There once, when on his cabin lay<br /> +The crimson light of setting day,<br /> +When even on the mountain's breast<br /> +The chainless winds were all at rest,<br /> +And he could hear the river's flow<br /> +From the calm paradise below;<br /> +Warmed with his former fires again,<br /> +He framed this rude but solemn strain:</p><br /> + +<span class="page"><a name="page108" id="page108">[Page 108]</a></span> +<h4>I.</h4> +<p class="indent"> + "Here will I make my home—for here at least I see,<br /> +Upon this wild Sierra's side, the steps of Liberty;<br /> +Where the locust chirps unscared beneath the unpruned lime,<br /> +And the merry bee doth hide from man the spoil of the mountain thyme;<br /> +Where the pure winds come and go, and the wild vine gads at will,<br /> +An outcast from the haunts of men, she dwells with Nature still.</p><br /> + + +<h4>II.</h4> +<p class="indent"> + "I see the valleys, Spain! where thy mighty rivers run,<br /> +And the hills that lift thy harvests and vineyards to the sun,<br /> +And the flocks that drink thy brooks and sprinkle all the green,<br /> +Where lie thy plains, with sheep-walks seamed, and olive-shades between:<br /> +I see thy fig-trees bask, with the fair pomegranate near,<br /> +And the fragrance of thy lemon-groves can almost reach me here.</p><br /> + + +<h4>III.</h4> +<p class="indent"> + "Fair—fair—but fallen Spain! 'tis with a swelling heart,<br /> +That I think on all thou mightst have been, and look at what thou art;<br /> +But the strife is over now, and all the good and brave,<br /> +That would have raised thee up, are gone, to exile or the grave.<br /> +Thy fleeces are for monks, thy grapes for the convent feast,<br /> +And the wealth of all thy harvest-fields for the pampered lord and priest.</p><br /> + + +<h4>IV.</h4> +<p class="indent"> + "But I shall see the day—it will come before I die—<br /> +I shall see it in my silver hairs, and with an age-dimmed eye;—<br /> +When the spirit of the land to liberty shall bound,<br /> +As yonder fountain leaps away from the darkness of the ground:<br /> +And to my mountain cell, the voices of the free<br /> +Shall rise, as from the beaten shore the thunders of the sea."</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page109" id="page109">[Page 109]</a></span> +<h3>A MEDITATION ON RHODE-ISLAND COAL.</h3> +<p class="indent3a"> +Decolor, obscuris, vilis, non ille repexam<br /> +Cesariem regum, non candida virginis ornat<br /> +Colla, nec insigni splendet per cingula morsu.<br /> +Sed nova si nigri videas miracula saxi,<br /> +Tunc superat pulchros cultus et quicquid Eois<br /> +Indus litoribus rubrâ scrutatur in algâ.</p> +<p class="rindent1">CLAUDIAN.</p><br /> + +<p class="indent1"> +I sat beside the glowing grate, fresh heaped<br /> + With Newport coal, and as the flame grew bright<br /> +—The many-coloured flame—and played and leaped,<br /> + I thought of rainbows and the northern light,<br /> +Moore's Lalla Rookh, the Treasury Report,<br /> +And other brilliant matters of the sort.<br /><br /> + +And last I thought of that fair isle which sent<br /> + The mineral fuel; on a summer day<br /> +I saw it once, with heat and travel spent,<br /> + And scratched by dwarf-oaks in the hollow way;<br /> +Now dragged through sand, now jolted over stone—<br /> +A rugged road through rugged Tiverton.<br /><br /> + +And hotter grew the air, and hollower grew<span class="page"><a name="page110" id="page110">[Page 110]</a></span><br /> + The deep-worn path, and horror-struck, I thought,<br /> +Where will this dreary passage lead me to?<br /> + This long dull road, so narrow, deep, and hot?<br /> +I looked to see it dive in earth outright;<br /> +I looked—but saw a far more welcome sight.<br /><br /> + +Like a soft mist upon the evening shore,<br /> + At once a lovely isle before me lay,<br /> +Smooth and with tender verdure covered o'er,<br /> + As if just risen from its calm inland bay;<br /> +Sloped each way gently to the grassy edge,<br /> +And the small waves that dallied with the sedge.<br /><br /> + +The barley was just reaped—its heavy sheaves<br /> + Lay on the stubble field—the tall maize stood<br /> +Dark in its summer growth, and shook its leaves—<br /> + And bright the sunlight played on the young wood—<br /> +For fifty years ago, the old men say,<br /> +The Briton hewed their ancient groves away.<br /><br /> + +I saw where fountains freshened the green land,<br /> + And where the pleasant road, from door to door,<br /> +With rows of cherry-trees on either hand,<br /> + Went wandering all that fertile region o'er—<br /> +Rogue's Island once—but when the rogues were dead,<br /> +Rhode Island was the name it took instead.<br /><br /> + +Beautiful island! then it only seemed<br /> + A lovely stranger—it has grown a friend.<br /> +I gazed on its smooth slopes, but never dreamed<br /> + How soon that bright magnificent isle would send<br /> +The treasures of its womb across the sea,<br /> +To warm a poet's room and boil his tea.<br /><br /> + +Dark anthracite! that reddenest on my hearth,<span class="page"><a name="page111" id="page111">[Page 111]</a></span><br /> + Thou in those island mines didst slumber long;<br /> +But now thou art come forth to move the earth,<br /> + And put to shame the men that mean thee wrong.<br /> +Thou shalt be coals of fire to those that hate thee,<br /> +And warm the shins of all that underrate thee.<br /><br /> + +Yea, they did wrong thee foully—they who mocked<br /> + Thy honest face, and said thou wouldst not burn;<br /> +Of hewing thee to chimney-pieces talked,<br /> + And grew profane—and swore, in bitter scorn,<br /> +That men might to thy inner caves retire,<br /> +And there, unsinged, abide the day of fire.<br /><br /> + +Yet is thy greatness nigh. I pause to state,<br /> + That I too have seen greatness—even I—<br /> +Shook hands with Adams—stared at La Fayette,<br /> + When, barehead, in the hot noon of July,<br /> +He would not let the umbrella be held o'er him,<br /> +For which three cheers burst from the mob before him.<br /><br /> + +And I have seen—not many months ago—<br /> + An eastern Governor in chapeau bras<br /> +And military coat, a glorious show!<br /> + Ride forth to visit the reviews, and ah!<br /> +How oft he smiled and bowed to Jonathan!<br /> +How many hands were shook and votes were won!<br /><br /> + +'Twas a great Governor—thou too shalt be<br /> + Great in thy turn—and wide shall spread thy fame,<br /> +And swiftly; farthest Maine shall hear of thee,<br /> + And cold New Brunswick gladden at thy name,<br /> +And, faintly through its sleets, the weeping isle<br /> +That sends the Boston folks their cod shall smile.<br /><br /> + +For thou shalt forge vast railways, and shalt heat<span class="page"><a name="page112" id="page112">[Page 112]</a></span><br /> + The hissing rivers into steam, and drive<br /> +Huge masses from thy mines, on iron feet,<br /> + Walking their steady way, as if alive,<br /> +Northward, till everlasting ice besets thee,<br /> +And south as far as the grim Spaniard lets thee.<br /><br /> + +Thou shalt make mighty engines swim the sea,<br /> + Like its own monsters—boats that for a guinea<br /> +Will take a man to Havre—and shalt be<br /> + The moving soul of many a spinning-jenny,<br /> +And ply thy shuttles, till a bard can wear<br /> +As good a suit of broadcloth as the mayor.<br /><br /> + +Then we will laugh at winter when we hear<br /> + The grim old churl about our dwellings rave:<br /> +Thou, from that "ruler of the inverted year,"<br /> + Shalt pluck the knotty sceptre Cowper gave,<br /> +And pull him from his sledge, and drag him in,<br /> +And melt the icicles from off his chin.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page113" id="page113">[Page 113]</a></span> +<h3>THE NEW MOON.</h3> +<p class="indent3"> +When, as the garish day is done,<br /> +Heaven burns with the descended sun,<br /> + 'Tis passing sweet to mark,<br /> +Amid that flush of crimson light,<br /> +The new moon's modest bow grow bright,<br /> + As earth and sky grow dark.<br /><br /> + +Few are the hearts too cold to feel<br /> +A thrill of gladness o'er them steal,<br /> + When first the wandering eye<br /> +Sees faintly, in the evening blaze,<br /> +That glimmering curve of tender rays<br /> + Just planted in the sky.<br /><br /> + +The sight of that young crescent brings<br /> +Thoughts of all fair and youthful things<br /> + The hopes of early years;<br /> +And childhood's purity and grace,<br /> +And joys that like a rainbow chase<br /> + The passing shower of tears.<br /><br /> + +The captive yields him to the dream<span class="page"><a name="page114" id="page114">[Page 114]</a></span><br /> +Of freedom, when that virgin beam<br /> + Comes out upon the air:<br /> +And painfully the sick man tries<br /> +To fix his dim and burning eyes<br /> + On the soft promise there.<br /><br /> + +Most welcome to the lover's sight,<br /> +Glitters that pure, emerging light;<br /> + For prattling poets say,<br /> +That sweetest is the lovers' walk,<br /> +And tenderest is their murmured talk,<br /> + cBeneath its gentle ray.<br /><br /> + +And there do graver men behold<br /> +A type of errors, loved of old,<br /> + Forsaken and forgiven;<br /> +And thoughts and wishes not of earth,<br /> +Just opening in their early birth,<br /> + Like that new light in heaven.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page115" id="page115">[Page 115]</a></span> +<h3>OCTOBER.</h3> + +<h4>A SONNET.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> +Ay, thou art welcome, heaven's delicious breath,<br /> + When woods begin to wear the crimson leaf,<br /> + And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief,<br /> +And the year smiles as it draws near its death.<br /> +Wind of the sunny south! oh still delay<br /> + In the gay woods and in the golden air,<br /> + Like to a good old age released from care,<br /> +Journeying, in long serenity, away.<br /> +In such a bright, late quiet, would that I<br /> + Might wear out life like thee, mid bowers and brooks,<br /> + And, dearer yet, the sunshine of kind looks,<br /> +And music of kind voices ever nigh;<br /> +And when my last sand twinkled in the glass,<br /> +Pass silently from men, as thou dost pass.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page116" id="page116">[Page 116]</a></span> +<h3>THE DAMSEL OF PERU.</h3> +<p class="indent"> +Where olive leaves were twinkling in every wind that blew,<br /> +There sat beneath the pleasant shade a damsel of Peru.<br /> +Betwixt the slender boughs, as they opened to the air,<br /> +Came glimpses of her ivory neck and of her glossy hair;<br /> +And sweetly rang her silver voice, within that shady nook,<br /> +As from the shrubby glen is heard the sound of hidden brook.<br /><br /> + +'Tis a song of love and valour, in the noble Spanish tongue,<br /> +That once upon the sunny plains of old Castile was sung;<br /> +When, from their mountain holds, on the Moorish rout below,<br /> +Had rushed the Christians like a flood, and swept away the foe.<br /> +A while that melody is still, and then breaks forth anew<br /> +A wilder rhyme, a livelier note, of freedom and Peru.<br /><br /> + + For she has bound the sword to a youthful lover's side,<br /> +And sent him to the war the day she should have been his bride,<br /> +And bade him bear a faithful heart to battle for the right,<br /> +And held the fountains of her eyes till he was out of sight.<br /> +Since the parting kiss was given, six weary months are fled,<br /> +And yet the foe is in the land, and blood must yet be shed.<br /><br /> + +A white hand parts the branches, a lovely face looks forth,<span class="page"><a name="page117" id="page117">[Page 117]</a></span><br /> +And bright dark eyes gaze steadfastly and sadly toward the north<br /> +Thou look'st in vain, sweet maiden, the sharpest sight would fail.<br /> +To spy a sign of human life abroad in all the vale;<br /> +For the noon is coming on, and the sunbeams fiercely beat,<br /> +And the silent hills and forest-tops seem reeling in the heat.<br /><br /> + +That white hand is withdrawn, that fair sad face is gone,<br /> +But the music of that silver voice is flowing sweetly on,<br /> +Not as of late, in cheerful tones, but mournfully and low,—<br /> +A ballad of a tender maid heart-broken long ago,<br /> +Of him who died in battle, the youthful and the brave,<br /> +And her who died of sorrow, upon his early grave.<br /><br /> + +But see, along that mountain's slope, a fiery horseman ride;<br /> +Mark his torn plume, his tarnished belt, the sabre at his side.<br /> +His spurs are buried rowel-deep, he rides with loosened rein,<br /> +There's blood upon his charger's flank and foam upon the mane;<br /> +He speeds him toward the olive-grove, along that shaded hill:<br /> +God shield the helpless maiden there, if he should mean her ill!<br /><br /> + +And suddenly that song has ceased, and suddenly I hear<br /> +A shriek sent up amid the shade, a shriek—but not of fear.<br /> +For tender accents follow, and tenderer pauses speak<br /> +The overflow of gladness, when words are all too weak:<br /> +"I lay my good sword at thy feet, for now Peru is free,<br /> +And I am come to dwell beside the olive-grove with thee."</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page118" id="page118">[Page 118]</a></span> +<h3>THE AFRICAN CHIEF.<a href="#n118">°</a></h3> +<p class="indent3"> +Chained in the market-place he stood,<br /> + A man of giant frame,<br /> +Amid the gathering multitude<br /> + That shrunk to hear his name—<br /> +All stern of look and strong of limb,<br /> + His dark eye on the ground:—<br /> +And silently they gazed on him,<br /> + As on a lion bound.<br /><br /> + +Vainly, but well, that chief had fought,<br /> + He was a captive now,<br /> +Yet pride, that fortune humbles not,<br /> + Was written on his brow.<br /> +The scars his dark broad bosom wore,<br /> + Showed warrior true and brave;<br /> +A prince among his tribe before,<br /> + He could not be a slave.<br /><br /> + +Then to his conqueror he spake—<br /> + "My brother is a king;<br /> +Undo this necklace from my neck,<br /> + And take this bracelet ring,<br /> +And send me where my brother reigns,<br /> + And I will fill thy hands<br /> +With store of ivory from the plains,<br /> + And gold-dust from the sands."<br /><br /> + +"Not for thy ivory nor thy gold<br /> + Will I unbind thy chain;<br /> +That bloody hand shall never hold<br /> + The battle-spear again.<br /> +A price thy nation never gave<br /> + Shall yet be paid for thee;<br /> +For thou shalt be the Christian's slave,<br /> + In lands beyond the sea."<br /><br /> + +Then wept the warrior chief, and bade<span class="page"><a name="page119" id="page119">[Page 119]</a></span><br /> + To shred his locks away;<br /> +And one by one, each heavy braid<br /> + Before the victor lay.<br /> +Thick were the platted locks, and long,<br /> + And closely hidden there<br /> +Shone many a wedge of gold among<br /> + The dark and crisped hair.<br /><br /> + +"Look, feast thy greedy eye with gold<br /> + Long kept for sorest need:<br /> +Take it—thou askest sums untold,<br /> + And say that I am freed.<br /> +Take it—my wife, the long, long day,<br /> + Weeps by the cocoa-tree,<br /> +And my young children leave their play,<br /> + And ask in vain for me."<br /><br /> + +"I take thy gold—but I have made<br /> + Thy fetters fast and strong,<br /> +And ween that by the cocoa shade<br /> + Thy wife will wait thee long."<br /> +Strong was the agony that shook<br /> + The captive's frame to hear,<br /> +And the proud meaning of his look<br /> + Was changed to mortal fear.<br /><br /> + +His heart was broken—crazed his brain:<br /> + At once his eye grew wild;<br /> +He struggled fiercely with his chain,<br /> + Whispered, and wept, and smiled;<br /> +Yet wore not long those fatal bands,<br /> + And once, at shut of day,<br /> +They drew him forth upon the sands,<br /> + The foul hyena's prey.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page120" id="page120">[Page 120]</a></span> +<h3>SPRING IN TOWN.</h3> +<p class="indent1"> +The country ever has a lagging Spring,<br /> + Waiting for May to call its violets forth,<br /> +And June its roses—showers and sunshine bring,<br /> + Slowly, the deepening verdure o'er the earth;<br /> +To put their foliage out, the woods are slack,<br /> +And one by one the singing-birds come back.<br /><br /> + +Within the city's bounds the time of flowers<br /> + Comes earlier. Let a mild and sunny day,<br /> +Such as full often, for a few bright hours,<br /> + Breathes through the sky of March the airs of May,<br /> +Shine on our roofs and chase the wintry gloom—<br /> +And lo! our borders glow with sudden bloom.<br /><br /> + +For the wide sidewalks of Broadway are then<br /> + Gorgeous as are a rivulet's banks in June,<br /> +That overhung with blossoms, through its glen,<br /> + Slides soft away beneath the sunny noon,<br /> +And they who search the untrodden wood for flowers<br /> +Meet in its depths no lovelier ones than ours.<br /><br /> + +For here are eyes that shame the violet,<br /> + Or the dark drop that on the pansy lies,<br /> +And foreheads, white, as when in clusters set,<br /> + The anemones by forest fountains rise;<br /> +And the spring-beauty boasts no tenderer streak<br /> +Than the soft red on many a youthful cheek.<br /><br /> + +And thick about those lovely temples lie<br /> + Locks that the lucky Vignardonne has curled,<br /> +Thrice happy man! whose trade it is to buy,<br /> + And bake, and braid those love-knots of the world;<br /> +Who curls of every glossy colour keepest,<br /> +And sellest, it is said, the blackest cheapest.<br /><br /> + +And well thou mayst—for Italy's brown maids<span class="page"><a name="page121" id="page121">[Page 121]</a></span><br /> + Send the dark locks with which their brows are dressed,<br /> +And Gascon lasses, from their jetty braids,<br /> + Crop half, to buy a riband for the rest;<br /> +But the fresh Norman girls their tresses spare,<br /> +And the Dutch damsel keeps her flaxen hair.<br /><br /> + +Then, henceforth, let no maid nor matron grieve,<br /> + To see her locks of an unlovely hue,<br /> +Frouzy or thin, for liberal art shall give<br /> + Such piles of curls as nature never knew.<br /> +Eve, with her veil of tresses, at the sight<br /> +Had blushed, outdone, and owned herself a fright.<br /><br /> + +Soft voices and light laughter wake the street,<br /> + Like notes of woodbirds, and where'er the eye<br /> +Threads the long way, plumes wave, and twinkling feet<br /> + Fall light, as hastes that crowd of beauty by.<br /> +The ostrich, hurrying o'er the desert space,<br /> +Scarce bore those tossing plumes with fleeter pace.<br /><br /> + +No swimming Juno gait, of languor born,<br /> + Is theirs, but a light step of freest grace,<br /> +Light as Camilla's o'er the unbent corn,—<br /> + A step that speaks the spirit of the place,<br /> +Since Quiet, meek old dame, was driven away<br /> +To Sing Sing and the shores of Tappan bay.<br /><br /> + +Ye that dash by in chariots! who will care<br /> + For steeds or footmen now? ye cannot show<br /> +Fair face, and dazzling dress, and graceful air,<br /> + And last edition of the shape! Ah no,<br /> +These sights are for the earth and open sky,<br /> +And your loud wheels unheeded rattle by.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page122" id="page122">[Page 122]</a></span> +<h3>THE GLADNESS OF NATURE.</h3> +<p class="indent1"> +Is this a time to be cloudy and sad,<br /> + When our mother Nature laughs around;<br /> +When even the deep blue heavens look glad,<br /> + And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground?<br /><br /> + +There are notes of joy from the hang-bird and wren,<br /> + And the gossip of swallows through all the sky;<br /> +The ground-squirrel gayly chirps by his den,<br /> + And the wilding bee hums merrily by.<br /><br /> + +The clouds are at play in the azure space,<br /> + And their shadows at play on the bright green vale,<br /> +And here they stretch to the frolic chase,<br /> + And there they roll on the easy gale.<br /><br /> + +There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower,<br /> + There's a titter of winds in that beechen tree,<br /> +There's a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flower,<br /> + And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea.<br /><br /> + +And look at the broad-faced sun, how he smiles<br /> + On the dewy earth that smiles in his ray,<br /> +On the leaping waters and gay young isles;<br /> + Ay, look, and he'll smile thy gloom away.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page123" id="page123">[Page 123]</a></span> +<h3>THE DISINTERRED WARRIOR.</h3> +<p class="indent3"> +Gather him to his grave again,<br /> + And solemnly and softly lay,<br /> +Beneath the verdure of the plain,<br /> + The warrior's scattered bones away.<br /> +Pay the deep reverence, taught of old,<br /> + The homage of man's heart to death;<br /> +Nor dare to trifle with the mould<br /> + Once hallowed by the Almighty's breath.<br /><br /> + +The soul hath quickened every part—<br /> + That remnant of a martial brow,<br /> +Those ribs that held the mighty heart,<br /> + That strong arm—strong no longer now.<br /> +Spare them, each mouldering relic spare,<br /> + Of God's own image; let them rest,<br /> +Till not a trace shall speak of where<br /> + The awful likeness was impressed.<br /><br /> + +For he was fresher from the hand<br /> + That formed of earth the human face,<br /> +And to the elements did stand<br /> + In nearer kindred, than our race.<br /> +In many a flood to madness tossed,<span class="page"><a name="page124" id="page124">[Page 124]</a></span><br /> + In many a storm has been his path;<br /> +He hid him not from heat or frost,<br /> + But met them, and defied their wrath.<br /><br /> + +Then they were kind—the forests here,<br /> + Rivers, and stiller waters, paid<br /> +A tribute to the net and spear<br /> + Of the red ruler of the shade.<br /> +Fruits on the woodland branches lay,<br /> + Roots in the shaded soil below,<br /> +The stars looked forth to teach his way,<br /> + The still earth warned him of the foe.<br /><br /> + +A noble race! but they are gone,<br /> + With their old forests wide and deep,<br /> +And we have built our homes upon<br /> + Fields where their generations sleep.<br /> +Their fountains slake our thirst at noon,<br /> + Upon their fields our harvest waves,<br /> +Our lovers woo beneath their moon—<br /> + Then let us spare, at least, their graves!</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page125" id="page125">[Page 125]</a></span> +<h3>MIDSUMMER.</h3> + +<h4>A SONNET.</h4> +<p class="indent2"> +A power is on the earth and in the air,<br /> + From which the vital spirit shrinks afraid,<br /> + And shelters him, in nooks of deepest shade,<br /> +From the hot steam and from the fiery glare.<br /> +Look forth upon the earth—her thousand plants<br /> + Are smitten; even the dark sun-loving maize<br /> + Faints in the field beneath the torrid blaze;<br /> +The herd beside the shaded fountain pants;<br /> +For life is driven from all the landscape brown;<br /> + The bird has sought his tree, the snake his den,<br /> + The trout floats dead in the hot stream, and men<br /> +Drop by the sun-stroke in the populous town:<br /> + As if the Day of Fire had dawned, and sent<br /> + Its deadly breath into the firmament.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page126" id="page126">[Page 126]</a></span> +<h3>THE GREEK PARTISAN.</h3> +<p class="indent3"> +Our free flag is dancing<br /> + In the free mountain air,<br /> +And burnished arms are glancing,<br /> + And warriors gathering there;<br /> +And fearless is the little train<br /> + Whose gallant bosoms shield it;<br /> +The blood that warms their hearts shall stain<br /> + That banner, ere they yield it.<br /> +—Each dark eye is fixed on earth,<br /> + And brief each solemn greeting;<br /> +There is no look nor sound of mirth,<br /> + Where those stern men are meeting.<br /><br /> + +They go to the slaughter,<br /> + To strike the sudden blow,<br /> +And pour on earth, like water,<br /> + The best blood of the foe;<br /> +To rush on them from rock and height,<br /> + And clear the narrow valley,<br /> +Or fire their camp at dead of night,<br /> + And fly before they rally.<br /> +—Chains are round our country pressed,<br /> + And cowards have betrayed her,<br /> +And we must make her bleeding breast<br /> + The grave of the invader.<br /><br /> + +Not till from her fetters<span class="page"><a name="page127" id="page127">[Page 127]</a></span><br /> + We raise up Greece again,<br /> +And write, in bloody letters,<br /> + That tyranny is slain,—<br /> +Oh, not till then the smile shall steal<br /> + Across those darkened faces,<br /> +Nor one of all those warriors feel<br /> + His children's dear embraces,<br /> +—Reap we not the ripened wheat,<br /> + Till yonder hosts are flying,<br /> +And all their bravest, at our feet,<br /> + Like autumn sheaves are lying.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page128" id="page128">[Page 128]</a></span> +<h3>THE TWO GRAVES.</h3> +<p class="indent1"> + 'Tis a bleak wild hill,—but green and bright<br /> +In the summer warmth and the mid-day light;<br /> +There's the hum of the bee and the chirp of the wren,<br /> +And the dash of the brook from the alder glen;<br /> +There's the sound of a bell from the scattered flock,<br /> +And the shade of the beech lies cool on the rock,<br /> +And fresh from the west is the free wind's breath,—<br /> +There is nothing here that speaks of death.<br /><br /> + + Far yonder, where orchards and gardens lie,<br /> +And dwellings cluster, 'tis there men die.<br /> +They are born, they die, and are buried near,<br /> +Where the populous grave-yard lightens the bier;<br /> +For strict and close are the ties that bind<br /> +In death the children of human-kind;<br /> +Yea, stricter and closer than those of life,—<br /> +'Tis a neighbourhood that knows no strife.<br /> +They are noiselessly gathered—friend and foe—<br /> +To the still and dark assemblies below:<br /> +Without a frown or a smile they meet,<br /> +Each pale and calm in his winding-sheet;<br /> +In that sullen home of peace and gloom,<br /> +Crowded, like guests in a banquet-room.<br /><br /> + + Yet there are graves in this lonely spot,<span class="page"><a name="page129" id="page129">[Page 129]</a></span><br /> +Two humble graves,—but I meet them not.<br /> +I have seen them,—eighteen years are past,<br /> +Since I found their place in the brambles last,—<br /> +The place where, fifty winters ago,<br /> +An aged man in his locks of snow,<br /> +And an aged matron, withered with years,<br /> +Were solemnly laid!—but not with tears.<br /> +For none, who sat by the light of their hearth,<br /> +Beheld their coffins covered with earth;<br /> +Their kindred were far, and their children dead,<br /> +When the funeral prayer was coldly said.<br /><br /> + + Two low green hillocks, two small gray stones,<br /> +Rose over the place that held their bones;<br /> +But the grassy hillocks are levelled again,<br /> +And the keenest eye might search in vain,<br /> +'Mong briers, and ferns, and paths of sheep,<br /> +For the spot where the aged couple sleep.<br /><br /> + + Yet well might they lay, beneath the soil<br /> +Of this lonely spot, that man of toil,<br /> +And trench the strong hard mould with the spade,<br /> +Where never before a grave was made;<br /> +For he hewed the dark old woods away,<br /> +And gave the virgin fields to the day;<br /> +And the gourd and the bean, beside his door,<br /> +Bloomed where their flowers ne'er opened before;<br /> +And the maize stood up; and the bearded rye<br /> +Bent low in the breath of an unknown sky.<br /><br /> + + 'Tis said that when life is ended here,<br /> +The spirit is borne to a distant sphere;<br /> +That it visits its earthly home no more,<br /> +Nor looks on the haunts it loved before.<br /> +But why should the bodiless soul be sent<span class="page"><a name="page130" id="page130">[Page 130]</a></span><br /> +Far off, to a long, long banishment?<br /> +Talk not of the light and the living green!<br /> +It will pine for the dear familiar scene;<br /> +It will yearn, in that strange bright world, to behold<br /> +The rock and the stream it knew of old.<br /><br /> + + 'Tis a cruel creed, believe it not!<br /> +Death to the good is a milder lot.<br /> +They are here,—they are here,—that harmless pair,<br /> +In the yellow sunshine and flowing air,<br /> +In the light cloud-shadows that slowly pass,<br /> +In the sounds that rise from the murmuring grass.<br /> +They sit where their humble cottage stood,<br /> +They walk by the waving edge of the wood,<br /> +And list to the long-accustomed flow<br /> +Of the brook that wets the rocks below.<br /> +Patient, and peaceful, and passionless,<br /> +As seasons on seasons swiftly press,<br /> +They watch, and wait, and linger around,<br /> +Till the day when their bodies shall leave the ground.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page131" id="page131">[Page 131]</a></span> +<h3>THE CONJUNCTION OF JUPITER AND VENUS.<a href="#n131">°</a></h3> +<p class="indent2"> + I would not always reason. The straight path<br /> +Wearies us with its never-varying lines,<br /> +And we grow melancholy. I would make<br /> +Reason my guide, but she should sometimes sit<br /> +Patiently by the way-side, while I traced<br /> +The mazes of the pleasant wilderness<br /> +Around me. She should be my counsellor,<br /> +But not my tyrant. For the spirit needs<br /> +Impulses from a deeper source than hers,<br /> +And there are motions, in the mind of man,<br /> +That she must look upon with awe. I bow<br /> +Reverently to her dictates, but not less<br /> +Hold to the fair illusions of old time—<br /> +Illusions that shed brightness over life,<br /> +And glory over nature. Look, even now,<br /> +Where two bright planets in the twilight meet,<br /> +Upon the saffron heaven,—the imperial star<br /> +Of Jove, and she that from her radiant urn<br /> +Pours forth the light of love. Let me believe,<br /> +Awhile, that they are met for ends of good,<br /> +Amid the evening glory, to confer<br /> +Of men and their affairs, and to shed down<br /> +Kind influence. Lo! they brighten as we gaze,<br /> +And shake out softer fires! The great earth feels<br /> +The gladness and the quiet of the time.<br /> +Meekly the mighty river, that infolds<br /> +This mighty city, smooths his front, and far<br /> +Glitters and burns even to the rocky base<br /> +Of the dark heights that bound him to the west;<span class="page"><a name="page132" id="page132">[Page 132]</a></span><br /> +And a deep murmur, from the many streets,<br /> +Rises like a thanksgiving. Put we hence<br /> +Dark and sad thoughts awhile—there's time for them<br /> +Hereafter—on the morrow we will meet,<br /> +With melancholy looks, to tell our griefs,<br /> +And make each other wretched; this calm hour,<br /> +This balmy, blessed evening, we will give<br /> +To cheerful hopes and dreams of happy days,<br /> +Born of the meeting of those glorious stars.<br /><br /> + + Enough of drought has parched the year, and scared<br /> +The land with dread of famine. Autumn, yet,<br /> +Shall make men glad with unexpected fruits.<br /> +The dog-star shall shine harmless: genial days<br /> +Shall softly glide away into the keen<br /> +And wholesome cold of winter; he that fears<br /> +The pestilence, shall gaze on those pure beams,<br /> +And breathe, with confidence, the quiet air.<br /><br /> + + Emblems of power and beauty! well may they<br /> +Shine brightest on our borders, and withdraw<br /> +Towards the great Pacific, marking out<br /> +The path of empire. Thus, in our own land,<br /> +Ere long, the better Genius of our race,<br /> +Having encompassed earth, and tamed its tribes,<br /> +Shall sit him down beneath the farthest west,<br /> +By the shore of that calm ocean, and look back<br /> +On realms made happy.<br /><br /> + + + Light the nuptial torch,<br /> +And say the glad, yet solemn rite, that knits<br /> +The youth and maiden. Happy days to them<br /> +That wed this evening!—a long life of love,<br /> +And blooming sons and daughters! Happy they<br /> +Born at this hour,—for they shall see an age<span class="page"><a name="page133" id="page133">[Page 133]</a></span><br /> +Whiter and holier than the past, and go<br /> +Late to their graves. Men shall wear softer hearts,<br /> +And shudder at the butcheries of war,<br /> +As now at other murders.<br /><br /> + + + Hapless Greece!<br /> +Enough of blood has wet thy rocks, and stained<br /> +Thy rivers; deep enough thy chains have worn<br /> +Their links into thy flesh; the sacrifice<br /> +Of thy pure maidens, and thy innocent babes,<br /> +And reverend priests, has expiated all<br /> +Thy crimes of old. In yonder mingling lights<br /> +There is an omen of good days for thee.<br /> +Thou shalt arise from midst the dust and sit<br /> +Again among the nations. Thine own arm<br /> +Shall yet redeem thee. Not in wars like thine<br /> +The world takes part. Be it a strife of kings,—<br /> +Despot with despot battling for a throne,—<br /> +And Europe shall be stirred throughout her realms,<br /> +Nations shall put on harness, and shall fall<br /> +Upon each other, and in all their bounds<br /> +The wailing of the childless shall not cease.<br /> +Thine is a war for liberty, and thou<br /> +Must fight it single-handed. The old world<br /> +Looks coldly on the murderers of thy race,<br /> +And leaves thee to the struggle; and the new,—<br /> +I fear me thou couldst tell a shameful tale<br /> +Of fraud and lust of gain;—thy treasury drained,<br /> +And Missolonghi fallen. Yet thy wrongs<br /> +Shall put new strength into thy heart and hand,<br /> +And God and thy good sword shall yet work out,<br /> +For thee, a terrible deliverance.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page134" id="page134">[Page 134]</a></span> +<h3>A SUMMER RAMBLE.</h3> +<p class="indent3"> +The quiet August noon has come,<br /> + A slumberous silence fills the sky,<br /> +The fields are still, the woods are dumb,<br /> + In glassy sleep the waters lie.<br /><br /> + +And mark yon soft white clouds that rest<br /> + Above our vale, a moveless throng;<br /> +The cattle on the mountain's breast<br /> + Enjoy the grateful shadow long.<br /><br /> + +Oh, how unlike those merry hours<br /> + In early June when Earth laughs out,<br /> +When the fresh winds make love to flowers,<br /> + And woodlands sing and waters shout.<br /><br /> + +When in the grass sweet voices talk,<br /> + And strains of tiny music swell<br /> +From every moss-cup of the rock,<br /> + From every nameless blossom's bell.<br /><br /> + +But now a joy too deep for sound,<br /> + A peace no other season knows,<br /> +Hushes the heavens and wraps the ground,<br /> + The blessing of supreme repose.<br /><br /> + +Away! I will not be, to-day,<br /> + The only slave of toil and care.<br /> +Away from desk and dust! away!<br /> + I'll be as idle as the air.<br /><br /> + +Beneath the open sky abroad,<br /> + Among the plants and breathing things,<br /> +The sinless, peaceful works of God,<br /> + I'll share the calm the season brings.<br /><br /> + +Come, thou, in whose soft eyes I see<span class="page"><a name="page135" id="page135">[Page 135]</a></span><br /> + The gentle meanings of thy heart,<br /> +One day amid the woods with me,<br /> + From men and all their cares apart.<br /><br /> + +And where, upon the meadow's breast,<br /> + The shadow of the thicket lies,<br /> +The blue wild flowers thou gatherest<br /> + Shall glow yet deeper near thine eyes.<br /><br /> + +Come, and when mid the calm profound,<br /> + I turn, those gentle eyes to seek,<br /> +They, like the lovely landscape round,<br /> + Of innocence and peace shall speak.<br /><br /> + +Rest here, beneath the unmoving shade,<br /> + And on the silent valleys gaze,<br /> +Winding and widening, till they fade<br /> + In yon soft ring of summer haze.<br /><br /> + +The village trees their summits rear<br /> + Still as its spire, and yonder flock<br /> +At rest in those calm fields appear<br /> + As chiselled from the lifeless rock.<br /><br /> + +One tranquil mount the scene o'erlooks—<br /> + There the hushed winds their sabbath keep<br /> +While a near hum from bees and brooks<br /> + Comes faintly like the breath of sleep.<br /><br /> + +Well may the gazer deem that when,<br /> + Worn with the struggle and the strife,<br /> +And heart-sick at the wrongs of men,<br /> + The good forsakes the scene of life;<br /><br /> + +Like this deep quiet that, awhile,<br /> + Lingers the lovely landscape o'er,<br /> +Shall be the peace whose holy smile<br /> + Welcomes him to a happier shore.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page136" id="page136">[Page 136]</a></span> +<h3>A SCENE ON THE BANKS OF THE HUDSON.</h3> +<p class="indent2"> +Cool shades and dews are round my way,<br /> +And silence of the early day;<br /> +Mid the dark rocks that watch his bed,<br /> +Glitters the mighty Hudson spread,<br /> +Unrippled, save by drops that fall<br /> +From shrubs that fringe his mountain wall;<br /> +And o'er the clear still water swells<br /> +The music of the Sabbath bells.<br /><br /> + +All, save this little nook of land<br /> +Circled with trees, on which I stand;<br /> +All, save that line of hills which lie<br /> +Suspended in the mimic sky—<br /> +Seems a blue void, above, below,<br /> +Through which the white clouds come and go,<br /> +And from the green world's farthest steep<br /> +I gaze into the airy deep.<br /><br /> + +Loveliest of lovely things are they,<br /> +On earth, that soonest pass away.<br /> +The rose that lives its little hour<br /> +Is prized beyond the sculptured flower.<br /> +Even love, long tried and cherished long,<br /> +Becomes more tender and more strong,<br /> +At thought of that insatiate grave<br /> +From which its yearnings cannot save.<br /><br /> + +River! in this still hour thou hast<br /> +Too much of heaven on earth to last;<br /> +Nor long may thy still waters lie,<br /> +An image of the glorious sky.<br /> +Thy fate and mine are not repose,<br /> +And ere another evening close,<br /> +Thou to thy tides shalt turn again,<br /> +And I to seek the crowd of men.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page137" id="page137">[Page 137]</a></span> +<h3>THE HURRICANE.<a href="#n137">°</a></h3> +<p class="indent2"> + Lord of the winds! I feel thee nigh,<br /> +I know thy breath in the burning sky!<br /> +And I wait, with a thrill in every vein,<br /> +For the coming of the hurricane!<br /><br /> + + And lo! on the wing of the heavy gales,<br /> +Through the boundless arch of heaven he sails;<br /> +Silent and slow, and terribly strong,<br /> +The mighty shadow is borne along,<br /> +Like the dark eternity to come;<br /> +While the world below, dismayed and dumb,<br /> +Through the calm of the thick hot atmosphere<br /> +Looks up at its gloomy folds with fear.<br /><br /> + + They darken fast; and the golden blaze<br /> +Of the sun is quenched in the lurid haze,<br /> +And he sends through the shade a funeral ray—<br /> +A glare that is neither night nor day,<br /> +A beam that touches, with hues of death,<br /> +The clouds above and the earth beneath.<br /> +To its covert glides the silent bird,<br /> +While the hurricane's distant voice is heard,<br /> +Uplifted among the mountains round,<br /> +And the forests hear and answer the sound.<br /><br /> + + He is come! he is come! do ye not behold<span class="page"><a name="page138" id="page138">[Page 138]</a></span><br /> +His ample robes on the wind unrolled?<br /> +Giant of air! we bid thee hail!—<br /> +How his gray skirts toss in the whirling gale;<br /> +How his huge and writhing arms are bent,<br /> +To clasp the zone of the firmament,<br /> +And fold at length, in their dark embrace,<br /> +From mountain to mountain the visible space.<br /><br /> + + Darker—still darker! the whirlwinds bear<br /> +The dust of the plains to the middle air:<br /> +And hark to the crashing, long and loud,<br /> +Of the chariot of God in the thunder-cloud!<br /> +You may trace its path by the flashes that start<br /> +From the rapid wheels where'er they dart,<br /> +As the fire-bolts leap to the world below,<br /> +And flood the skies with a lurid glow.<br /><br /> + + What roar is that?—'tis the rain that breaks<br /> +In torrents away from the airy lakes,<br /> +Heavily poured on the shuddering ground,<br /> +And shedding a nameless horror round.<br /> +Ah! well known woods, and mountains, and skies,<br /> +With the very clouds!—ye are lost to my eyes.<br /> +I seek ye vainly, and see in your place<br /> +The shadowy tempest that sweeps through space,<br /> +A whirling ocean that fills the wall<br /> +Of the crystal heaven, and buries all.<br /> +And I, cut off from the world, remain<br /> +Alone with the terrible hurricane.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page139" id="page139">[Page 139]</a></span> +<h3>WILLIAM TELL.<a href="#n139">°</a></h3> +<h4>A SONNET.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> +Chains may subdue the feeble spirit, but thee,<br /> + Tell, of the iron heart! they could not tame!<br /> + For thou wert of the mountains; they proclaim<br /> +The everlasting creed of liberty.<br /> +That creed is written on the untrampled snow,<br /> + Thundered by torrents which no power can hold,<br /> + Save that of God, when he sends forth his cold,<br /> +And breathed by winds that through the free heaven blow.<br /> +Thou, while thy prison walls were dark around,<br /> + Didst meditate the lesson Nature taught,<br /> + And to thy brief captivity was brought<br /> +A vision of thy Switzerland unbound.<br /> + The bitter cup they mingled, strengthened thee<br /> + For the great work to set thy country free.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page140" id="page140">[Page 140]</a></span> +<h3>THE HUNTER'S SERENADE.<a href="#n140">°</a></h3> +<p class="indent3"> +Thy bower is finished, fairest!<br /> + Fit bower for hunter's bride—<br /> +Where old woods overshadow<br /> + The green savanna's side.<br /> +I've wandered long, and wandered far,<br /> + And never have I met,<br /> +In all this lovely western land,<br /> + A spot so lovely yet.<br /> +But I shall think it fairer,<br /> + When thou art come to bless,<br /> +With thy sweet smile and silver voice,<br /> + Its silent loveliness.<br /><br /> + +For thee the wild grape glistens,<br /> + On sunny knoll and tree,<br /> +The slim papaya ripens<br /> + Its yellow fruit for thee.<br /> +For thee the duck, on glassy stream,<br /> + The prairie-fowl shall die,<br /> +My rifle for thy feast shall bring<br /> + The wild swan from the sky.<br /> +The forest's leaping panther,<br /> + Fierce, beautiful, and fleet,<br /> +Shall yield his spotted hide to be<br /> + A carpet for thy feet.<br /><br /> + +I know, for thou hast told me,<br /> + Thy maiden love of flowers;<br /> +Ah, those that deck thy gardens<br /> + Are pale compared with ours.<br /> +When our wide woods and mighty lawns <span class="page"><a name="page141" id="page141">[Page 141]</a></span><br /> + Bloom to the April skies,<br /> +The earth has no more gorgeous sight<br /> + To show to human eyes.<br /> +In meadows red with blossoms,<br /> + All summer long, the bee<br /> +Murmurs, and loads his yellow thighs,<br /> + For thee, my love, and me.<br /><br /> + +Or wouldst thou gaze at tokens<br /> + Of ages long ago—<br /> +Our old oaks stream with mosses,<br /> + And sprout with mistletoe;<br /> +And mighty vines, like serpents, climb<br /> + The giant sycamore;<br /> +And trunks, o'erthrown for centuries,<br /> + Cumber the forest floor;<br /> +And in the great savanna,<br /> + The solitary mound,<br /> +Built by the elder world, o'erlooks<br /> + The loneliness around.<br /><br /> + +Come, thou hast not forgotten<br /> + Thy pledge and promise quite,<br /> +With many blushes murmured,<br /> + Beneath the evening light.<br /> +Come, the young violets crowd my door,<br /> + Thy earliest look to win,<br /> +And at my silent window-sill<br /> + The jessamine peeps in.<br /> +All day the red-bird warbles,<br /> + Upon the mulberry near,<br /> +And the night-sparrow trills her song,<br /> + All night, with none to hear.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page142" id="page142">[Page 142]</a></span> +<h3>THE GREEK BOY.</h3> +<p class="indent2"> +Gone are the glorious Greeks of old,<br /> + Glorious in mien and mind;<br /> +Their bones are mingled with the mould,<br /> + Their dust is on the wind;<br /> +The forms they hewed from living stone<br /> +Survive the waste of years, alone,<br /> +And, scattered with their ashes, show<br /> +What greatness perished long ago.<br /><br /> + +Yet fresh the myrtles there—the springs<br /> + Gush brightly as of yore;<br /> +Flowers blossom from the dust of kings,<br /> + As many an age before.<br /> +There nature moulds as nobly now,<br /> +As e'er of old, the human brow;<br /> +And copies still the martial form<br /> +That braved Platæa's battle storm.<br /><br /> + +Boy! thy first looks were taught to seek<br /> + Their heaven in Hellas' skies:<br /> +Her airs have tinged thy dusky cheek,<br /> + Her sunshine lit thine eyes;<br /> +Thine ears have drunk the woodland strains<br /> +Heard by old poets, and thy veins<br /> +Swell with the blood of demigods,<br /> +That slumber in thy country's sods.<br /><br /> + +Now is thy nation free—though late—<br /> + Thy elder brethren broke—<br /> +Broke, ere thy spirit felt its weight,<br /> + The intolerable yoke.<br /> +And Greece, decayed, dethroned, doth see<br /> +Her youth renewed in such as thee:<br /> +A shoot of that old vine that made<br /> +The nations silent in its shade.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page143" id="page143">[Page 143]</a></span> +<h3>THE PAST.</h3> +<p class="indent1"> + Thou unrelenting Past!<br /> +Strong are the barriers round thy dark domain,<br /> + And fetters, sure and fast,<br /> +Hold all that enter thy unbreathing reign.<br /><br /> + + Far in thy realm withdrawn<br /> +Old empires sit in sullenness and gloom,<br /> + And glorious ages gone<br /> +Lie deep within the shadow of thy womb.<br /><br /> + + Childhood, with all its mirth,<br /> +Youth, Manhood, Age, that draws us to the ground,<br /> + And last, Man's Life on earth,<br /> +Glide to thy dim dominions, and are bound.<br /><br /> + + Thou hast my better years,<br /> +Thou hast my earlier friends—the good—the kind,<br /> + Yielded to thee with tears—<br /> +The venerable form—the exalted mind.<br /><br /> + + My spirit yearns to bring<br /> +The lost ones back—yearns with desire intense,<br /> + And struggles hard to wring<br /> +Thy bolts apart, and pluck thy captives thence.<br /><br /> + + In vain—thy gates deny<br /> +All passage save to those who hence depart;<br /> + Nor to the streaming eye<br /> +Thou giv'st them back—nor to the broken heart.<br /><br /> + + In thy abysses hide<br /> +Beauty and excellence unknown—to thee<br /> + Earth's wonder and her pride<br /> +Are gathered, as the waters to the sea;<br /><br /> + + Labours of good to man,<span class="page"><a name="page144" id="page144">[Page 144]</a></span><br /> +Unpublished charity, unbroken faith,—<br /> + Love, that midst grief began,<br /> +And grew with years, and faltered not in death.<br /><br /> + + Full many a mighty name<br /> +Lurks in thy depths, unuttered, unrevered;<br /> + With thee are silent fame,<br /> +Forgotten arts, and wisdom disappeared.<br /><br /> + + Thine for a space are they—<br /> +Yet shalt thou yield thy treasures up at last;<br /> + Thy gates shall yet give way,<br /> +Thy bolts shall fall, inexorable Past!<br /><br /> + + All that of good and fair<br /> +Has gone into thy womb from earliest time,<br /> + Shall then come forth to wear<br /> +The glory and the beauty of its prime.<br /><br /> + + They have not perished—no!<br /> +Kind words, remembered voices once so sweet,<br /> + Smiles, radiant long ago,<br /> +And features, the great soul's apparent seat.<br /><br /> + + All shall come back, each tie<br /> +Of pure affection shall be knit again;<br /> + Alone shall Evil die,<br /> +And Sorrow dwell a prisoner in thy reign.<br /><br /> + + And then shall I behold<br /> +Him, by whose kind paternal side I sprung,<br /> + And her, who, still and cold,<br /> +Fills the next grave—the beautiful and young.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page145" id="page145">[Page 145]</a></span> +<h3>"UPON THE MOUNTAIN'S DISTANT HEAD."</h3> +<p class="indent2"> +Upon the mountain's distant head,<br /> + With trackless snows for ever white,<br /> +Where all is still, and cold, and dead,<br /> + Late shines the day's departing light.<br /><br /> + +But far below those icy rocks,<br /> + The vales, in summer bloom arrayed,<br /> +Woods full of birds, and fields of flocks,<br /> + Are dim with mist and dark with shade.<br /><br /> + +'Tis thus, from warm and kindly hearts,<br /> + And eyes where generous meanings burn,<br /> +Earliest the light of life departs,<br /> + But lingers with the cold and stern.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page146" id="page146">[Page 146]</a></span> +<h3>THE EVENING WIND.</h3> +<p class="indent1"> +Spirit that breathest through my lattice, thou<br /> + That cool'st the twilight of the sultry day,<br /> +Gratefully flows thy freshness round my brow:<br /> + Thou hast been out upon the deep at play,<br /> +Riding all day the wild blue waves till now,<br /> + Roughening their crests, and scattering high their spray<br /> +And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee<br /> +To the scorched land, thou wanderer of the sea!<br /><br /> + +Nor I alone—a thousand bosoms round<br /> + Inhale thee in the fulness of delight;<br /> +And languid forms rise up, and pulses bound<br /> + Livelier, at coming of the wind of night;<br /> +And, languishing to hear thy grateful sound,<br /> + Lies the vast inland stretched beyond the sight.<br /> +Go forth into the gathering shade; go forth,<br /> +God's blessing breathed upon the fainting earth!<br /><br /> + +Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest,<br /> + Curl the still waters, bright with stars, and rouse<br /> +The wide old wood from his majestic rest,<br /> + Summoning from the innumerable boughs<br /> +The strange, deep harmonies that haunt his breast:<br /> + Pleasant shall be thy way where meekly bows<br /> +The shutting flower, and darkling waters pass,<br /> +And where the o'ershadowing branches sweep the grass.<br /><br /> + +The faint old man shall lean his silver head <span class="page"><a name="page147" id="page147">[Page 147]</a></span><br /> + To feel thee; thou shalt kiss the child asleep,<br /> +And dry the moistened curls that overspread<br /> + His temples, while his breathing grows more deep:<br /> +And they who stand about the sick man's bed,<br /> + Shall joy to listen to thy distant sweep,<br /> +And softly part his curtains to allow<br /> +Thy visit, grateful to his burning brow.<br /><br /> + +Go—but the circle of eternal change,<br /> + Which is the life of nature, shall restore,<br /> +With sounds and scents from all thy mighty range<br /> + Thee to thy birthplace of the deep once more;<br /> +Sweet odours in the sea-air, sweet and strange,<br /> + cShall tell the home-sick mariner of the shore;<br /> +And, listening to thy murmur, he shall deem<br /> +He hears the rustling leaf and running stream.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page148" id="page148">[Page 148]</a></span> +<h3>"WHEN THE FIRMAMENT QUIVERS <br />WITH DAYLIGHT'S YOUNG BEAM."</h3> +<p class="indent"> +When the firmament quivers with daylight's young beam,<br /> + And the woodlands awaking burst into a hymn,<br /> +And the glow of the sky blazes back from the stream,<br /> + How the bright ones of heaven in the brightness grow dim.<br /><br /> + +Oh! 'tis sad, in that moment of glory and song,<br /> + To see, while the hill-tops are waiting the sun,<br /> +The glittering band that kept watch all night long<br /> + O'er Love and o'er Slumber, go out one by one:<br /><br /> + +Till the circle of ether, deep, ruddy, and vast,<br /> + Scarce glimmers with one of the train that were there;<br /> +And their leader the day-star, the brightest and last,<br /> + Twinkles faintly and fades in that desert of air.<br /><br /> + +Thus, Oblivion, from midst of whose shadow we came,<br /> + Steals o'er us again when life's twilight is gone;<br /> +And the crowd of bright names, in the heaven of fame,<br /> + Grow pale and are quenched as the years hasten on.<br /><br /> + +Let them fade—but we'll pray that the age, in whose flight,<br /> + Of ourselves and our friends the remembrance shall die<br /> +May rise o'er the world, with the gladness and light<br /> + Of the morning that withers the stars from the sky.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page149" id="page149">[Page 149]</a></span> +<h3>"INNOCENT CHILD AND SNOW-WHITE FLOWER."</h3> +<p class="indent2"> +Innocent child and snow-white flower!<br /> +Well are ye paired in your opening hour.<br /> +Thus should the pure and the lovely meet,<br /> +Stainless with stainless, and sweet with sweet.<br /><br /> + +White as those leaves, just blown apart,<br /> +Are the folds of thy own young heart;<br /> +Guilty passion and cankering care<br /> +Never have left their traces there.<br /><br /> + +Artless one! though thou gazest now<br /> +O'er the white blossom with earnest brow,<br /> +Soon will it tire thy childish eye;<br /> +Fair as it is, thou wilt throw it by.<br /><br /> + +Throw it aside in thy weary hour,<br /> +Throw to the ground the fair white flower;<br /> +Yet, as thy tender years depart,<br /> +Keep that white and innocent heart.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page150" id="page150">[Page 150]</a></span> +<h3>TO THE RIVER ARVE.</h3> + +<h4>SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN AT A HAMLET <br />NEAR THE FOOT OF MONT BLANC.</h4> +<p class="indent3"> +Not from the sands or cloven rocks,<br /> + Thou rapid Arve! thy waters flow;<br /> +Nor earth, within her bosom, locks<br /> + Thy dark unfathomed wells below.<br /> +Thy springs are in the cloud, thy stream<br /> + Begins to move and murmur first<br /> +Where ice-peaks feel the noonday beam,<br /> + Or rain-storms on the glacier burst.<br /><br /> + +Born where the thunder and the blast,<br /> + And morning's earliest light are born,<br /> +Thou rushest swoln, and loud, and fast,<br /> + By these low homes, as if in scorn:<br /> +Yet humbler springs yield purer waves;<br /> + And brighter, glassier streams than thine,<br /> +Sent up from earth's unlighted caves,<br /> + With heaven's own beam and image shine.<br /><br /> + +Yet stay; for here are flowers and trees;<br /> + Warm rays on cottage roofs are here,<br /> +And laugh of girls, and hum of bees—<br /> + Here linger till thy waves are clear.<br /> +Thou heedest not—thou hastest on;<span class="page"><a name="page151" id="page151">[Page 151]</a></span><br /> + From steep to steep thy torrent falls,<br /> +Till, mingling with the mighty Rhone,<br /> + It rests beneath Geneva's walls.<br /><br /> + +Rush on—but were there one with me<br /> + That loved me, I would light my hearth<br /> +Here, where with God's own majesty<br /> + Are touched the features of the earth.<br /> +By these old peaks, white, high, and vast,<br /> + Still rising as the tempests beat,<br /> +Here would I dwell, and sleep, at last,<br /> + Among the blossoms at their feet.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page152" id="page152">[Page 152]</a></span> +<h3>TO COLE, THE PAINTER, DEPARTING FOR EUROPE.</h3> + + +<h4>A SONNET.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> +Thine eyes shall see the light of distant skies:<br /> + Yet, COLE! thy heart shall bear to Europe's strand<br /> + A living image of thy native land,<br /> +Such as on thine own glorious canvas lies;<br /> +Lone lakes—savannas where the bison roves—<br /> + Rocks rich with summer garlands—solemn streams—<br /> + Skies, where the desert eagle wheels and screams—<br /> +Spring bloom and autumn blaze of boundless groves.<br /> +Fair scenes shall greet thee where thou goest—fair,<br /> + But different—everywhere the trace of men,<br /> + Paths, homes, graves, ruins, from the lowest glen<br /> +To where life shrinks from the fierce Alpine air,<br /> + Gaze on them, till the tears shall dim thy sight,<br /> + But keep that earlier, wilder image bright.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page153" id="page153">[Page 153]</a></span> +<h3>TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN.</h3> +<p class="indent2"> +Thou blossom bright with autumn dew,<br /> +And coloured with the heaven's own blue,<br /> +That openest when the quiet light<br /> +Succeeds the keen and frosty night.<br /><br /> + +Thou comest not when violets lean<br /> +O'er wandering brooks and springs unseen,<br /> +Or columbines, in purple dressed,<br /> +Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest.<br /><br /> + +Thou waitest late and com'st alone,<br /> +When woods are bare and birds are flown,<br /> +And frosts and shortening days portend<br /> +The aged year is near his end.<br /><br /> + +Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye<br /> +Look through its fringes to the sky,<br /> +Blue—blue—as if that sky let fall<br /> +A flower from its cerulean wall.<br /><br /> + +I would that thus, when I shall see<br /> +The hour of death draw near to me,<br /> +Hope, blossoming within my heart,<br /> +May look to heaven as I depart.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page154" id="page154">[Page 154]</a></span> +<h3>THE TWENTY-SECOND OF DECEMBER.</h3> +<p class="indent2"> +Wild was the day; the wintry sea<br /> + Moaned sadly on New-England's strand,<br /> +When first the thoughtful and the free,<br /> + Our fathers, trod the desert land.<br /><br /> + +They little thought how pure a light,<br /> + With years, should gather round that day;<br /> +How love should keep their memories bright,<br /> + How wide a realm their sons should sway.<br /><br /> + +Green are their bays; but greener still<br /> + Shall round their spreading fame be wreathed,<br /> +And regions, now untrod, shall thrill<br /> + With reverence when their names are breathed.<br /><br /> + +Till where the sun, with softer fires,<br /> + Looks on the vast Pacific's sleep,<br /> +The children of the pilgrim sires<br /> + This hallowed day like us shall keep.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page155" id="page155">[Page 155]</a></span> +<h3>HYMN OF THE CITY.</h3> +<p class="indent1"> + Not in the solitude<br /> +Alone may man commune with Heaven, or see<br /> + Only in savage wood<br /> +And sunny vale, the present Deity;<br /> + Or only hear his voice<br /> +Where the winds whisper and the waves rejoice.<br /><br /> + + Even here do I behold<br /> +Thy steps, Almighty!—here, amidst the crowd,<br /> + Through the great city rolled,<br /> +With everlasting murmur deep and loud—<br /> + Choking the ways that wind<br /> +'Mongst the proud piles, the work of human kind.<br /><br /> + + Thy golden sunshine comes<br /> +From the round heaven, and on their dwellings lies,<br /> + And lights their inner homes;<br /> +For them thou fill'st with air the unbounded skies,<br /> + And givest them the stores<br /> +Of ocean, and the harvests of its shores.<br /><br /> + + Thy Spirit is around,<br /> +Quickening the restless mass that sweeps along;<br /> + And this eternal sound—<br /> +Voices and footfalls of the numberless throng—<br /> + Like the resounding sea,<br /> +Or like the rainy tempest, speaks of thee.<br /><br /> + + And when the hours of rest<br /> +Come, like a calm upon the mid-sea brine,<br /> + Hushing its billowy breast—<br /> +The quiet of that moment too is thine,<br /> + It breathes of Him who keeps<br /> +The vast and helpless city while it sleeps.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page156" id="page156">[Page 156]</a></span> +<h3>THE PRAIRIES.<a href="#n156">°</a></h3> +<p class="indent1"> + These are the gardens of the Desert, these<br /> +The unshorn fields, boundless and beautiful,<br /> +For which the speech of England has no name—<br /> +The Prairies. I behold them for the first,<br /> +And my heart swells, while the dilated sight<br /> +Takes in the encircling vastness. Lo! they stretch<br /> +In airy undulations, far away,<br /> +As if the ocean, in his gentlest swell,<br /> +Stood still, with all his rounded billows fixed,<br /> +And motionless for ever.—Motionless?—<br /> +No—they are all unchained again. The clouds<br /> +Sweep over with their shadows, and, beneath,<br /> +The surface rolls and fluctuates to the eye;<br /> +Dark hollows seem to glide along and chase<br /> +The sunny ridges. Breezes of the South!<br /> +Who toss the golden and the flame-like flowers,<br /> +And pass the prairie-hawk that, poised on high,<br /> +Flaps his broad wings, yet moves not—ye have played<br /> +Among the palms of Mexico and vines<br /> +Of Texas, and have crisped the limpid brooks<br /> +That from the fountains of Sonora glide<br /> +Into the calm Pacific—have ye fanned<br /> +A nobler or a lovelier scene than this?<br /> +Man hath no part in all this glorious work:<br /> +The hand that built the firmament hath heaved<br /> +And smoothed these verdant swells, and sown their slopes<br /> +With herbage, planted them with island groves,<span class="page"><a name="page157" id="page157">[Page 157]</a></span><br /> +And hedged them round with forests. Fitting floor<br /> +For this magnificent temple of the sky—<br /> +With flowers whose glory and whose multitude<br /> +Rival the constellations! The great heavens<br /> +Seem to stoop down upon the scene in love,—<br /> +A nearer vault, and of a tenderer blue,<br /> +Than that which bends above the eastern hills.<br /><br /> + + As o'er the verdant waste I guide my steed,<br /> +Among the high rank grass that sweeps his sides<br /> +The hollow beating of his footstep seems<br /> +A sacrilegious sound. I think of those<br /> +Upon whose rest he tramples. Are they here—<br /> +The dead of other days?—and did the dust<br /> +Of these fair solitudes once stir with life<br /> +And burn with passion? Let the mighty mounds<br /> +That overlook the rivers, or that rise<br /> +In the dim forest crowded with old oaks,<br /> +Answer. A race, that long has passed away,<br /> +Built them;—a disciplined and populous race<br /> +Heaped, with long toil, the earth, while yet the Greek<br /> +Was hewing the Pentelicus to forms<br /> +Of symmetry, and rearing on its rock<br /> +The glittering Parthenon. These ample fields<br /> +Nourished their harvests, here their herds were fed,<br /> +When haply by their stalls the bison lowed,<br /> +And bowed his maned shoulder to the yoke.<br /> +All day this desert murmured with their toils,<br /> +Till twilight blushed, and lovers walked, and wooed<br /> +In a forgotten language, and old tunes,<br /> +From instruments of unremembered form,<br /> +Gave the soft winds a voice. The red man came—<br /> +The roaming hunter tribes, warlike and fierce,<br /> +And the mound-builders vanished from the earth.<br /> +The solitude of centuries untold<br /> +Has settled where they dwelt. The prairie-wolf<br /> +Hunts in their meadows, and his fresh-dug den<span class="page"><a name="page158" id="page158">[Page 158]</a></span><br /> +Yawns by my path. The gopher mines the ground<br /> +Where stood their swarming cities. All is gone—<br /> +All—save the piles of earth that hold their bones—<br /> +The platforms where they worshipped unknown gods—<br /> +The barriers which they builded from the soil<br /> +To keep the foe at bay—till o'er the walls<br /> +The wild beleaguerers broke, and, one by one,<br /> +The strongholds of the plain were forced, and heaped<br /> +With corpses. The brown vultures of the wood<br /> +Flocked to those vast uncovered sepulchres,<br /> +And sat, unscared and silent, at their feast.<br /> +Haply some solitary fugitive,<br /> +Lurking in marsh and forest, till the sense<br /> +Of desolation and of fear became<br /> +Bitterer than death, yielded himself to die.<br /> +Man's better nature triumphed then. Kind words<br /> +Welcomed and soothed him; the rude conquerors<br /> +Seated the captive with their chiefs; he chose<br /> +A bride among their maidens, and at length<br /> +Seemed to forget,—yet ne'er forgot,—the wife<br /> +Of his first love, and her sweet little ones,<br /> +Butchered, amid their shrieks, with all his race.<br /><br /> + + Thus change the forms of being. Thus arise<br /> +Races of living things, glorious in strength,<br /> +And perish, as the quickening breath of God<br /> +Fills them, or is withdrawn. The red man, too,<br /> +Has left the blooming wilds he ranged so long,<br /> +And, nearer to the Rocky Mountains, sought<br /> +A wilder hunting-ground. The beaver builds<br /> +No longer by these streams, but far away,<br /> +On waters whose blue surface ne'er gave back<br /> +The white man's face—among Missouri's springs,<br /> +And pools whose issues swell the Oregan,<br /> +He rears his little Venice. In these plains<br /> +The bison feeds no more. Twice twenty leagues<br /> +Beyond remotest smoke of hunter's camp,<span class="page"><a name="page159" id="page159">[Page 159]</a></span><br /> +Roams the majestic brute, in herds that shake<br /> +The earth with thundering steps—yet here I meet<br /> +His ancient footprints stamped beside the pool.<br /><br /> + + Still this great solitude is quick with life.<br /> +Myriads of insects, gaudy as the flowers<br /> +They flutter over, gentle quadrupeds,<br /> +And birds, that scarce have learned the fear of man,<br /> +Are here, and sliding reptiles of the ground,<br /> +Startlingly beautiful. The graceful deer<br /> +Bounds to the wood at my approach. The bee,<br /> +A more adventurous colonist than man,<br /> +With whom he came across the eastern deep,<br /> +Fills the savannas with his murmurings,<br /> +And hides his sweets, as in the golden age,<br /> +Within the hollow oak. I listen long<br /> +To his domestic hum, and think I hear<br /> +The sound of that advancing multitude<br /> +Which soon shall fill these deserts. From the ground<br /> +Comes up the laugh of children, the soft voice<br /> +Of maidens, and the sweet and solemn hymn<br /> +Of Sabbath worshippers. The low of herds<br /> +Blends with the rustling of the heavy grain<br /> +Over the dark-brown furrows. All at once<br /> +A fresher wind sweeps by, and breaks my dream,<br /> +And I am in the wilderness alone.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page160" id="page160">[Page 160]</a></span> +<h3>SONG OF MARION'S MEN.<a href="#n160">°</a></h3> +<p class="indent3"> +Our band is few, but true and tried,<br /> + Our leader frank and bold;<br /> +The British soldier trembles<br /> + When Marion's name is told.<br /> +Our fortress is the good greenwood,<br /> + Our tent the cypress-tree;<br /> +We know the forest round us,<br /> + As seamen know the sea.<br /> +We know its walls of thorny vines,<br /> + Its glades of reedy grass,<br /> +Its safe and silent islands<br /> + Within the dark morass.<br /><br /> + +Wo to the English soldiery<br /> + That little dread us near!<br /> +On them shall light at midnight<br /> + A strange and sudden fear:<br /> +When waking to their tents on fire<br /> + They grasp their arms in vain,<br /> +And they who stand to face us<br /> + Are beat to earth again;<br /> +And they who fly in terror deem<br /> + A mighty host behind,<br /> +And hear the tramp of thousands<br /> + Upon the hollow wind.<br /><br /> + +Then sweet the hour that brings release<br /> + From danger and from toil:<br /> +We talk the battle over,<br /> + And share the battle's spoil.<br /> +The woodland rings with laugh and shout,<span class="page"><a name="page161" id="page161">[Page 161]</a></span><br /> + As if a hunt were up,<br /> +And woodland flowers are gathered<br /> + To crown the soldier's cup.<br /> +With merry songs we mock the wind<br /> + That in the pine-top grieves,<br /> +And slumber long and sweetly<br /> + On beds of oaken leaves.<br /><br /> + +Well knows the fair and friendly moon<br /> + The band that Marion leads—<br /> +The glitter of their rifles,<br /> + The scampering of their steeds.<br /> +'Tis life to guide the fiery barb<br /> + Across the moonlight plain;<br /> +'Tis life to feel the night-wind<br /> + That lifts his tossing mane.<br /> +A moment in the British camp—<br /> + A moment—and away<br /> +Back to the pathless forest,<br /> + Before the peep of day.<br /><br /> + +Grave men there are by broad Santee,<br /> + Grave men with hoary hairs,<br /> +Their hearts are all with Marion,<br /> + For Marion are their prayers.<br /> +And lovely ladies greet our band<br /> + With kindliest welcoming,<br /> +With smiles like those of summer,<br /> + And tears like those of spring.<br /> +For them we wear these trusty arms,<br /> + And lay them down no more<br /> +Till we have driven the Briton,<br /> + For ever, from our shore.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page162" id="page162">[Page 162]</a></span> +<h3>THE ARCTIC LOVER.</h3> +<p class="indent3"> +Gone is the long, long winter night;<br /> + Look, my beloved one!<br /> +How glorious, through his depths of light,<br /> + Rolls the majestic sun!<br /> +The willows, waked from winter's death,<br /> +Give out a fragrance like thy breath—<br /> + The summer is begun!<br /><br /> + +Ay, 'tis the long bright summer day:<br /> + Hark, to that mighty crash!<br /> +The loosened ice-ridge breaks away—<br /> + The smitten waters flash.<br /> +Seaward the glittering mountain rides,<br /> +While, down its green translucent sides,<br /> + The foamy torrents dash.<br /><br /> + +See, love, my boat is moored for thee,<br /> + By ocean's weedy floor—<br /> +The petrel does not skim the sea<br /> + More swiftly than my oar.<br /> +We'll go, where, on the rocky isles,<br /> +Her eggs the screaming sea-fowl piles<br /> + Beside the pebbly shore.<br /><br /> + +Or, bide thou where the poppy blows,<span class="page"><a name="page163" id="page163">[Page 163]</a></span><br /> + With wind-flowers frail and fair,<br /> +While I, upon his isle of snows,<br /> + Seek and defy the bear.<br /> +Fierce though he be, and huge of frame,<br /> +This arm his savage strength shall tame,<br /> + And drag him from his lair.<br /><br /> + +When crimson sky and flamy cloud<br /> + Bespeak the summer o'er,<br /> +And the dead valleys wear a shroud<br /> + Of snows that melt no more,<br /> +I'll build of ice thy winter home,<br /> +With glistening walls and glassy dome,<br /> + And spread with skins the floor.<br /><br /> + +The white fox by thy couch shall play;<br /> + And, from the frozen skies,<br /> +The meteors of a mimic day<br /> + Shall flash upon thine eyes.<br /> +And I—for such thy vow—meanwhile<br /> +Shall hear thy voice and see thy smile,<br /> + Till that long midnight flies.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page164" id="page164">[Page 164]</a></span> +<h3>THE JOURNEY OF LIFE.</h3> +<p class="indent2"> +Beneath the waning moon I walk at night,<br /> + And muse on human life—for all around<br /> +Are dim uncertain shapes that cheat the sight,<br /> + And pitfalls lurk in shade along the ground,<br /> +And broken gleams of brightness, here and there,<br /> +Glance through, and leave unwarmed the death-like air.<br /><br /> + +The trampled earth returns a sound of fear—<br /> + A hollow sound, as if I walked on tombs!<br /> +And lights, that tell of cheerful homes, appear<br /> + Far off, and die like hope amid the glooms.<br /> +A mournful wind across the landscape flies,<br /> +And the wide atmosphere is full of sighs.<br /><br /> + +And I, with faltering footsteps, journey on,<br /> + Watching the stars that roll the hours away,<br /> +Till the faint light that guides me now is gone,<br /> + And, like another life, the glorious day<br /> +Shall open o'er me from the empyreal height,<br /> +With warmth, and certainty, and boundless light.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr /><br /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page165" id="page165">[Page 165]</a></span> + +<h2>TRANSLATIONS.</h2> +<br /><br /><hr /><br /><br /><br /> +<span class="page"><a name="page167" id="page167">[Page 167]</a></span> +<h2>TRANSLATIONS.</h2> + +<br /><br /><br /> +<h3>VERSION OF A FRAGMENT OF SIMONIDES.</h3> + +<p class="indent2"> +The night winds howled—the billows dashed<br /> + Against the tossing chest;<br /> +And Danaë to her broken heart<br /> + Her slumbering infant pressed.<br /><br /> + +"My little child"—in tears she said—<br /> + "To wake and weep is mine,<br /> +But thou canst sleep—thou dost not know<br /> + Thy mother's lot, and thine.<br /><br /> + +"The moon is up, the moonbeams smile—<br /> + They tremble on the main;<br /> +But dark, within my floating cell,<br /> + To me they smile in vain.<br /><br /> + +"Thy folded mantle wraps thee warm,<span class="page"><a name="page168" id="page168">[Page 168]</a></span><br /> + Thy clustering locks are dry,<br /> +Thou dost not hear the shrieking gust,<br /> + Nor breakers booming high.<br /><br /> + +"As o'er thy sweet unconscious face<br /> + A mournful watch I keep,<br /> +I think, didst thou but know thy fate,<br /> + How thou wouldst also weep.<br /><br /> + +"Yet, dear one, sleep, and sleep, ye winds<br /> + That vex the restless brine—<br /> +When shall these eyes, my babe, be sealed<br /> + As peacefully as thine!"</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page169" id="page169">[Page 169]</a></span> +<h3>FROM THE SPANISH OF VILLEGAS.</h3> +<p class="indent2"> + 'Tis sweet, in the green Spring,<br /> +To gaze upon the wakening fields around;<br /> + Birds in the thicket sing,<br /> +Winds whisper, waters prattle from the ground;<br /> + A thousand odours rise,<br /> +Breathed up from blossoms of a thousand dyes.<br /><br /> + + Shadowy, and close, and cool,<br /> +The pine and poplar keep their quiet nook;<br /> + For ever fresh and full,<br /> +Shines, at their feet, the thirst-inviting brook;<br /> + And the soft herbage seems<br /> +Spread for a place of banquets and of dreams.<br /><br /> + + Thou, who alone art fair,<br /> +And whom alone I love, art far away.<br /> + Unless thy smile be there,<br /> +It makes me sad to see the earth so gay;<br /> + I care not if the train<br /> +Of leaves, and flowers, and zephyrs go again.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page170" id="page170">[Page 170]</a></span> +<h3>MARY MAGDALEN.<a href="#n170">°</a></h3> + + +<h4>FROM THE SPANISH OF BARTOLOME LEONARDO DE ARGENSOLA.</h4> + +<p class="indent2"> +Blessed, yet sinful one, and broken-hearted!<br /> + The crowd are pointing at the thing forlorn,<br /> + In wonder and in scorn!<br /> +Thou weepest days of innocence departed;<br /> + Thou weepest, and thy tears have power to move<br /> + The Lord to pity and love.<br /><br /> + +The greatest of thy follies is forgiven,<br /> + Even for the least of all the tears that shine<br /> + On that pale cheek of thine.<br /> +Thou didst kneel down, to Him who came from heaven,<br /> + Evil and ignorant, and thou shalt rise<br /> + Holy, and pure, and wise.<br /><br /> + +It is not much that to the fragrant blossom<br /> + The ragged brier should change; the bitter fir<br /> + Distil Arabian myrrh!<br /> +Nor that, upon the wintry desert's bosom,<br /> + The harvest should rise plenteous, and the swain<br /> + Bear home the abundant grain.<br /><br /> + +But come and see the bleak and barren mountains<br /> + Thick to their tops with roses: come and see<br /> + Leaves on the dry dead tree:<br /> +The perished plant, set out by living fountains,<br /> + Grows fruitful, and its beauteous branches rise,<br /> + For ever, towards the skies.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page171" id="page171">[Page 171]</a></span> +<h3>THE LIFE OF THE BLESSED.</h3> + +<h4>FROM THE SPANISH OF LUIS PONCE DE LEON.</h4> + +<p class="indent2"> + Region of life and light!<br /> +Land of the good whose earthly toils are o'er!<br /> + Nor frost nor heat may blight<br /> + Thy vernal beauty, fertile shore,<br /> +Yielding thy blessed fruits for evermore!<br /><br /> + + There without crook or sling,<br /> +Walks the good shepherd; blossoms white and red<br /> + Round his meek temples cling;<br /> + And to sweet pastures led,<br /> +His own loved flock beneath his eye is fed.<br /><br /> + + He guides, and near him they<br /> +Follow delighted, for he makes them go<br /> + Where dwells eternal May,<br /> + And heavenly roses blow,<br /> +Deathless, and gathered but again to grow.<br /><br /> + + He leads them to the height<br /> +Named of the infinite and long-sought Good,<br /> + And fountains of delight;<br /> + And where his feet have stood<br /> +Springs up, along the way, their tender food.<br /><br /> + + And when, in the mid skies,<span class="page"><a name="page172" id="page172">[Page 172]</a></span><br /> +The climbing sun has reached his highest bound,<br /> + Reposing as he lies,<br /> + With all his flock around,<br /> +He witches the still air with numerous sound.<br /><br /> + + From his sweet lute flow forth<br /> +Immortal harmonies, of power to still<br /> + All passions born of earth,<br /> + And draw the ardent will<br /> +Its destiny of goodness to fulfil.<br /><br /> + + Might but a little part,<br /> +A wandering breath of that high melody,<br /> + Descend into my heart,<br /> + And change it till it be<br /> +Transformed and swallowed up, oh love! in thee.<br /><br /> + + Ah! then my soul should know,<br /> +Beloved! where thou liest at noon of day,<br /> + And from this place of woe<br /> + Released, should take its way<br /> +To mingle with thy flock and never stray.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page173" id="page173">[Page 173]</a></span> +<h3>FATIMA AND RADUAN.<a href="#n173">°</a></h3> + +<h4>FROM THE SPANISH.</h4> + + +<p class="footnote2"> +Diamante falso y fingido,<br /> +Engastado en pedernal, &c.</p> + + + +<p class="indent"> +"False diamond set in flint! the caverns of the mine<br /> +Are warmer than the breast that holds that faithless heart of thine;<br /> +Thou art fickle as the sea, thou art wandering as the wind,<br /> +And the restless ever-mounting flame is not more hard to bind.<br /> +If the tears I shed were tongues, yet all too few would be<br /> +To tell of all the treachery that thou hast shown to me.<br /> +Oh! I could chide thee sharply—but every maiden knows<br /> +That she who chides her lover, forgives him ere he goes.<br /><br /> + +"Thou hast called me oft the flower of all Grenada's maids,<br /> +Thou hast said that by the side of me the first and fairest fades;<br /> +And they thought thy heart was mine, and it seemed to every one<br /> +That what thou didst to win my love, from love of me was done.<br /> +Alas! if they but knew thee, as mine it is to know,<br /> +They well might see another mark to which thine arrows go;<br /> +But thou giv'st me little heed—for I speak to one who knows<br /> +That she who chides her lover, forgives him ere he goes.<br /><br /> + +"It wearies me, mine enemy, that I must weep and bear<span class="page"><a name="page174" id="page174">[Page 174]</a></span><br /> +What fills thy heart with triumph, and fills my own with care.<br /> +Thou art leagued with those that hate me, and ah! thou know'st I feel<br /> +That cruel words as surely kill as sharpest blades of steel.<br /> +'Twas the doubt that thou wert false that wrung my heart with pain;<br /> +But, now I know thy perfidy, I shall be well again.<br /> +I would proclaim thee as thou art—but every maiden knows<br /> +That she who chides her lover, forgives him ere he goes."<br /><br /> + +Thus Fatima complained to the valiant Raduan,<br /> +Where underneath the myrtles Alhambra's fountains ran:<br /> +The Moor was inly moved, and blameless as he was,<br /> +He took her white hand in his own, and pleaded thus his cause.<br /> +"Oh, lady, dry those star-like eyes—their dimness does me wrong;<br /> +If my heart be made of flint, at least 'twill keep thy image long;<br /> +Thou hast uttered cruel words—but I grieve the less for those,<br /> +Since she who chides her lover, forgives him ere he goes."</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page175" id="page175">[Page 175]</a></span> +<h3>LOVE AND FOLLY.<a href="#n175">°</a></h3> + +<h4>FROM LA FONTAINE.</h4> + +<p class="indent3"> +Love's worshippers alone can know<br /> + The thousand mysteries that are his;<br /> +His blazing torch, his twanging bow,<br /> + His blooming age are mysteries.<br /> +A charming science—but the day<br /> + Were all too short to con it o'er;<br /> +So take of me this little lay,<br /> + A sample of its boundless lore.<br /><br /> + +As once, beneath the fragrant shade<br /> + Of myrtles breathing heaven's own air,<br /> +The children, Love and Folly, played—<br /> + A quarrel rose betwixt the pair.<br /> +Love said the gods should do him right—<br /> + But Folly vowed to do it then,<br /> +And struck him, o'er the orbs of sight,<br /> + So hard he never saw again.<br /><br /> + +His lovely mother's grief was deep,<br /> + She called for vengeance on the deed;<br /> +A beauty does not vainly weep,<br /> + Nor coldly does a mother plead.<br /> +A shade came o'er the eternal bliss<span class="page"><a name="page176" id="page176">[Page 176]</a></span><br /> + That fills the dwellers of the skies;<br /> +Even stony-hearted Nemesis,<br /> + And Rhadamanthus, wiped their eyes.<br /><br /> + +"Behold," she said, "this lovely boy,"<br /> + While streamed afresh her graceful tears,<br /> +"Immortal, yet shut out from joy<br /> + And sunshine, all his future years.<br /> +The child can never take, you see,<br /> + A single step without a staff—<br /> +The harshest punishment would be<br /> + Too lenient for the crime by half."<br /><br /> + +All said that Love had suffered wrong,<br /> + And well that wrong should be repaid;<br /> +Then weighed the public interest long,<br /> + And long the party's interest weighed.<br /> +And thus decreed the court above—<br /> + "Since Love is blind from Folly's blow,<br /> +Let Folly be the guide of Love,<br /> + Where'er the boy may choose to go."</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page177" id="page177">[Page 177]</a></span> +<h3>THE SIESTA.</h3> + +<h4>FROM THE SPANISH.</h4> + +<p class="center1"> +Vientecico murmurador,<br /> +Que lo gozas y andas todo, &c.</p> + + +<p class="indent2"> +Airs, that wander and murmur round,<br /> + Bearing delight where'er ye blow!<br /> +Make in the elms a lulling sound,<br /> + While my lady sleeps in the shade below.<br /><br /> + +Lighten and lengthen her noonday rest,<br /> + Till the heat of the noonday sun is o'er.<br /> +Sweet be her slumbers! though in my breast<br /> + The pain she has waked may slumber no more.<br /> +Breathing soft from the blue profound,<br /> + Bearing delight where'er ye blow,<br /> +Make in the elms a lulling sound,<br /> + While my lady sleeps in the shade below.<br /><br /> + +Airs! that over the bending boughs,<br /> + And under the shade of pendent leaves,<br /> +Murmur soft, like my timid vows<br /> + Or the secret sighs my bosom heaves,—<br /> +Gently sweeping the grassy ground,<br /> + Bearing delight where'er ye blow,<br /> +Make in the elms a lulling sound,<br /> + While my lady sleeps in the shade below.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page178" id="page178">[Page 178]</a></span> +<h3>THE ALCAYDE OF MOLINA.<a href="#n178">°</a></h3> + +<h4>FROM THE SPANISH.</h4> +<p class="indent"> +To the town of Atienza, Molina's brave Alcayde,<br /> +The courteous and the valorous, led forth his bold brigade.<br /> +The Moor came back in triumph, he came without a wound,<br /> +With many a Christian standard, and Christian captive bound.<br /> +He passed the city portals, with swelling heart and vein,<br /> +And towards his lady's dwelling he rode with slackened rein;<br /> +Two circuits on his charger he took, and at the third,<br /> +From the door of her balcony Zelinda's voice was heard.<br /> +"Now if thou wert not shameless," said the lady to the Moor,<br /> +"Thou wouldst neither pass my dwelling, nor stop before my door.<br /> +Alas for poor Zelinda, and for her wayward mood,<br /> +That one in love with peace should have loved a man of blood!<br /> +Since not that thou wert noble I chose thee for my knight,<br /> +But that thy sword was dreaded in tournay and in fight.<br /> +Ah, thoughtless and unhappy! that I should fail to see<br /> +How ill the stubborn flint and the yielding wax agree.<br /> +Boast not thy love for me, while the shrieking of the fife<br /> +Can change thy mood of mildness to fury and to strife.<br /> +Say not my voice is magic—thy pleasure is to hear<br /> +The bursting of the carbine, and shivering of the spear.<br /> +Well, follow thou thy choice—to the battle-field away,<br /> +To thy triumphs and thy trophies, since I am less than they.<br /> +Thrust thy arm into thy buckler, gird on thy crooked brand,<br /> +And call upon thy trusty squire to bring thy spears in hand.<br /> +Lead forth thy band to skirmish, by mountain and by mead,<br /> +On thy dappled Moorish barb, or thy fleeter border steed.<br /> +Go, waste the Christian hamlets, and sweep away their flocks,<br /> +From Almazan's broad meadows to Siguënza's rocks.<br /> +Leave Zelinda altogether, whom thou leavest oft and long,<br /> +And in the life thou lovest forget whom thou dost wrong.<br /> +These eyes shall not recall thee, though they meet no more thine own,<br /> +Though they weep that thou art absent, and that I am all alone."<br /> +She ceased, and turning from him her flushed and angry cheek,<br /> +Shut the door of her balcony before the Moor could speak.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page179" id="page179">[Page 179]</a></span> +<h3>THE DEATH OF ALIATAR.<a href="#n181">°</a></h3> + +<h4>FROM THE SPANISH.</h4> +<p class="indent3"> +'Tis not with gilded sabres<br /> + That gleam in baldricks blue,<br /> +Nor nodding plumes in caps of Fez,<br /> + Of gay and gaudy hue—<br /> +But, habited in mourning weeds,<br /> + Come marching from afar,<br /> +By four and four, the valiant men<br /> + Who fought with Aliatar.<br /> +All mournfully and slowly<br /> + The afflicted warriors come,<br /> +To the deep wail of the trumpet,<br /> + And beat of muffled drum.<br /><br /> + +The banner of the Phenix,<br /> + The flag that loved the sky,<br /> +That scarce the wind dared wanton with,<br /> + It flew so proud and high—<br /> +Now leaves its place in battle-field,<span class="page"><a name="page180" id="page180">[Page 180]</a></span><br /> + And sweeps the ground in grief,<br /> +The bearer drags its glorious folds<br /> + Behind the fallen chief,<br /> +As mournfully and slowly<br /> + The afflicted warriors come,<br /> +To the deep wail of the trumpet,<br /> + And beat of muffled drum.<br /><br /> + +Brave Aliatar led forward<br /> + A hundred Moors to go<br /> +To where his brother held Motril<br /> + Against the leaguering foe.<br /> +On horseback went the gallant Moor,<br /> + That gallant band to lead;<br /> +And now his bier is at the gate,<br /> + From whence he pricked his steed.<br /> +While mournfully and slowly<br /> + The afflicted warriors come,<br /> +To the deep wail of the trumpet,<br /> + And beat of muffled drum.<br /><br /> + +The knights of the Grand Master<br /> + In crowded ambush lay;<br /> +They rushed upon him where the reeds<br /> + Were thick beside the way;<br /> +They smote the valiant Aliatar,<br /> + They smote the warrior dead,<br /> +And broken, but not beaten, were<br /> + The gallant ranks he led.<br /> +Now mournfully and slowly<br /> + The afflicted warriors come,<br /> +To the deep wail of the trumpet,<br /> + And beat of muffled drum.<br /><br /> + +Oh! what was Zayda's sorrow,<span class="page"><a name="page181" id="page181">[Page 181]</a></span><br /> + How passionate her cries!<br /> +Her lover's wounds streamed not more free<br /> + Than that poor maiden's eyes.<br /> +Say, Love—for didst thou see her tears:<br /> + Oh, no! he drew more tight<br /> +The blinding fillet o'er his lids<br /> + To spare his eyes the sight.<br /> +While mournfully and slowly<br /> + The afflicted warriors come,<br /> +To the deep wail of the trumpet,<br /> + And beat of muffled drum.<br /><br /> + +Nor Zayda weeps him only,<br /> + But all that dwell between<br /> +The great Alhambra's palace walls<br /> + And springs of Albaicin.<br /> +The ladies weep the flower of knights,<br /> + The brave the bravest here;<br /> +The people weep a champion,<br /> + The Alcaydes a noble peer.<br /> +While mournfully and slowly<br /> + The afflicted warriors come,<br /> +To the deep wail of the trumpet,<br /> + And beat of muffled drum.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page182" id="page182">[Page 182]</a></span> +<h3>LOVE IN THE AGE OF CHIVALRY.<a href="#n182">°</a></h3> + +<h4>FROM PEYRE VIDAL, THE TROUBADOUR.</h4> + +<p class="indent3"> +The earth was sown with early flowers,<br /> + The heavens were blue and bright—<br /> +I met a youthful cavalier<br /> + As lovely as the light.<br /> +I knew him not—but in my heart<br /> + His graceful image lies,<br /> +And well I marked his open brow,<br /> + His sweet and tender eyes,<br /> +His ruddy lips that ever smiled,<br /> + His glittering teeth betwixt,<br /> +And flowing robe embroidered o'er,<br /> + With leaves and blossoms mixed.<br /> +He wore a chaplet of the rose;<br /> + His palfrey, white and sleek,<br /> +Was marked with many an ebon spot,<br /> + And many a purple streak;<br /> +Of jasper was his saddle-bow,<br /> + His housings sapphire stone,<br /> +And brightly in his stirrup glanced<br /> + The purple calcedon.<br /> +Fast rode the gallant cavalier,<br /> + As youthful horsemen ride;<br /> +"Peyre Vidal! know that I am Love,"<br /> + The blooming stranger cried;<br /> +"And this is Mercy by my side,<br /> + A dame of high degree;<br /> +This maid is Chastity," he said,<br /> + "This squire is Loyalty."</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page183" id="page183">[Page 183]</a></span> +<h3>THE LOVE OF GOD.<a href="#n183">°</a></h3> + +<h4>FROM THE PROVENÇAL OF BERNARI RASCAS.</h4> + +<p class="indent"> + All things that are on earth shall wholly pass away,<br /> +Except the love of God, which shall live and last for aye.<br /> +The forms of men shall be as they had never been;<br /> +The blasted groves shall lose their fresh and tender green;<br /> +The birds of the thicket shall end their pleasant song,<br /> +And the nigthingale shall cease to chant the evening long.<br /> +The kine of the pasture shall feel the dart that kills,<br /> +And all the fair white flocks shall perish from the hills.<br /> +The goat and antlered stag, the wolf and the fox,<br /> +The wild boar of the wood, and the chamois of the rocks,<br /> +And the strong and fearless bear, in the trodden dust shall lie,<br /> +And the dolphin of the sea, and the mighty whale, shall die.<br /> +And realms shall be dissolved, and empires be no more,<br /> +And they shall bow to death, who ruled from shore to shore;<br /> +And the great globe itself, (so the holy writings tell,)<br /> +With the rolling firmament, where the starry armies dwell,<br /> +Shall melt with fervent heat—they shall all pass away,<br /> +Except the love of God, which shall live and last for aye.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page184" id="page184">[Page 184]</a></span> +<h3>FROM THE SPANISH OF PEDRO DE CASTRO Y AÑAYA.<a href="#n184">°</a></h3> +<p class="indent2"> +Stay, rivulet, nor haste to leave<br /> + The lovely vale that lies around thee.<br /> +Why wouldst thou be a sea at eve,<br /> + When but a fount the morning found thee?<br /><br /> + +Born when the skies began to glow,<br /> + Humblest of all the rock's cold daughters,<br /> +No blossom bowed its stalk to show<br /> + Where stole thy still and scanty waters.<br /><br /> + +Now on thy stream the noonbeams look,<br /> + Usurping, as thou downward driftest,<br /> +Its crystal from the clearest brook,<br /> + Its rushing current from the swiftest.<br /><br /> + +Ah! what wild haste!—and all to be<br /> + A river and expire in ocean.<br /> +Each fountain's tribute hurries thee<br /> + To that vast grave with quicker motion.<br /><br /> + +Far better 'twere to linger still<br /> + In this green vale, these flowers to cherish,<br /> +And die in peace, an aged rill,<br /> + Than thus, a youthful Danube, perish.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page185" id="page185">[Page 185]</a></span> +<h3>SONNET.</h3> + +<h4>FROM THE PORTUGUESE OF SEMEDO.</h4> + +<p class="indent2"> +It is a fearful night; a feeble glare<br /> + Streams from the sick moon in the o'erclouded sky;<br /> + The ridgy billows, with a mighty cry,<br /> +Rush on the foamy beaches wild and bare;<br /> +No bark the madness of the waves will dare;<br /> + The sailors sleep; the winds are loud and high;<br /> + Ah, peerless Laura! for whose love I die,<br /> +Who gazes on thy smiles while I despair?<br /> + As thus, in bitterness of heart, I cried,<br /> +I turned, and saw my Laura, kind and bright,<br /> + A messenger of gladness, at my side:<br /> +To my poor bark she sprang with footstep light,<br /> + And as we furrowed Tago's heaving tide,<br /> +I never saw so beautiful a night.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page186" id="page186">[Page 186]</a></span> +<h3>SONG.</h3> + +<h4>FROM THE SPANISH OF IGLESIAS.</h4> + +<p class="indent3"> +Alexis calls me cruel;<br /> + The rifted crags that hold<br /> +The gathered ice of winter,<br /> + He says, are not more cold.<br /><br /> + +When even the very blossoms<br /> + Around the fountain's brim,<br /> +And forest walks, can witness<br /> + The love I bear to him.<br /><br /> + +I would that I could utter<br /> + My feelings without shame;<br /> +And tell him how I love him,<br /> + Nor wrong my virgin fame.<br /><br /> + +Alas! to seize the moment<br /> + When heart inclines to heart,<br /> +And press a suit with passion,<br /> + Is not a woman's part.<br /><br /> + +If man comes not to gather<br /> + The roses where they stand,<br /> +They fade among their foliage;<br /> + They cannot seek his hand.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page187" id="page187">[Page 187]</a></span> +<h3>THE COUNT OF GREIERS.</h3> + +<h4>FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND.</h4> + +<p class="indent"> +At morn the Count of Greiers before his castle stands;<br /> +He sees afar the glory that lights the mountain lands;<br /> +The horned crags are shining, and in the shade between<br /> +A pleasant Alpine valley lies beautifully green.<br /><br /> + +"Oh, greenest of the valleys, how shall I come to thee!<br /> +Thy herdsmen and thy maidens, how happy must they be!<br /> +I have gazed upon thee coldly, all lovely as thou art,<br /> +But the wish to walk thy pastures now stirs my inmost heart."<br /><br /> + +He hears a sound of timbrels, and suddenly appear<br /> +A troop of ruddy damsels and herdsmen drawing near;<br /> +They reach the castle greensward, and gayly dance across;<br /> +The white sleeves flit and glimmer, the wreaths and ribands toss.<br /><br /> + +The youngest of the maidens, slim as a spray of spring,<br /> +She takes the young count's fingers, and draws him to the ring,<br /> +They fling upon his forehead a crown of mountain flowers,<br /> +'And ho, young Count of Greiers! this morning thou art ours!"<br /><br /> + +Then hand in hand departing, with dance and roundelay,<br /> +Through hamlet after hamlet, they lead the Count away.<br /> +They dance through wood and meadow, they dance across the linn,<br /> +Till the mighty Alpine summits have shut the music in.<br /><br /> + +The second morn is risen, and now the third is come;<span class="page"><a name="page188" id="page188">[Page 188]</a></span><br /> +Where stays the Count of Greiers? has he forgot his home?<br /> +Again the evening closes, in thick and sultry air;<br /> +There's thunder on the mountains, the storm is gathering there.<br /><br /> + +The cloud has shed its waters, the brook comes swollen down;<br /> +You see it by the lightning—a river wide and brown.<br /> +Around a struggling swimmer the eddies dash and roar,<br /> +Till, seizing on a willow, he leaps upon the shore.<br /><br /> + +"Here am I cast by tempests far from your mountain dell.<br /> +Amid our evening dances the bursting deluge fell.<br /> +Ye all, in cots and caverns, have 'scaped the water-spout,<br /> +While me alone the tempest o'erwhelmed and hurried out.<br /><br /> + +"Farewell, with thy glad dwellers, green vale among the rocks!<br /> +Farewell the swift sweet moments, in which I watched thy flocks!<br /> +Why rocked they not my cradle in that delicious spot,<br /> +That garden of the happy, where Heaven endures me not?<br /><br /> + +"Rose of the Alpine valley! I feel, in every vein,<br /> +Thy soft touch on my fingers; oh, press them not again!<br /> +Bewitch me not, ye garlands, to tread that upward track,<br /> +And thou, my cheerless mansion, receive thy master back."</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page189" id="page189">[Page 189]</a></span> +<h3>THE SERENADE.</h3> + +<h4>FROM THE SPANISH.</h4> + +<p class="indent3"> +If slumber, sweet Lisena!<br /> + Have stolen o'er thine eyes,<br /> +As night steals o'er the glory<br /> + Of spring's transparent skies;<br /><br /> + +Wake, in thy scorn and beauty,<br /> + And listen to the strain<br /> +That murmurs my devotion,<br /> + That mourns for thy disdain.<br /><br /> + +Here by thy door at midnight,<br /> + I pass the dreary hour,<br /> +With plaintive sounds profaning<br /> + The silence of thy bower;<br /><br /> + +A tale of sorrow cherished<br /> + Too fondly to depart,<br /> +Of wrong from love the flatterer,<br /> + And my own wayward heart.<br /><br /> + +Twice, o'er this vale, the seasons<span class="page"><a name="page190" id="page190">[Page 190]</a></span><br /> + Have brought and borne away<br /> +The January tempest,<br /> + The genial wind of May;<br /><br /> + +Yet still my plaint is uttered,<br /> + My tears and sighs are given<br /> +To earth's unconscious waters,<br /> + And wandering winds of heaven.<br /><br /> + +I saw from this fair region,<br /> + The smile of summer pass,<br /> +And myriad frost-stars glitter<br /> + Among the russet grass.<br /><br /> + +While winter seized the streamlets<br /> + That fled along the ground,<br /> +And fast in chains of crystal<br /> + The truant murmurers bound.<br /><br /> + +I saw that to the forest<br /> + The nightingales had flown,<br /> +And every sweet-voiced fountain<br /> + Had hushed its silver tone.<br /><br /> + +The maniac winds, divorcing<br /> + The turtle from his mate,<br /> +Raved through the leafy beeches,<br /> + And left them desolate.<br /><br /> + +Now May, with life and music,<br /> + The blooming valley fills,<br /> +And rears her flowery arches<br /> + For all the little rills.<br /><br /> + +The minstrel bird of evening <span class="page"><a name="page191" id="page191">[Page 191]</a></span><br /> + Comes back on joyous wings,<br /> +And, like the harp's soft murmur,<br /> + Is heard the gush of springs.<br /><br /> + +And deep within the forest<br /> + Are wedded turtles seen,<br /> +Their nuptial chambers seeking,<br /> + Their chambers close and green.<br /><br /> + +The rugged trees are mingling<br /> + Their flowery sprays in love;<br /> +The ivy climbs the laurel,<br /> + To clasp the boughs above.<br /><br /> + +They change—but thou, Lisena,<br /> + Art cold while I complain:<br /> +Why to thy lover only<br /> + Should spring return in vain?</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page192" id="page192">[Page 192]</a></span> +<h3>A NORTHERN LEGEND.</h3> + +<h4>FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND.</h4> + +<p class="indent3"> +There sits a lovely maiden,<br /> + The ocean murmuring nigh;<br /> +She throws the hook, and watches;<br /> + The fishes pass it by.<br /><br /> + +A ring, with a red jewel,<br /> + Is sparkling on her hand;<br /> +Upon the hook she binds it,<br /> + And flings it from the land.<br /><br /> + +Uprises from the water<br /> + A hand like ivory fair.<br /> +What gleams upon its finger?<br /> + The golden ring is there.<br /><br /> + +Uprises from the bottom<br /> + A young and handsome knight;<br /> +In golden scales he rises,<br /> + That glitter in the light.<br /><br /> + +The maid is pale with terror—<br /> + "Nay, Knight of Ocean, nay,<br /> +It was not thee I wanted;<br /> + Let go the ring, I pray."<br /><br /> + +"Ah, maiden, not to fishes<br /> + The bait of gold is thrown;<br /> +The ring shall never leave me,<br /> + And thou must be my own."</p><br /> + + + <br /><br /><br /><hr /><br /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page193" id="page193">[Page 193]</a></span> + +<h2>LATER POEMS.</h2> +<br /><br /><hr /><br /><br /><br /> +<span class="page"><a name="page195" id="page195">[Page 195]</a></span> +<h2>LATER POEMS.</h2> + +<br /><br /><br /> +<h3>TO THE APENNINES.</h3> +<p class="indent2"> +Your peaks are beautiful, ye Apennines!<br /> + In the soft light of these serenest skies;<br /> +From the broad highland region, black with pines,<br /> + Fair as the hills of Paradise they rise,<br /> +Bathed in the tint Peruvian slaves behold<br /> +In rosy flushes on the virgin gold.<br /><br /> + +There, rooted to the aërial shelves that wear<br /> + The glory of a brighter world, might spring<br /> +Sweet flowers of heaven to scent the unbreathed air,<br /> + And heaven's fleet messengers might rest the wing,<br /> +To view the fair earth in its summer sleep,<br /> +Silent, and cradled by the glimmering deep.<br /><br /> + +Below you lie men's sepulchres, the old<br /> + Etrurian tombs, the graves of yesterday;<br /> +The herd's white bones lie mixed with human mould—<br /> + Yet up the radiant steeps that I survey<br /> +Death never climbed, nor life's soft breath, with pain,<br /> +Was yielded to the elements again.<br /><br /> + +Ages of war have filled these plains with fear;<span class="page"><a name="page196" id="page196">[Page 196]</a></span><br /> + How oft the hind has started at the clash<br /> +Of spears, and yell of meeting, armies here,<br /> + Or seen the lightning of the battle flash<br /> +From clouds, that rising with the thunder's sound,<br /> +Hung like an earth-born tempest o'er the ground!<br /><br /> + +Ah me! what armed nations—Asian horde,<br /> + And Libyan host—the Scythian and the Gaul,<br /> +Have swept your base and through your passes poured,<br /> + Like ocean-tides uprising at the call<br /> +Of tyrant winds—against your rocky side<br /> +The bloody billows dashed, and howled, and died.<br /><br /> + +How crashed the towers before beleaguering foes,<br /> + Sacked cities smoked and realms were rent in twain;<br /> +And commonwealths against their rivals rose,<br /> + Trode out their lives and earned the curse of Cain!<br /> +While in the noiseless air and light that flowed<br /> +Round your far brows, eternal Peace abode.<br /><br /> + +Here pealed the impious hymn, and altar flames<br /> + Rose to false gods, a dream-begotten throng,<br /> +Jove, Bacchus, Pan, and earlier, fouler names;<br /> + While, as the unheeding ages passed along,<br /> +Ye, from your station in the middle skies,<br /> +Proclaimed the essential Goodness, strong and wise.<br /><br /> + +In you the heart that sighs for freedom seeks<br /> + Her image; there the winds no barrier know,<br /> +Clouds come and rest and leave your fairy peaks;<br /> + While even the immaterial Mind, below,<br /> +And thought, her winged offspring, chained by power,<br /> +Pine silently for the redeeming hour.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page197" id="page197">[Page 197]</a></span> +<h3>EARTH.</h3> +<p class="indent1"> + A midnight black with clouds is in the sky;<br /> +I seem to feel, upon my limbs, the weight<br /> +Of its vast brooding shadow. All in vain<br /> +Turns the tired eye in search of form; no star<br /> +Pierces the pitchy veil; no ruddy blaze,<br /> +From dwellings lighted by the cheerful hearth,<br /> +Tinges the flowering summits of the grass.<br /> +No sound of life is heard, no village hum,<br /> +Nor measured tramp of footstep in the path,<br /> +Nor rush of wing, while, on the breast of Earth,<br /> +I lie and listen to her mighty voice:<br /> +A voice of many tones—sent up from streams<br /> +That wander through the gloom, from woods unseen,<br /> +Swayed by the sweeping of the tides of air,<br /> +From rocky chasms where darkness dwells all day,<br /> +And hollows of the great invisible hills,<br /> +And sands that edge the ocean, stretching far<br /> +Into the night—a melancholy sound!<br /><br /> + + O Earth! dost thou too sorrow for the past<br /> +Like man thy offspring? Do I hear thee mourn<br /> +Thy childhood's unreturning hours, thy springs<br /> +Gone with their genial airs and melodies,<br /> +The gentle generations of thy flowers,<br /> +And thy majestic groves of olden time,<br /> +Perished with all their dwellers? Dost thou wail<br /> +For that fair age of which the poets tell,<br /> +Ere the rude winds grew keen with frost, or fire<br /> +Fell with the rains, or spouted from the hills,<br /> +To blast thy greenness, while the virgin night<br /> +Was guiltless and salubrious as the day?<br /> +Or haply dost thou grieve for those that die—<br /> +For living things that trod thy paths awhile,<br /> +The love of thee and heaven—and now they sleep<span class="page"><a name="page198" id="page198">[Page 198]</a></span><br /> +Mixed with the shapeless dust on which thy herds<br /> +Trample and graze? I too must grieve with thee,<br /> +O'er loved ones lost. Their graves are far away<br /> +Upon thy mountains; yet, while I recline<br /> +Alone, in darkness, on thy naked soil,<br /> +The mighty nourisher and burial-place<br /> +Of man, I feel that I embrace their dust.<br /><br /> + + Ha! how the murmur deepens! I perceive<br /> +And tremble at its dreadful import. Earth<br /> +Uplifts a general cry for guilt and wrong,<br /> +And heaven is listening. The forgotten graves<br /> +Of the heart-broken utter forth their plaint.<br /> +The dust of her who loved and was betrayed,<br /> +And him who died neglected in his age;<br /> +The sepulchres of those who for mankind<br /> +Laboured, and earned the recompense of scorn;<br /> +Ashes of martyrs for the truth, and bones<br /> +Of those who, in the strife for liberty,<br /> +Were beaten down, their corses given to dogs,<br /> +Their names to infamy, all find a voice.<br /> +The nook in which the captive, overtoiled,<br /> +Lay down to rest at last, and that which holds<br /> +Childhood's sweet blossoms, crushed by cruel hands,<br /> +Send up a plaintive sound. From battle-fields,<br /> +Where heroes madly drave and dashed their hosts<br /> +Against each other, rises up a noise,<br /> +As if the armed multitudes of dead<br /> +Stirred in their heavy slumber. Mournful tones<br /> +Come from the green abysses of the sea—<br /> +story of the crimes the guilty sought<br /> +To hide beneath its waves. The glens, the groves,<br /> +Paths in the thicket, pools of running brook,<br /> +And banks and depths of lake, and streets and lanes<br /> +Of cities, now that living sounds are hushed,<br /> +Murmur of guilty force and treachery.<br /><br /> + + Here, where I rest, the vales of Italy<span class="page"><a name="page199" id="page199">[Page 199]</a></span><br /> +Are round me, populous from early time,<br /> +And field of the tremendous warfare waged<br /> +'Twixt good and evil. Who, alas, shall dare<br /> +Interpret to man's ear the mingled voice<br /> +That comes from her old dungeons yawning now<br /> +To the black air, her amphitheatres,<br /> +Where the dew gathers on the mouldering stones,<br /> +And fanes of banished gods, and open tombs,<br /> +And roofless palaces, and streets and hearths<br /> +Of cities dug from their volcanic graves?<br /> +I hear a sound of many languages,<br /> +The utterance of nations now no more,<br /> +Driven out by mightier, as the days of heaven<br /> +Chase one another from the sky. The blood<br /> +Of freemen shed by freemen, till strange lords<br /> +Came in the hour of weakness, and made fast<br /> +The yoke that yet is worn, cries out to Heaven.<br /><br /> + + What then shall cleanse thy bosom, gentle Earth<br /> +From all its painful memories of guilt?<br /> +The whelming flood, or the renewing fire,<br /> +Or the slow change of time? that so, at last,<br /> +The horrid tale of perjury and strife,<br /> +Murder and spoil, which men call history,<br /> +May seem a fable, like the inventions told<br /> +By poets of the gods of Greece. O thou,<br /> +Who sittest far beyond the Atlantic deep,<br /> +Among the sources of thy glorious streams,<br /> +My native Land of Groves! a newer page<br /> +In the great record of the world is thine;<br /> +Shall it be fairer? Fear, and friendly hope,<br /> +And envy, watch the issue, while the lines,<br /> +By which thou shalt be judged, are written down.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page200" id="page200">[Page 200]</a></span> +<h3>THE KNIGHT'S EPITAPH.</h3> +<p class="indent1"> + This is the church which Pisa, great and free,<br /> +Reared to St. Catharine. How the time-stained walls,<br /> +That earthquakes shook not from their poise, appear<br /> +To shiver in the deep and voluble tones<br /> +Rolled from the organ! Underneath my feet<br /> +There lies the lid of a sepulchral vault.<br /> +The image of an armed knight is graven<br /> +Upon it, clad in perfect panoply—<br /> +Cuishes, and greaves, and cuirass, with barred helm,<br /> +Gauntleted hand, and sword, and blazoned shield.<br /> +Around, in Gothic characters, worn dim<br /> +By feet of worshippers, are traced his name,<br /> +And birth, and death, and words of eulogy.<br /> +Why should I pore upon them? This old tomb,<br /> +This effigy, the strange disused form<br /> +Of this inscription, eloquently show<br /> +His history. Let me clothe in fitting words<br /> +The thoughts they breathe, and frame his epitaph.<br /><br /> + + "He whose forgotten dust for centuries<br /> +Has lain beneath this stone, was one in whom<br /> +Adventure, and endurance, and emprise<br /> +Exalted the mind's faculties and strung<br /> +The body's sinews. Brave he was in fight,<span class="page"><a name="page201" id="page201">[Page 201]</a></span><br /> +Courteous in banquet, scornful of repose,<br /> +And bountiful, and cruel, and devout,<br /> +And quick to draw the sword in private feud.<br /> +He pushed his quarrels to the death, yet prayed<br /> +The saints as fervently on bended knees<br /> +As ever shaven cenobite. He loved<br /> +As fiercely as he fought. He would have borne<br /> +The maid that pleased him from her bower by night,<br /> +To his hill-castle, as the eagle bears<br /> +His victim from the fold, and rolled the rocks<br /> +On his pursuers. He aspired to see<br /> +His native Pisa queen and arbitress<br /> +Of cities: earnestly for her he raised<br /> +His voice in council, and affronted death<br /> +In battle-field, and climbed the galley's deck,<br /> +And brought the captured flag of Genoa back,<br /> +Or piled upon the Arno's crowded quay<br /> +The glittering spoils of the tamed Saracen.<br /> +He was not born to brook the stranger's yoke,<br /> +But would have joined the exiles that withdrew<br /> +For ever, when the Florentine broke in<br /> +The gates of Pisa, and bore off the bolts<br /> +For trophies—but he died before that day.<br /><br /> + + "He lived, the impersonation of an age<br /> +That never shall return. His soul of fire<br /> +Was kindled by the breath of the rude time<br /> +He lived in. Now a gentler race succeeds,<br /> +Shuddering at blood; the effeminate cavalier,<br /> +Turning his eyes from the reproachful past,<br /> +And from the hopeless future, gives to ease,<br /> +And love, and music, his inglorious life."</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page202" id="page202">[Page 202]</a></span> +<h3>THE HUNTER OF THE PRAIRIES.</h3> +<p class="indent2"> +Ay, this is freedom!—these pure skies<br /> + Were never stained with village smoke:<br /> +The fragrant wind, that through them flies,<br /> + Is breathed from wastes by plough unbroke.<br /> +Here, with my rifle and my steed,<br /> + And her who left the world for me,<br /> +I plant me, where the red deer feed<br /> + In the green desert—and am free.<br /><br /> + +For here the fair savannas know<br /> + No barriers in the bloomy grass;<br /> +Wherever breeze of heaven may blow,<br /> + Or beam of heaven may glance, I pass.<br /> +In pastures, measureless as air,<br /> + The bison is my noble game;<br /> +The bounding elk, whose antlers tear<br /> + The branches, falls before my aim.<br /><br /> + +Mine are the river-fowl that scream<br /> + From the long stripe of waving sedge;<br /> +The bear that marks my weapon's gleam,<br /> + Hides vainly in the forest's edge;<br /> +In vain the she-wolf stands at bay;<br /> + The brinded catamount, that lies<br /> +High in the boughs to watch his prey,<br /> + Even in the act of springing, dies.<br /><br /> + +With what free growth the elm and plane<span class="page"><a name="page203" id="page203">[Page 203]</a></span><br /> + Fling their huge arms across my way,<br /> +Gray, old, and cumbered with a train<br /> + Of vines, as huge, and old, and gray!<br /> +Free stray the lucid streams, and find<br /> + No taint in these fresh lawns and shades;<br /> +Free spring the flowers that scent the wind<br /> + Where never scythe has swept the glades.<br /><br /> + +Alone the Fire, when frost-winds sere<br /> + The heavy herbage of the ground,<br /> +Gathers his annual harvest here,<br /> + With roaring like the battle's sound,<br /> +And hurrying flames that sweep the plain,<br /> + And smoke-streams gushing up the sky:<br /> +I meet the flames with flames again,<br /> + And at my door they cower and die.<br /><br /> + +Here, from dim woods, the aged past<br /> + Speaks solemnly; and I behold<br /> +The boundless future in the vast<br /> + And lonely river, seaward rolled.<br /> +Who feeds its founts with rain and dew;<br /> + Who moves, I ask, its gliding mass,<br /> +And trains the bordering vines, whose blue<br /> + Bright clusters tempt me as I pass?<br /><br /> + +Broad are these streams—my steed obeys,<br /> + Plunges, and bears me through the tide.<br /> +Wide are these woods—I thread the maze<br /> + Of giant stems, nor ask a guide.<br /> +I hunt till day's last glimmer dies<br /> + O'er woody vale and grassy height;<br /> +And kind the voice and glad the eyes<br /> + That welcome my return at night.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page204" id="page204">[Page 204]</a></span> +<h3>SEVENTY-SIX.</h3> +<p class="indent2"> +What heroes from the woodland sprung,<br /> + When, through the fresh awakened land,<br /> +The thrilling cry of freedom rung,<br /> +And to the work of warfare strung<br /> + The yeoman's iron hand!<br /><br /> + +Hills flung the cry to hills around,<br /> + And ocean-mart replied to mart,<br /> +And streams whose springs were yet unfound,<br /> +Pealed far away the startling sound<br /> + Into the forest's heart.<br /><br /> + +Then marched the brave from rocky steep,<br /> + From mountain river swift and cold;<br /> +The borders of the stormy deep,<br /> +The vales where gathered waters sleep,<br /> + Sent up the strong and bold,—<br /><br /> + +As if the very earth again<br /> + Grew quick with God's creating breath,<br /> +And, from the sods of grove and glen,<br /> +Rose ranks of lion-hearted men<br /> + To battle to the death.<br /><br /> + +The wife, whose babe first smiled that day,<span class="page"><a name="page205" id="page205">[Page 205]</a></span><br /> + The fair fond bride of yestereve,<br /> +And aged sire and matron gray,<br /> +Saw the loved warriors haste away,<br /> + And deemed it sin to grieve.<br /><br /> + +Already had the strife begun;<br /> + Already blood on Concord's plain<br /> +Along the springing grass had run,<br /> +And blood had flowed at Lexington,<br /> + Like brooks of April rain.<br /><br /> + +That death-stain on the vernal sward<br /> + Hallowed to freedom all the shore;<br /> +In fragments fell the yoke abhorred—<br /> +The footstep of a foreign lord<br /> + Profaned the soil no more.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page206" id="page206">[Page 206]</a></span> +<h3>THE LIVING LOST.</h3> +<p class="indent2"> +Matron! the children of whose love,<br /> + Each to his grave, in youth hath passed,<br /> +And now the mould is heaped above<br /> + The dearest and the last!<br /> +Bride! who dost wear the widow's veil<br /> +Before the wedding flowers are pale!<br /> +Ye deem the human heart endures<br /> +No deeper, bitterer grief than yours.<br /><br /> + +Yet there are pangs of keener wo,<br /> + Of which the sufferers never speak,<br /> +Nor to the world's cold pity show<br /> + The tears that scald the cheek,<br /> +Wrung from their eyelids by the shame<br /> +And guilt of those they shrink to name,<br /> +Whom once they loved with cheerful will,<br /> +And love, though fallen and branded, still.<br /><br /> + +Weep, ye who sorrow for the dead,<br /> + Thus breaking hearts their pain relieve;<br /> +And reverenced are the tears ye shed,<br /> + And honoured ye who grieve.<br /> +The praise of those who sleep in earth,<br /> +The pleasant memory of their worth,<br /> +The hope to meet when life is past,<br /> +Shall heal the tortured mind at last.<br /><br /> + +But ye, who for the living lost<br /> + That agony in secret bear,<br /> +Who shall with soothing words accost<br /> + The strength of your despair?<br /> +Grief for your sake is scorn for them<br /> +Whom ye lament and all condemn;<br /> +And o'er the world of spirits lies<br /> +A gloom from which ye turn your eyes.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page207" id="page207">[Page 207]</a></span> +<h3>CATTERSKILL FALLS.</h3> +<p class="indent1"> +Midst greens and shades the Catterskill leaps,<br /> + From cliffs where the wood-flower clings;<br /> +All summer he moistens his verdant steeps<br /> + With the sweet light spray of the mountain springs;<br /> +And he shakes the woods on the mountain side,<br /> +When they drip with the rains of autumn-tide.<br /><br /> + +But when, in the forest bare and old,<br /> + The blast of December calls,<br /> +He builds, in the starlight clear and cold,<br /> + A palace of ice where his torrent falls,<br /> +With turret, and arch, and fretwork fair,<br /> +And pillars blue as the summer air.<br /><br /> + +For whom are those glorious chambers wrought,<br /> + In the cold and cloudless night?<br /> +Is there neither spirit nor motion of thought<br /> + In forms so lovely, and hues so bright?<br /> +Hear what the gray-haired woodmen tell<br /> +Of this wild stream and its rocky dell.<br /><br /> + +'Twas hither a youth of dreamy mood,<br /> + A hundred winters ago,<br /> +Had wandered over the mighty wood,<br /> + When the panther's track was fresh on the snow,<br /> +And keen were the winds that came to stir<br /> +The long dark boughs of the hemlock fir.<br /><br /> + +Too gentle of mien he seemed and fair,<span class="page"><a name="page208" id="page208">[Page 208]</a></span><br /> + For a child of those rugged steeps;<br /> +His home lay low in the valley where<br /> + The kingly Hudson rolls to the deeps;<br /> +But he wore the hunter's frock that day,<br /> +And a slender gun on his shoulder lay.<br /><br /> + +And here he paused, and against the trunk<br /> + Of a tall gray linden leant,<br /> +When the broad clear orb of the sun had sunk<br /> + From his path in the frosty firmament,<br /> +And over the round dark edge of the hill<br /> +A cold green light was quivering still.<br /><br /> + +And the crescent moon, high over the green,<br /> + From a sky of crimson shone,<br /> +On that icy palace, whose towers were seen<br /> + To sparkle as if with stars of their own;<br /> +While the water fell with a hollow sound,<br /> +'Twixt the glistening pillars ranged around.<br /><br /> + +Is that a being of life, that moves<br /> + Where the crystal battlements rise?<br /> +A maiden watching the moon she loves,<br /> + At the twilight hour, with pensive eyes?<br /> +Was that a garment which seemed to gleam<br /> +Betwixt the eye and the falling stream?<br /><br /> + +'Tis only the torrent tumbling o'er,<br /> + In the midst of those glassy walls,<br /> +Gushing, and plunging, and beating the floor<br /> + Of the rocky basin in which it falls.<br /> +'Tis only the torrent—but why that start?<br /> +Why gazes the youth with a throbbing heart?<br /><br /> + +He thinks no more of his home afar,<span class="page"><a name="page209" id="page209">[Page 209]</a></span><br /> + Where his sire and sister wait.<br /> +He heeds no longer how star after star<br /> + Looks forth on the night as the hour grows late.<br /> +He heeds not the snow-wreaths, lifted and cast<br /> +From a thousand boughs, by the rising blast.<br /><br /> + +His thoughts are alone of those who dwell<br /> + In the halls of frost and snow,<br /> +Who pass where the crystal domes upswell<br /> + From the alabaster floors below,<br /> +Where the frost-trees shoot with leaf and spray,<br /> +And frost-gems scatter a silvery day.<br /><br /> + +"And oh that those glorious haunts were mine!"<br /> + He speaks, and throughout the glen<br /> +Thin shadows swim in the faint moonshine,<br /> + And take a ghastly likeness of men,<br /> +As if the slain by the wintry storms<br /> +Came forth to the air in their earthly forms.<br /><br /> + +There pass the chasers of seal and whale,<br /> + With their weapons quaint and grim,<br /> +And bands of warriors in glittering mail,<br /> + And herdsmen and hunters huge of limb.<br /> +There are naked arms, with bow and spear,<br /> +And furry gauntlets the carbine rear.<br /><br /> + +There are mothers—and oh how sadly their eyes<br /> + On their children's white brows rest!<br /> +There are youthful lovers—the maiden lies,<br /> + In a seeming sleep, on the chosen breast;<br /> +There are fair wan women with moonstruck air,<br /> +The snow stars flecking their long loose hair.<br /><br /> + +They eye him not as they pass along,<span class="page"><a name="page210" id="page210">[Page 210]</a></span><br /> + But his hair stands up with dread,<br /> +When he feels that he moves with that phantom throng,<br /> + Till those icy turrets are over his head,<br /> +And the torrent's roar as they enter seems<br /> +Like a drowsy murmur heard in dreams.<br /><br /> + +The glittering threshold is scarcely passed,<br /> + When there gathers and wraps him round<br /> +A thick white twilight, sullen and vast,<br /> + In which there is neither form nor sound;<br /> +The phantoms, the glory, vanish all,<br /> +With the dying voice of the waterfall.<br /><br /> + +Slow passes the darkness of that trance,<br /> + And the youth now faintly sees<br /> +Huge shadows and gushes of light that dance<br /> + On a rugged ceiling of unhewn trees,<br /> +And walls where the skins of beasts are hung,<br /> +And rifles glitter on antlers strung.<br /><br /> + +On a couch of shaggy skins he lies;<br /> + As he strives to raise his head,<br /> +Hard-featured woodmen, with kindly eyes,<br /> + Come round him and smooth his furry bed<br /> +And bid him rest, for the evening star<br /> +Is scarcely set and the day is far.<br /><br /> + +They had found at eve the dreaming one<br /> + By the base of that icy steep,<br /> +When over his stiffening limbs begun<br /> + The deadly slumber of frost to creep,<br /> +And they cherished the pale and breathless form,<br /> +Till the stagnant blood ran free and warm.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page211" id="page211">[Page 211]</a></span> +<h3>THE STRANGE LADY.</h3> +<p class="indent"> +The summer morn is bright and fresh, the birds are darting by,<br /> +As if they loved to breast the breeze that sweeps the cool clear sky;<br /> +Young Albert, in the forest's edge, has heard a rustling sound,<br /> +An arrow slightly strikes his hand and falls upon the ground.<br /><br /> + +A dark-haired woman from the wood comes suddenly in sight;<br /> +Her merry eye is full and black, her cheek is brown and bright;<br /> +Her gown is of the mid-sea blue, her belt with beads is strung,<br /> +And yet she speaks in gentle tones, and in the English tongue.<br /><br /> + +"It was an idle bolt I sent, against the villain crow;<br /> +Fair sir, I fear it harmed thy hand; beshrew my erring bow!"<br /> +"Ah! would that bolt had not been spent! then, lady, might I wear<br /> +A lasting token on my hand of one so passing fair!"<br /><br /> + +"Thou art a flatterer like the rest, but wouldst thou take with me<br /> +A day of hunting in the wilds, beneath the greenwood tree,<br /> +I know where most the pheasants feed, and where the red-deer herd,<br /> +And thou shouldst chase the nobler game, and I bring down the bird."<br /><br /> + +Now Albert in her quiver lays the arrow in its place,<br /> +And wonders as he gazes on the beauty of her face:<br /> +"Those hunting-grounds are far away, and, lady, 'twere not meet<br /> +That night, amid the wilderness, should overtake thy feet."<br /><br /> + +"Heed not the night; a summer lodge amid the wild is mine,—<span class="page"><a name="page212" id="page212">[Page 212]</a></span><br /> +'Tis shadowed by the tulip-tree, 'tis mantled by the vine;<br /> +The wild plum sheds its yellow fruit from fragrant thickets nigh,<br /> +And flowery prairies from the door stretch till they meet the sky.<br /><br /> + +"There in the boughs that hide the roof the mock-bird sits and sings,<br /> +And there the hang-bird's brood within its little hammock swings;<br /> +A pebbly brook, where rustling winds among the hopples sweep,<br /> +Shall lull thee till the morning sun looks in upon thy sleep."<br /><br /> + +Away, into the forest depths by pleasant paths they go,<br /> +He with his rifle on his arm, the lady with her bow,<br /> +Where cornels arch their cool dark boughs o'er beds of winter-green,<br /> +And never at his father's door again was Albert seen.<br /><br /> + +That night upon the woods came down a furious hurricane,<br /> +With howl of winds and roar of streams, and beating of the rain;<br /> +The mighty thunder broke and drowned the noises in its crash;<br /> +The old trees seemed to fight like fiends beneath the lightning-flash.<br /><br /> + +Next day, within a mossy glen, 'mid mouldering trunks were found<br /> +The fragments of a human form upon the bloody ground;<br /> +White bones from which the flesh was torn, and locks of glossy hair;<br /> +They laid them in the place of graves, yet wist not whose they were.<br /><br /> + +And whether famished evening wolves had mangled Albert so,<br /> +Or that strange dame so gay and fair were some mysterious foe,<br /> +Or whether to that forest lodge, beyond the mountains blue,<br /> +He went to dwell with her, the friends who mourned him never knew.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page213" id="page213">[Page 213]</a></span> +<h3>LIFE.<a href="#n213">°</a></h3> +<p class="indent2"> +Oh Life! I breathe thee in the breeze,<br /> + I feel thee bounding in my veins,<br /> +I see thee in these stretching trees,<br /> + These flowers, this still rock's mossy stains.<br /><br /> + +This stream of odours flowing by<br /> + From clover-field and clumps of pine,<br /> +This music, thrilling all the sky,<br /> + From all the morning birds, are thine.<br /><br /> + +Thou fill'st with joy this little one,<br /> + That leaps and shouts beside me here,<br /> +Where Isar's clay-white rivulets run<br /> + Through the dark woods like frighted deer.<br /><br /> + +Ah! must thy mighty breath, that wakes<br /> + Insect and bird, and flower and tree,<br /> +From the low trodden dust, and makes<br /> + Their daily gladness, pass from me—<br /><br /> + +Pass, pulse by pulse, till o'er the ground<br /> + These limbs, now strong, shall creep with pain,<br /> +And this fair world of sight and sound<br /> + Seem fading into night again?<br /><br /> + +The things, oh LIFE! thou quickenest, all<br /> + Strive upwards toward the broad bright sky,<br /> +Upward and outward, and they fall<br /> + Back to earth's bosom when they die.<br /><br /> + +All that have borne the touch of death,<span class="page"><a name="page214" id="page214">[Page 214]</a></span><br /> + All that shall live, lie mingled there,<br /> +Beneath that veil of bloom and breath,<br /> + That living zone 'twixt earth and air.<br /><br /> + +There lies my chamber dark and still,<br /> + The atoms trampled by my feet,<br /> +There wait, to take the place I fill<br /> + In the sweet air and sunshine sweet.<br /><br /> + +Well, I have had my turn, have been<br /> + Raised from the darkness of the clod,<br /> +And for a glorious moment seen<br /> + The brightness of the skirts of God;<br /><br /> + +And knew the light within my breast,<br /> + Though wavering oftentimes and dim,<br /> +The power, the will, that never rest,<br /> + And cannot die, were all from him.<br /><br /> + +Dear child! I know that thou wilt grieve<br /> + To see me taken from thy love,<br /> +Wilt seek my grave at Sabbath eve,<br /> + And weep, and scatter flowers above.<br /><br /> + +Thy little heart will soon be healed,<br /> + And being shall be bliss, till thou<br /> +To younger forms of life must yield<br /> + The place thou fill'st with beauty now.<br /><br /> + +When we descend to dust again,<br /> + Where will the final dwelling be<br /> +Of Thought and all its memories then,<br /> + My love for thee, and thine for me?</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page215" id="page215">[Page 215]</a></span> +<h3>"EARTH'S CHILDREN CLEAVE TO EARTH."</h3> +<p class="indent2"> +Earth's children cleave to Earth—her frail<br /> + Decaying children dread decay.<br /> +Yon wreath of mist that leaves the vale,<br /> + And lessens in the morning ray:<br /> +Look, how, by mountain rivulet,<br /> + It lingers as it upward creeps,<br /> +And clings to fern and copsewood set<br /> + Along the green and dewy steeps:<br /> +Clings to the fragrant kalmia, clings<br /> + To precipices fringed with grass,<br /> +Dark maples where the wood-thrush sings,<br /> + And bowers of fragrant sassafras.<br /> +Yet all in vain—it passes still<br /> + From hold to hold, it cannot stay,<br /> +And in the very beams that fill<br /> + The world with glory, wastes away,<br /> +Till, parting from the mountain's brow,<br /> + It vanishes from human eye,<br /> +And that which sprung of earth is now<br /> + A portion of the glorious sky.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page216" id="page216">[Page 216]</a></span> +<h3>THE HUNTER'S VISION.</h3> +<p class="indent3"> +Upon a rock that, high and sheer,<br /> + Rose from the mountain's breast,<br /> +A weary hunter of the deer<br /> + Had sat him down to rest,<br /> +And bared to the soft summer air<br /> +His hot red brow and sweaty hair.<br /><br /> + +All dim in haze the mountains lay,<br /> + With dimmer vales between;<br /> +And rivers glimmered on their way,<br /> + By forests faintly seen;<br /> +While ever rose a murmuring sound,<br /> +From brooks below and bees around.<br /><br /> + +He listened, till he seemed to hear<br /> + A strain, so soft and low,<br /> +That whether in the mind or ear<br /> + The listener scarce might know.<br /> +With such a tone, so sweet and mild,<br /> +The watching mother lulls her child.<br /><br /> + +"Thou weary huntsman," thus it said,<br /> + "Thou faint with toil and heat,<br /> +The pleasant land of rest is spread<br /> + Before thy very feet,<br /> +And those whom thou wouldst gladly see<br /> +Are waiting there to welcome thee."<br /><br /> + +He looked, and 'twixt the earth and sky<span class="page"><a name="page217" id="page217">[Page 217]</a></span><br /> + Amid the noontide haze,<br /> +A shadowy region met his eye,<br /> + And grew beneath his gaze,<br /> +As if the vapours of the air<br /> +Had gathered into shapes so fair.<br /><br /> + +Groves freshened as he looked, and flowers<br /> + Showed bright on rocky bank,<br /> +And fountains welled beneath the bowers,<br /> + Where deer and pheasant drank.<br /> +He saw the glittering streams, he heard<br /> +The rustling bough and twittering bird.<br /><br /> + +And friends—the dead—in boyhood dear,<br /> + There lived and walked again,<br /> +And there was one who many a year<br /> + Within her grave had lain,<br /> +A fair young girl, the hamlet's pride—<br /> +His heart was breaking when she died:<br /><br /> + +Bounding, as was her wont, she came<br /> + Right towards his resting-place,<br /> +And stretched her hand and called his name<br /> + With that sweet smiling face.<br /> +Forward with fixed and eager eyes,<br /> +The hunter leaned in act to rise:<br /><br /> + +Forward he leaned, and headlong down<br /> + Plunged from that craggy wall;<br /> +He saw the rocks, steep, stern, and brown,<br /> + An instant, in his fall;<br /> +A frightful instant—and no more,<br /> +The dream and life at once were o'er.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page218" id="page218">[Page 218]</a></span> +<h3>THE GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS.<a href="#n218">°</a></h3> + +<h4>I.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> +Here we halt our march, and pitch our tent<br /> + On the rugged forest ground,<br /> +And light our fire with the branches rent<br /> + By winds from the beeches round.<br /> +Wild storms have torn this ancient wood,<br /> + But a wilder is at hand,<br /> +With hail of iron and rain of blood,<br /> + To sweep and waste the land.</p><br /> + +<h4>II.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> +How the dark wood rings with voices shrill,<br /> + That startle the sleeping bird;<br /> +To-morrow eve must the voice be still,<br /> + And the step must fall unheard.<br /> +The Briton lies by the blue Champlain,<br /> + In Ticonderoga's towers,<br /> +And ere the sun rise twice again,<br /> + The towers and the lake are ours.</p><br /> + +<h4>III.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> +Fill up the bowl from the brook that glides<br /> + Where the fireflies light the brake;<br /> +A ruddier juice the Briton hides<br /> + In his fortress by the lake.<br /> +Build high the fire, till the panther leap<br /> + From his lofty perch in flight,<br /> +And we'll strenghten our weary arms with sleep<br /> + For the deeds of to-morrow night.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page219" id="page219">[Page 219]</a></span> +<h3>A PRESENTIMENT.</h3> +<p class="indent3"> +"Oh father, let us hence—for hark,<br /> + A fearful murmur shakes the air.<br /> +The clouds are coming swift and dark:—<br /> + What horrid shapes they wear!<br /> +A winged giant sails the sky;<br /> +Oh father, father, let us fly!"<br /><br /> + +"Hush, child; it is a grateful sound,<br /> + That beating of the summer shower;<br /> +Here, where the boughs hang close around,<br /> + We'll pass a pleasant hour,<br /> +Till the fresh wind, that brings the rain,<br /> +Has swept the broad heaven clear again."<br /><br /> + +"Nay, father, let us haste—for see,<br /> + That horrid thing with horned brow,—<br /> +His wings o'erhang this very tree,<br /> + He scowls upon us now;<br /> +His huge black arm is lifted high;<br /> +Oh father, father, let us fly!"<br /><br /> + +"Hush, child;" but, as the father spoke,<br /> + Downward the livid firebolt came,<br /> +Close to his ear the thunder broke,<br /> + And, blasted by the flame,<br /> +The child lay dead; while dark and still,<br /> +Swept the grim cloud along the hill.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page220" id="page220">[Page 220]</a></span> +<h3>THE CHILD'S FUNERAL.<a href="#n220">°</a></h3> +<p class="indent1"> +Fair is thy site, Sorrento, green thy shore,<br /> + Black crags behind thee pierce the clear blue skies;<br /> +The sea, whose borderers ruled the world of yore,<br /> + As clear and bluer still before thee lies.<br /><br /> + +Vesuvius smokes in sight, whose fount of fire,<br /> + Outgushing, drowned the cities on his steeps;<br /> +And murmuring Naples, spire o'ertopping spire,<br /> + Sits on the slope beyond where Virgil sleeps.<br /><br /> + +Here doth the earth, with flowers of every hue,<br /> + Heap her green breast when April suns are bright,<br /> +Flowers of the morning-red, or ocean-blue,<br /> + Or like the mountain frost of silvery white.<br /><br /> + +Currents of fragrance, from the orange tree,<br /> + And sward of violets, breathing to and fro,<br /> +Mingle, and wandering out upon the sea,<br /> + Refresh the idle boatsman where they blow.<br /><br /> + +Yet even here, as under harsher climes,<br /> + Tears for the loved and early lost are shed;<br /> +That soft air saddens with the funeral chimes,<br /> + Those shining flowers are gathered for the dead.<br /><br /> + +Here once a child, a smiling playful one,<br /> + All the day long caressing and caressed,<br /> +Died when its little tongue had just begun<br /> + To lisp the names of those it loved the best.<br /><br /> + +The father strove his struggling grief to quell,<span class="page"><a name="page221" id="page221">[Page 221]</a></span><br /> + The mother wept as mothers use to weep,<br /> +Two little sisters wearied them to tell<br /> + When their dear Carlo would awake from sleep.<br /><br /> + +Within an inner room his couch they spread,<br /> + His funeral couch; with mingled grief and love,<br /> +They laid a crown of roses on his head,<br /> + And murmured, "Brighter is his crown above."<br /><br /> + +They scattered round him, on the snowy sheet,<br /> + Laburnum's strings of sunny-coloured gems,<br /> +Sad hyacinths, and violets dim and sweet,<br /> + And orange blossoms on their dark green stems.<br /><br /> + +And now the hour is come, the priest is there;<br /> + Torches are lit and bells are tolled; they go,<br /> +With solemn rites of blessing and of prayer,<br /> + To lay the little corpse in earth below.<br /><br /> + +The door is opened; hark! that quick glad cry;<br /> + Carlo has waked, has waked, and is at play;<br /> +The little sisters laugh and leap, and try<br /> + To climb the bed on which the infant lay.<br /><br /> + +And there he sits alone, and gayly shakes<br /> + In his full hands, the blossoms red and white,<br /> +And smiles with winking eyes, like one who wakes<br /> + From long deep slumbers at the morning light.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page222" id="page222">[Page 222]</a></span> +<h3>THE BATTLE-FIELD.</h3> +<p class="indent2"> +Once this soft turf, this rivulet's sands,<br /> + Were trampled by a hurrying crowd,<br /> +And fiery hearts and armed hands<br /> + Encountered in the battle cloud.<br /><br /> + +Ah! I never shall the land forget<br /> + How gushed the life-blood of her brave—<br /> +Gushed, warm with hope and courage yet,<br /> + Upon the soil they fought to save.<br /><br /> + +Now all is calm, and fresh, and still,<br /> + Alone the chirp of flitting bird,<br /> +And talk of children on the hill,<br /> + And bell of wandering kine are heard.<br /><br /> + +No solemn host goes trailing by<br /> + The black-mouthed gun and staggering wain;<br /> +Men start not at the battle-cry,<br /> + Oh, be it never heard again!<br /><br /> + +Soon rested those who fought; but thou<br /> + Who minglest in the harder strife<br /> +For truths which men receive not now<br /> + Thy warfare only ends with life.<br /><br /> + +A friendless warfare! lingering long<span class="page"><a name="page223" id="page223">[Page 223]</a></span><br /> + Through weary day and weary year.<br /> +A wild and many-weaponed throng<br /> + Hang on thy front, and flank, and rear.<br /><br /> + +Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof,<br /> + And blench not at thy chosen lot.<br /> +The timid good may stand aloof,<br /> + The sage may frown—yet faint thou not.<br /><br /> + +Nor heed the shaft too surely cast,<br /> + The foul and hissing bolt of scorn;<br /> +For with thy side shall dwell, at last,<br /> + The victory of endurance born.<br /><br /> + +Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again;<br /> + The eternal years of God are hers;<br /> +But Error, wounded, writhes with pain,<br /> + And dies among his worshippers.<br /><br /> + +Yea, though thou lie upon the dust,<br /> + When they who helped thee flee in fear,<br /> +Die full of hope and manly trust,<br /> + Like those who fell in battle here.<br /><br /> + +Another hand thy sword shall wield,<br /> + Another hand the standard wave,<br /> +Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed<br /> + The blast of triumph o'er thy grave.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page224" id="page224">[Page 224]</a></span> +<h3>THE FUTURE LIFE.</h3> +<p class="indent1"> +How shall I know thee in the sphere which keeps<br /> + The disembodied spirits of the dead,<br /> +Wheii all of thee that time could wither sleep<br /> + And perishes among the dust we tread?<br /><br /> + +For I shall feel the sting of ceaseless pain<br /> + If there I meet thy gentle presence not;<br /> +Nor hear the voice I love, nor read again<br /> + In thy serenest eyes the tender thought.<br /><br /> + +Will not thy own meek heart demand me there?<br /> + That heart whose fondest throbs to me were given?<br /> +My name on earth was ever in thy prayer,<br /> + Shall it be banished from thy tongue in heaven?<br /><br /> + +In meadows fanned by heaven's life-breathing wind,<br /> + In the resplendence of that glorious sphere,<br /> +And larger movements of the unfettered mind,<br /> + Wilt thou forget the love that joined us here?<br /><br /> + +The love that lived through all the stormy past,<span class="page"><a name="page225" id="page225">[Page 225]</a></span><br /> + And meekly with my harsher nature bore,<br /> +And deeper grew, and tenderer to the last,<br /> + Shall it expire with life, and be no more?<br /><br /> + +A happier lot than mine, and larger light,<br /> + Await thee there; for thou hast bowed thy will<br /> +In cheerful homage to the rule of right,<br /> + And lovest all, and renderest good for ill.<br /><br /> + +For me, the sordid cares in which I dwell,<br /> + Shrink and consume my heart, as heat the scroll;<br /> +And wrath has left its scar—that fire of hell<br /> + Has left its frightful scar upon my soul.<br /><br /> + +Yet though thou wear'st the glory of the sky,<br /> + Wilt thou not keep the same beloved name,<br /> +The same fair thoughtful brow, and gentle eye,<br /> + Lovelier in heaven's sweet climate, yet the same?<br /><br /> + +Shalt thou not teach me, in that calmer home,<br /> + The wisdom that I learned so ill in this—<br /> +The wisdom which is love—till I become<br /> + Thy fit companion in that land of bliss?</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page226" id="page226">[Page 226]</a></span> +<h3>THE DEATH OF SCHILLER.<a href="#n226">°</a></h3> +<p class="indent2"> +'Tis said, when Schiller's death drew nigh,<br /> +The wish possessed his mighty mind,<br /> +To wander forth wherever lie<br /> +The homes and haunts of human-kind.<br /><br /> + +Then strayed the poet, in his dreams,<br /> +By Rome and Egypt's ancient graves;<br /> +Went up the New World's forest streams,<br /> +Stood in the Hindoo's temple-caves;<br /><br /> + +Walked with the Pawnee, fierce and stark,<br /> +The sallow Tartar, midst his herds,<br /> +The peering Chinese, and the dark<br /> +False Malay uttering gentle words.<br /><br /> + +How could he rest? even then he trod<br /> +The threshold of the world unknown;<br /> +Already, from the seat of God,<br /> +A ray upon his garments shone;—<br /><br /> + +Shone and awoke the strong desire<br /> +For love and knowledge reached not here,<br /> +Till, freed by death, his soul of fire<br /> +Sprang to a fairer, ampler sphere.<br /><br /> + +Then—who shall tell how deep, how bright<br /> +The abyss of glory opened round?<br /> +How thought and feeling flowed like light,<br /> +Through ranks of being without bound?</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page227" id="page227">[Page 227]</a></span> +<h3>THE FOUNTAIN.<a href="#n227">°</a></h3> +<p class="indent1"> + Fountain, that springest on this grassy slope,<br /> +Thy quick cool murmur mingles pleasantly,<br /> +With the cool sound of breezes in the beach,<br /> +Above me in the noontide. Thou dost wear<br /> +No stain of thy dark birthplace; gushing up<br /> +From the red mould and slimy roots of earth,<br /> +Thou flashest in the sun. The mountain air,<br /> +In winter, is not clearer, nor the dew<br /> +That shines on mountain blossom. Thus doth God<br /> +Bring, from the dark and foul, the pure and bright.<br /><br /> + + This tangled thicket on the bank above<br /> +Thy basin, how thy waters keep it green!<br /> +For thou dost feed the roots of the wild vine<br /> +That trails all over it, and to the twigs<br /> +Ties fast her clusters. There the spice-bush lifts<br /> +Her leafy lances; the viburnum there,<br /> +Paler of foliage, to the sun holds up<br /> +Her circlet of green berries. In and out<br /> +The chipping sparrow, in her coat of brown,<br /> +Steals silently, lest I should mark her nest.<br /><br /> + + Not such thou wert of yore, ere yet the axe<br /> +Had smitten the old woods. Then hoary trunks<br /> +Of oak, and plane, and hickory, o'er thee held<br /> +A mighty canopy. When April winds<br /> +Grew soft, the maple burst into a flush<br /> +Of scarlet flowers. The tulip-tree, high up,<br /> +Opened, in airs of June, her multitude<br /> +Of golden chalices to humming-birds<br /> +And silken-winged insects of the sky.<br /><br /> + + Frail wood-plants clustered round thy edge in Spring.<br /> +The liverleaf put forth her sister blooms<br /> +Of faintest blue. Here the quick-footed wolf,<span class="page"><a name="page228" id="page228">[Page 228]</a></span><br /> +Passing to lap thy waters, crushed the flower<br /> +Of sanguinaria, from whose brittle stem<br /> +The red drops fell like blood. The deer, too, left<br /> +Her delicate foot-print in the soft moist mould,<br /> +And on the fallen leaves. The slow-paced bear,<br /> +In such a sultry summer noon as this,<br /> +Stopped at thy stream, and drank, and leaped across.<br /><br /> + + But thou hast histories that stir the heart<br /> +With deeper feeling; while I look on thee<br /> +They rise before me. I behold the scene<br /> +Hoary again with forests; I behold<br /> +The Indian warrior, whom a hand unseen<br /> +Has smitten with his death-wound in the woods,<br /> +Creep slowly to thy well-known rivulet,<br /> +And slake his death-thirst. Hark, that quick fierce cry<br /> +That rends the utter silence; 'tis the whoop<br /> +Of battle, and a throng of savage men<br /> +With naked arms and faces stained like blood,<br /> +Fill the green wilderness; the long bare arms<br /> +Are heaved aloft, bows twang and arrows stream;<br /> +Each makes a tree his shield, and every tree<br /> +Sends forth its arrow. Fierce the fight and short,<br /> +As is the whirlwind. Soon the conquerors<br /> +And conquered vanish, and the dead remain<br /> +Mangled by tomahawks. The mighty woods<br /> +Are still again, the frighted bird comes back<br /> +And plumes her wings; but thy sweet waters run<br /> +Crimson with blood. Then, as the sun goes down,<br /> +Amid the deepening twilight I descry<br /> +Figures of men that crouch and creep unheard,<br /> +And bear away the dead. The next day's shower<br /> +Shall wash the tokens of the fight away.<br /><br /> + + I look again—a hunter's lodge is built,<br /> +With poles and boughs, beside thy crystal well,<br /> +While the meek autumn stains the woods with gold,<span class="page"><a name="page229" id="page229">[Page 229]</a></span><br /> +And sheds his golden sunshine. To the door<br /> +The red man slowly drags the enormous bear<br /> +Slain in the chestnut thicket, or flings down<br /> +The deer from his strong shoulders. Shaggy fells<br /> +Of wolf and cougar hang upon the walls,<br /> +And loud the black-eyed Indian maidens laugh,<br /> +That gather, from the rustling heaps of leaves,<br /> +The hickory's white nuts, and the dark fruit<br /> +That falls from the gray butternut's long boughs.<br /><br /> + + So centuries passed by, and still the woods<br /> +Blossomed in spring, and reddened when the year<br /> +Grew chill, and glistened in the frozen rains<br /> +Of winter, till the white man swung the axe<br /> +Beside thee—signal of a mighty change.<br /> +Then all around was heard the crash of trees,<br /> +Trembling awhile and rushing to the ground,<br /> +The low of ox, and shouts of men who fired<br /> +The brushwood, or who tore the earth with ploughs.<br /> +The grain sprang thick and tall, and hid in green<br /> +The blackened hill-side; ranks of spiky maize<br /> +Rose like a host embattled; the buckwheat<br /> +Whitened broad acres, sweetening with its flowers<br /> +The August wind. White cottages were seen<br /> +With rose-trees at the windows; barns from which<br /> +Came loud and shrill the crowing of the cock;<br /> +Pastures where rolled and neighed the lordly horse,<br /> +And white flocks browsed and bleated. A rich turf<br /> +Of grasses brought from far o'ercrept thy bank,<br /> +Spotted with the white clover. Blue-eyed girls<br /> +Brought pails, and dipped them in thy crystal pool;<br /> +And children, ruddy-cheeked and flaxen-haired,<br /> +Gathered the glistening cowslip from thy edge.<br /><br /> + + Since then, what steps have trod thy border! Here<br /> +On thy green bank, the woodmann of the swamp<br /> +Has laid his axe, the reaper of the hill<span class="page"><a name="page230" id="page230">[Page 230]</a></span><br /> +His sickle, as they stooped to taste thy stream.<br /> +The sportsman, tired with wandering in the still<br /> +September noon, has bathed his heated brow<br /> +In thy cool current. Shouting boys, let loose<br /> +For a wild holiday, have quaintly shaped<br /> +Into a cup the folded linden leaf,<br /> +And dipped thy sliding crystal. From the wars<br /> +Returning, the plumed soldier by thy side<br /> +Has sat, and mused how pleasant 'twere to dwell<br /> +In such a spot, and be as free as thou,<br /> +And move for no man's bidding more. At eve,<br /> +When thou wert crimson with the crimson sky,<br /> +Lovers have gazed upon thee, and have thought<br /> +Their mingled lives should flow as peacefully<br /> +And brightly as thy waters. Here the sage,<br /> +Gazing into thy self-replenished depth,<br /> +Has seen eternal order circumscribe<br /> +And bind the motions of eternal change,<br /> +And from the gushing of thy simple fount<br /> +Has reasoned to the mighty universe.<br /><br /> + + Is there no other change for thee, that lurks<br /> +Among the future ages? Will not man<br /> +Seek out strange arts to wither and deform<br /> +The pleasant landscape which thou makest green?<br /> +Or shall the veins that feed thy constant stream<br /> +Be choked in middle earth, and flow no more<br /> +For ever, that the water-plants along<br /> +Thy channel perish, and the bird in vain<br /> +Alight to drink? Haply shall these green hills<br /> +Sink, with the lapse of years, into the gulf<br /> +Of ocean waters, and thy source be lost<br /> +Amidst the bitter brine? Or shall they rise,<br /> +Upheaved in broken cliffs and airy peaks,<br /> +Haunts of the eagle and the snake, and thou<br /> +Gush midway from the bare and barren steep?</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page231" id="page231">[Page 231]</a></span> +<h3>THE WINDS.</h3> + +<h4>I.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> +Ye winds, ye unseen currents of the air,<br /> + Softly ye played a few brief hours ago;<br /> +Ye bore the murmuring bee; ye tossed the hair<br /> + O'er maiden cheeks, that took a fresher glow;<br /> +Ye rolled the round white cloud through depths of blue;<br /> +Ye shook from shaded flowers the lingering dew;<br /> +Before you the catalpa's blossoms flew,<br /> + Light blossoms, dropping on the grass like snow.</p><br /> + + +<h4>II.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> +How are ye changed! Ye take the cataract's sound;<br /> + Ye take the whirlpool's fury and its might;<br /> +The mountain shudders as ye sweep the ground;<br /> + The valley woods lie prone beneath your flight.<br /> +The clouds before you shoot like eagles past;<br /> +The homes of men are rocking in your blast;<br /> +Ye lift the roofs like autumn leaves, and cast,<br /> + Skyward, the whirling fragments out of sight.</p><br /> + + +<h4>III.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> +The weary fowls of heaven make wing in vain,<br /> + To escape your wrath; ye seize and dash them dead.<br /> +Against the earth ye drive the roaring rain;<br /> + The harvest-field becomes a river's bed;<br /> +And torrents tumble from the hills around,<span class="page"><a name="page232" id="page232">[Page 232]</a></span><br /> +Plains turn to lakes, and villages are drowned,<br /> +And wailing voices, midst the tempest's sound,<br /> + Rise, as the rushing waters swell and spread.</p><br /> + + +<h4>IV.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> +Ye dart upon the deep, and straight is heard<br /> + A wilder roar, and men grow pale, and pray;<br /> +Ye fling its floods around you, as a bird<br /> + Flings o'er his shivering plumes the fountain's spray.<br /> +See! to the breaking mast the sailor clings;<br /> +Ye scoop the ocean to its briny springs,<br /> +And take the mountain billow on your wings,<br /> + And pile the wreck of navies round the bay.</p><br /> + + +<h4>V.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> +Why rage ye thus?—no strife for liberty<br /> + Has made you mad; no tyrant, strong through fear,<br /> +Has chained your pinions till ye wrenched them free,<br /> + And rushed into the unmeasured atmosphere;<br /> +For ye were born in freedom where ye blow;<br /> +Free o'er the mighty deep to come and go;<br /> +Earth's solemn woods were yours, her wastes of snow,<br /> + Her isles where summer blossoms all the year.</p><br /> + + +<h4>VI.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> +O ye wild winds! a mightier Power than yours<br /> + In chains upon the shore of Europe lies;<br /> +The sceptred throng, whose fetters he endures,<br /> + Watch his mute throes with terror in their eyes:<br /> +And armed warriors all around him stand,<br /> +And, as he struggles, tighten every band,<br /> +And lift the heavy spear, with threatening hand,<br /> + To pierce the victim, should he strive to rise.</p><br /> + +<span class="page"><a name="page233" id="page233">[Page 233]</a></span> +<h4>VII.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> +Yet oh, when that wronged Spirit of our race<br /> + Shall break, as soon he must, his long-worn chains,<br /> +And leap in freedom from his prison-place,<br /> + Lord of his ancient hills and fruitful plains,<br /> +Let him not rise, like these mad winds of air,<br /> +To waste the loveliness that time could spare,<br /> +To fill the earth with wo, and blot her fair<br /> + Unconscious breast with blood from human veins.</p><br /> + + +<h4>VIII.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> +But may he like the spring-time come abroad,<br /> + Who crumbles winter's gyves with gentle might,<br /> +When in the genial breeze, the breath of God,<br /> + Come spouting up the unsealed springs to light;<br /> +Flowers start from their dark prisons at his feet,<br /> +The woods, long dumb, awake to hymnings sweet,<br /> +And morn and eve, whose glimmerings almost meet,<br /> + Crowd back to narrow bounds the ancient night.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page234" id="page234">[Page 234]</a></span> +<h3>THE OLD MAN'S COUNSEL.<a href="#n234">°</a></h3> +<p class="indent1"> + Among our hills and valleys, I have known<br /> +Wise and grave men, who, while their diligent hands<br /> +Tended or gathered in the fruits of earth,<br /> +Were reverent learners in the solemn school<br /> +Of nature. Not in vain to them were sent<br /> +Seed-time and harvest, or the vernal shower<br /> +That darkened the brown tilth, or snow that beat<br /> +On the white winter hills. Each brought, in turn,<br /> +Some truth, some lesson on the life of man,<br /> +Or recognition of the Eternal mind<br /> +Who veils his glory with the elements.<br /><br /> + + One such I knew long since, a white-haired man,<br /> +Pithy of speech, and merry when he would;<br /> +A genial optimist, who daily drew<br /> +From what he saw his quaint moralities.<br /> +Kindly he held communion, though so old,<br /> +With me a dreaming boy, and taught me much<br /> +That books tell not, and I shall ne'er forget.<br /><br /> + + The sun of May was bright in middle heaven,<br /> +And steeped the sprouting forests, the green hills<br /> +And emerald wheat-fields, in his yellow light.<br /> +Upon the apple-tree, where rosy buds<br /> +Stood clustered, ready to burst forth in bloom,<br /> +The robin warbled forth his full clear note<br /> +For hours, and wearied not. Within the woods,<br /> +Whose young and half transparent leaves scarce cast<br /> +A shade, gay circles of anemones<br /> +Danced on their stalks; the shadbush, white with flowers,<br /> +Brightened the glens; the new-leaved butternut<span class="page"><a name="page235" id="page235">[Page 235]</a></span><br /> +And quivering poplar to the roving breeze<br /> +Gave a balsamic fragrance. In the fields<br /> +I saw the pulses of the gentle wind<br /> +On the young grass. My heart was touched with joy<br /> +At so much beauty, flushing every hour<br /> +Into a fuller beauty; but my friend,<br /> +The thoughtful ancient, standing at my side,<br /> +Gazed on it mildly sad. I asked him why.<br /><br /> + + "Well mayst thou join in gladness," he replied,<br /> +"With the glad earth, her springing plants and flowers,<br /> +And this soft wind, the herald of the green<br /> +Luxuriant summer. Thou art young like them,<br /> +And well mayst thou rejoice. But while the flight<br /> +Of seasons fills and knits thy spreading frame,<br /> +It withers mine, and thins my hair, and dims<br /> +These eyes, whose fading light shall soon be quenched<br /> +In utter darkness. Hearest thou that bird?"<br /><br /> + + I listened, and from midst the depth of woods<br /> +Heard the love-signal of the grouse, that wears<br /> +A sable ruff around his mottled neck;<br /> +Partridge they call him by our northern streams,<br /> +And pheasant by the Delaware. He beat<br /> +'Gainst his barred sides his speckled wings, and made<br /> +A sound like distant thunder; slow the strokes<br /> +At first, then fast and faster, till at length<br /> +They passed into a murmur and were still.<br /><br /> + + "There hast thou," said my friend, "a fitting type<br /> +Of human life. 'Tis an old truth, I know,<br /> +But images like these revive the power<br /> +Of long familiar truths. Slow pass our days<br /> +In childhood, and the hours of light are long<br /> +Betwixt the morn and eve; with swifter lapse<br /> +They glide in manhood, and in age they fly;<br /> +Till days and seasons flit before the mind<br /> +As flit the snow-flakes in a winter storm,<span class="page"><a name="page236" id="page236">[Page 236]</a></span><br /> +Seen rather than distinguished. Ah! I seem<br /> +As if I sat within a helpless bark<br /> +By swiftly running waters hurried on<br /> +To shoot some mighty cliff. Along the banks<br /> +Grove after grove, rock after frowning rock,<br /> +Bare sands and pleasant homes, and flowery nooks,<br /> +And isles and whirlpools in the stream, appear<br /> +Each after each, but the devoted skiff<br /> +Darts by so swiftly that their images<br /> +Dwell not upon the mind, or only dwell<br /> +In dim confusion; faster yet I sweep<br /> +By other banks, and the great gulf is near.<br /><br /> + + "Wisely, my son, while yet thy days are long,<br /> +And this fair change of seasons passes slow,<br /> +Gather and treasure up the good they yield—<br /> +All that they teach of virtue, of pure thoughts<br /> +And kind affections, reverence for thy God<br /> +And for thy brethren; so when thou shalt come<br /> +Into these barren years, thou mayst not bring<br /> +A mind unfurnished and a withered heart."<br /><br /> + + Long since that white-haired ancient slept—but still,<br /> +When the red flower-buds crowd the orchard bough,<br /> +And the ruffed grouse is drumming far within<br /> +The woods, his venerable form again<br /> +Is at my side, his voice is in my ear.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page237" id="page237">[Page 237]</a></span> +<h3>LINES IN MEMORY OF WILLIAM LEGGETT.</h3> +<p class="indent2"> +The earth may ring, from shore to shore,<br /> + With echoes of a glorious name,<br /> +But he, whose loss our tears deplore,<br /> + Has left behind him more than fame.<br /><br /> + +For when the death-frost came to lie<br /> + On Leggett's warm and mighty heart,<br /> +And quenched his bold and friendly eye,<br /> + His spirit did not all depart.<br /><br /> + +The words of fire that from his pen<br /> + Were flung upon the fervent page,<br /> +Still move, still shake the hearts of men,<br /> + Amid a cold and coward age.<br /><br /> + +His love of truth, too warm, too strong<br /> + For Hope or Fear to chain or chill,<br /> +His hate of tyranny and wrong,<br /> + Burn in the breasts he kindled still.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page238" id="page238">[Page 238]</a></span> +<h3>AN EVENING REVERY.<a href="#n238">°</a></h3> + +<h4>FROM AN UNFINISHED POEM.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> + The summer day is closed—the sun is set:<br /> +Well they have done their office, those bright hours,<br /> +The latest of whose train goes softly out<br /> +In the red West. The green blade of the ground<br /> +Has risen, and herds have cropped it; the young twig<br /> +Has spread its plaited tissues to the sun;<br /> +Flowers of the garden and the waste have blown<br /> +And withered; seeds have fallen upon the soil,<br /> +From bursting cells, and in their graves await<br /> +Their resurrection. Insects from the pools<br /> +Have filled the air awhile with humming wings,<br /> +That now are still for ever; painted moths<br /> +Have wandered the blue sky, and died again;<br /> +The mother-bird hath broken for her brood<br /> +Their prison shell, or shoved them from the nest,<br /> +Plumed for their earliest flight. In bright alcoves,<br /> +In woodland cottages with barky walls,<br /> +In noisome cells of the tumultuous town,<br /> +Mothers have clasped with joy the new-born babe.<br /> +Graves by the lonely forest, by the shore<br /> +Of rivers and of ocean, by the ways<br /> +Of the thronged city, have been hollowed out<br /> +And filled, and closed. This day hath parted friends<br /> +That ne'er before were parted; it hath knit<br /> +New friendships; it hath seen the maiden plight<br /> +Her faith, and trust her peace to him who long<br /> +Had wooed; and it hath heard, from lips which late<br /> +Were eloquent of love, the first harsh word,<br /> +That told the wedded one her peace was flown.<br /> +Farewell to the sweet sunshine! One glad day<br /> +Is added now to Childhood's merry days,<br /> +And one calm day to those of quiet Age.<br /> +Still the fleet hours run on; and as I lean,<span class="page"><a name="page239" id="page239">[Page 239]</a></span><br /> +Amid the thickening darkness, lamps are lit,<br /> +By those who watch the dead, and those who twine<br /> +Flowers for the bride. The mother from the eyes<br /> +Of her sick infant shades the painful light,<br /> +And sadly listens to his quick-drawn breath.<br /><br /> + + Oh thou great Movement of the Universe,<br /> +Or Change, or Flight of Time—for ye are one!<br /> +That bearest, silently, this visible scene<br /> +Into night's shadow and the streaming rays<br /> +Of starlight, whither art thou bearing me?<br /> +I feel the mighty current sweep me on,<br /> +Yet know not whither. Man foretells afar<br /> +The courses of the stars; the very hour<br /> +He knows when they shall darken or grow bright;<br /> +Yet doth the eclipse of Sorrow and of Death<br /> +Come unforewarned. Who next, of those I love,<br /> +Shall pass from life, or, sadder yet, shall fall<br /> +From virtue? Strife with foes, or bitterer strife<br /> +With friends, or shame and general scorn of men—<br /> +Which who can bear?—or the fierce rack of pain,<br /> +Lie they within my path? Or shall the years<br /> +Push me, with soft and inoffensive pace,<br /> +Into the stilly twilight of my age?<br /> +Or do the portals of another life<br /> +Even now, while I am glorying in my strength,<br /> +Impend around me? Oh! beyond that bourne,<br /> +In the vast cycle of being which begins<br /> +At that broad threshold, with what fairer forms<br /> +Shall the great law of change and progress clothe<br /> +Its workings? Gently—so have good men taught—<br /> +Gently, and without grief, the old shall glide<br /> +Into the new; the eternal flow of things,<br /> +Like a bright river of the fields of heaven,<br /> +Shall journey onward in perpetual peace.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page240" id="page240">[Page 240]</a></span> +<h3>THE PAINTED CUP.<a href="#n240">°</a></h3> +<p class="indent1"> + The fresh savannas of the Sangamon<br /> +Here rise in gentle swells, and the long grass<br /> +Is mixed with rustling hazels. Scarlet tufts<br /> +Are glowing in the green, like flakes of fire;<br /> +The wanderers of the prairie know them well,<br /> +And call that brilliant flower the Painted Cup.<br /><br /> + + Now, if thou art a poet, tell me not<br /> +That these bright chalices were tinted thus<br /> +To hold the dew for fairies, when they meet<br /> +On moonlight evenings in the hazel bowers,<br /> +And dance till they are thirsty. Call not up,<br /> +Amid this fresh and virgin solitude,<br /> +The faded fancies of an elder world;<br /> +But leave these scarlet cups to spotted moths<br /> +Of June, and glistening flies, and humming-birds,<br /> +To drink from, when on all these boundless lawns<br /> +The morning sun looks hot. Or let the wind<br /> +O'erturn in sport their ruddy brims, and pour<br /> +A sudden shower upon the strawberry plant,<br /> +To swell the reddening fruit that even now<br /> +Breathes a slight fragrance from the sunny slope.<br /><br /> + + But thou art of a gayer fancy. Well—<br /> +Let then the gentle Manitou of flowers,<br /> +Lingering amid the bloomy waste he loves,<br /> +Though all his swarthy worshippers are gone—<br /> +Slender and small, his rounded cheek all brown<br /> +And ruddy with the sunshine; let him come<br /> +On summer mornings, when the blossoms wake,<br /> +And part with little hands the spiky grass;<br /> +And touching, with his cherry lips, the edge<br /> +Of these bright beakers, drain the gathered dew.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page241" id="page241">[Page 241]</a></span> +<h3>A DREAM.</h3> +<p class="indent2"> +I had a dream—a strange, wild dream—<br /> + Said a dear voice at early light;<br /> +And even yet its shadows seem<br /> + To linger in my waking sight.<br /><br /> + +Earth, green with spring, and fresh with dew,<br /> + And bright with morn, before me stood;<br /> +And airs just wakened softly blew<br /> + On the young blossoms of the wood.<br /><br /> + +Birds sang within the sprouting shade,<br /> + Bees hummed amid the whispering grass,<br /> +And children prattled as they played<br /> + Beside the rivulet's dimpling glass<br /><br /> + +Fast climbed the sun: the flowers were flown,<br /> + There played no children in the glen;<br /> +For some were gone, and some were grown<br /> + To blooming dames and bearded men.<br /><br /> + +'Twas noon, 'twas summer: I beheld<br /> + Woods darkening in the flush of day,<br /> +And that bright rivulet spread and swelled,<br /> + A mighty stream, with creek and bay.<br /><br /> + +And here was love, and there was strife,<br /> + And mirthful shouts, and wrathful cries,<br /> +And strong men, struggling as for life,<br /> + With knotted limbs and angry eyes.<br /><br /> + +Now stooped the sun—the shades grew thin;<span class="page"><a name="page242" id="page242">[Page 242]</a></span><br /> + The rustling paths were piled with leaves;<br /> +And sunburnt groups were gathering in,<br /> + From the shorn field, its fruits and sheaves.<br /><br /> + +The river heaved with sullen sounds;<br /> + The chilly wind was sad with moans;<br /> +Black hearses passed, and burial-grounds<br /> + Grew thick with monumental stones.<br /><br /> + +Still waned the day; the wind that chased<br /> + The jagged clouds blew chillier yet;<br /> +The woods were stripped, the fields were waste,<br /> + The wintry sun was near its set.<br /><br /> + +And of the young, and strong, and fair,<br /> + A lonely remnant, gray and weak,<br /> +Lingered, and shivered to the air<br /> + Of that bleak shore and water bleak.<br /><br /> + +Ah! age is drear, and death is cold!<br /> + I turned to thee, for thou wert near,<br /> +And saw thee withered, bowed, and old,<br /> + And woke all faint with sudden fear.<br /><br /> + +'Twas thus I heard the dreamer say,<br /> + And bade her clear her clouded brow;<br /> +"For thou and I, since childhood's day,<br /> + Have walked in such a dream till now.<br /><br /> + +"Watch we in calmness, as they rise,<br /> + The changes of that rapid dream,<br /> +And note its lessons, till our eyes<br /> + Shall open in the morning beam."</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page243" id="page243">[Page 243]</a></span> +<h3>THE ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM.</h3> +<p class="indent1"> + Here are old trees, tall oaks and gnarled pines,<br /> +That stream with gray-green mosses; here the ground<br /> +Was never trenched by spade, and flowers spring up<br /> +Unsown, and die ungathered. It is sweet<br /> +To linger here, among the flitting birds<br /> +And leaping squirrels, wandering brooks, and winds<br /> +That shake the leaves, and scatter, as they pass,<br /> +A fragrance from the cedars, thickly set<br /> +With pale blue berries. In these peaceful shades—<br /> +Peaceful, unpruned, immeasurably old—<br /> +My thoughts go up the long dim path of years,<br /> +Back to the earliest days of liberty.<br /><br /> + + Oh FREEDOM! thou art not, as poets dream,<br /> +A fair young girl, with light and delicate limbs,<br /> +And wavy tresses gushing from the cap<br /> +With which the Roman master crowned his slave<br /> +When he took off the gyves. A bearded man,<br /> +Armed to the teeth, art thou; one mailed hand<br /> +Grasps the broad shield, and one the sword; thy brow,<br /> +Glorious in beauty though it be, is scarred<br /> +With tokens of old wars; thy massive limbs<br /> +Are strong with struggling. Power at thee has launched<br /> +His bolts, and with his lightnings smitten thee;<br /> +They could not quench the life thou hast from heaven.<span class="page"><a name="page244" id="page244">[Page 244]</a></span><br /> +Merciless power has dug thy dungeon deep,<br /> +And his swart armorers, by a thousand fires,<br /> +Have forged thy chain; yet, while he deems thee bound,<br /> +The links are shivered, and the prison walls<br /> +Fall outward; terribly thou springest forth,<br /> +As springs the flame above a burning pile,<br /> +And shoutest to the nations, who return<br /> +Thy shoutings, while the pale oppressor flies.<br /><br /> + + Thy birthright was not given by human hands:<br /> +Thou wert twin-born with man. In pleasant fields,<br /> +While yet our race was few, thou sat'st with him,<br /> +To tend the quiet flock and watch the stars,<br /> +And teach the reed to utter simple airs.<br /> +Thou by his side, amid the tangled wood,<br /> +Didst war upon the panther and the wolf,<br /> +His only foes; and thou with him didst draw<br /> +The earliest furrows on the mountain side,<br /> +Soft with the deluge. Tyranny himself,<br /> +Thy enemy, although of reverend look,<br /> +Hoary with many years, and far obeyed,<br /> +Is later born than thou; and as he meets<br /> +The grave defiance of thine elder eye,<br /> +The usurper trembles in his fastnesses.<br /><br /> + + Thou shalt wax stronger with the lapse of years,<br /> +But he shall fade into a feebler age;<br /> +Feebler, yet subtler. He shall weave his snares,<br /> +And spring them on thy careless steps, and clap<br /> +His withered hands, and from their ambush call<br /> +His hordes to fall upon thee. He shall send<br /> +Quaint maskers, wearing fair and gallant forms,<br /> +To catch thy gaze, and uttering graceful words<br /> +To charm thy ear; while his sly imps, by stealth,<br /> +Twine round thee threads of steel, light thread on thread<br /> +That grow to fetters; or bind down thy arms<span class="page"><a name="page245" id="page245">[Page 245]</a></span><br /> +With chains concealed in chaplets. Oh! not yet<br /> +Mayst thou unbrace thy corslet, nor lay by<br /> +Thy sword; nor yet, O Freedom! close thy lids<br /> +In slumber; for thine enemy never sleeps,<br /> +And thou must watch and combat till the day<br /> +Of the new earth and heaven. But wouldst thou rest<br /> +Awhile from tumult and the frauds of men,<br /> +These old and friendly solitudes invite<br /> +Thy visit. They, while yet the forest trees<br /> +Were young upon the unviolated earth,<br /> +And yet the moss-stains on the rock were new,<br /> +Beheld thy glorious childhood, and rejoiced.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page246" id="page246">[Page 246]</a></span> +<h3>THE MAIDEN'S SORROW.</h3> +<p class="indent2"> +Seven long years has the desert rain<br /> + Dropped on the clods that hide thy face;<br /> +Seven long years of sorrow and pain<br /> + have thought of thy burial-place.<br /><br /> + +Thought of thy fate in the distant west,<br /> + Dying with none that loved thee near;<br /> +They who flung the earth on thy breast<br /> + Turned from the spot williout a tear.<br /><br /> + +There, I think, on that lonely grave,<br /> + Violets spring in the soft May shower;<br /> +There, in the summer breezes, wave<br /> + Crimson phlox and moccasin flower.<br /><br /> + +There the turtles alight, and there<br /> + Feeds with her fawn the timid doe;<br /> +There, when the winter woods are bare,<br /> + Walks the wolf on the crackling snow.<br /><br /> + +Soon wilt thou wipe my tears away;<br /> + All my task upon earth is done;<br /> +My poor father, old and gray,<br /> + Slumbers beneath the churchyard stone.<br /><br /> + +In the dreams of my lonely bed,<br /> + Ever thy form before me seems;<br /> +All night long I talk with the dead,<br /> + All day long I think of my dreams.<br /><br /> + +This deep wound that bleeds and aches,<br /> + This long pain, a sleepless pain—<br /> +When the Father my spirit takes,<br /> + I shall feel it no more again.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page247" id="page247">[Page 247]</a></span> +<h3>THE RETURN OF YOUTH.</h3> +<p class="indent1"> +My friend, thou sorrowest for thy golden prime,<br /> + For thy fair youthful years too swift of flight;<br /> +Thou musest, with wet eyes, upon the time<br /> + Of cheerful hopes that filled the world with light,—<br /> +Years when thy heart was bold, thy hand was strong,<br /> + And quick the thought that moved thy tongue to speak,<br /> +And willing faith was thine, and scorn of wrong<br /> + Summoned the sudden crimson to thy cheek.<br /><br /> + +Thou lookest forward on the coming days,<br /> + Shuddering to feel their shadow o'er thee creep;<br /> +A path, thick-set with changes and decays,<br /> + Slopes downward to the place of common sleep;<br /> +And they who walked with thee in life's first stage,<br /> + Leave one by one thy side, and, waiting near,<br /> +Thou seest the sad companions of thy age—<br /> + Dull love of rest, and weariness and fear.<br /><br /> + +Yet grieve thou not, nor think thy youth is gone,<br /> + Nor deem that glorious season e'er could die.<br /> +Thy pleasant youth, a little while withdrawn,<br /> + Waits on the horizon of a brighter sky;<br /> +Waits, like the morn, that folds her wing and hides,<span class="page"><a name="page248" id="page248">[Page 248]</a></span><br /> + Till the slow stars bring back her dawning hour;<br /> +Waits, like the vanished spring, that slumbering bides<br /> + Her own sweet time to waken bud and flower.<br /><br /> + +There shall he welcome thee, when thou shalt stand<br /> + On his bright morning hills, with smiles more sweet<br /> +Than when at first he took thee by the hand,<br /> + Through the fair earth to lead thy tender feet.<br /> +He shall bring back, but brighter, broader still,<br /> + Life's early glory to thine eyes again,<br /> +Shall clothe thy spirit with new strength, and fill<br /> + Thy leaping heart with warmer love than then.<br /><br /> + +Hast thou not glimpses, in the twilight here,<br /> + Of mountains where immortal morn prevails?<br /> +Comes there not, through the silence, to thine ear<br /> + A gentle rustling of the morning gales;<br /> +A murmur, wafted from that glorious shore,<br /> + Of streams that water banks for ever fair,<br /> +And voices of the loved ones gone before,<br /> + More musical in that celestial air?</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page249" id="page249">[Page 249]</a></span> +<h3>A HYMN OF THE SEA.</h3> +<p class="indent2"> + The sea is mighty, but a mightier sways<br /> +His restless billows. Thou, whose hands have scooped<br /> +His boundless gulfs and built his shore, thy breath,<br /> +That moved in the beginning o'er his face,<br /> +Moves o'er it evermore. The obedient waves<br /> +To its strong motion roll, and rise and fall.<br /> +Still from that realm of rain thy cloud goes up,<br /> +As at the first, to water the great earth,<br /> +And keep her valleys green. A hundred realms<br /> +Watch its broad shadow warping on the wind,<br /> +And in the dropping shower, with gladness hear<br /> +Thy promise of the harvest. I look forth<br /> +Over the boundless blue, where joyously<br /> +The bright crests of innumerable waves<br /> +Glance to the sun at once, as when the hands<br /> +Of a great multitude are upward flung<br /> +In acclamation. I behold the ships<br /> +Gliding from cape to cape, from isle to isle,<br /> +Or stemming toward far lands, or hastening home<br /> +From the old world. It is thy friendly breeze<br /> +That bears them, with the riches of the land,<br /> +And treasure of dear lives, till, in the port,<br /> +The shouting seaman climbs and furls the sail.<br /><br /> + + But who shall bide thy tempest, who shall face<br /> +The blast that wakes the fury of the sea?<br /> +Oh God! thy justice makes the world turn pale,<br /> +When on the armed fleet, that royally<br /> +Bears down the surges, carrying war, to smite<br /> +Some city, or invade some thoughtless realm,<br /> +Descends the fierce tornado. The vast hulks<br /> +Are whirled like chaff upon the waves; the sails<br /> +Fly, rent like webs of gossamer; the masts <span class="page"><a name="page250" id="page250">[Page 250]</a></span><br /> +Are snapped asunder; downward from the decks,<br /> +Downward are slung, into the fathomless gulf,<br /> +Their cruel engines; and their hosts, arrayed<br /> +In trappings of the battle-field, are whelmed<br /> +By whirlpools, or dashed dead upon the rocks.<br /> +Then stand the nations still with awe, and pause,<br /> +A moment, from the bloody work of war.<br /><br /> + + These restless surges eat away the shores<br /> +Of earth's old continents; the fertile plain<br /> +Welters in shallows, headlands crumble down,<br /> +And the tide drifts the sea-sand in the streets<br /> +Of the drowned city. Thou, meanwhile, afar<br /> +In the green chambers of the middle sea,<br /> +Where broadest spread the waters and the line<br /> +Sinks deepest, while no eye beholds thy work,<br /> +Creator! thou dost teach the coral worm<br /> +To lay his mighty reefs. From age to age,<br /> +He builds beneath the waters, till, at last,<br /> +His bulwarks overtop the brine, and check<br /> +The long wave rolling from the southern pole<br /> +To break upon Japan. Thou bid'st the fires,<br /> +That smoulder under ocean, heave on high<br /> +The new-made mountains, and uplift their peaks,<br /> +A place of refuge for the storm-driven bird.<br /> +The birds and wafting billows plant the rifts<br /> +With herb and tree; sweet fountains gush; sweet airs<br /> +Ripple the living lakes that, fringed with flowers,<br /> +Are gathered in the hollows. Thou dost look<br /> +On thy creation and pronounce it good.<br /> +Its valleys, glorious with their summer green,<br /> +Praise thee in silent beauty, and its woods,<br /> +Swept by the murmuring winds of ocean, join<br /> +The murmuring shores in a perpetual hymn.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page251" id="page251">[Page 251]</a></span> +<h3>NOON.<a href="#n251">°</a></h3> + +<h4>FROM AN UNFINISHED POEM.</h4> +<p class="indent1"> + 'Tis noon. At noon the Hebrew bowed the knee<br /> +And worshipped, while the husbandmen withdrew<br /> +From the scorched field, and the wayfaring man<br /> +Grew faint, and turned aside by bubbling fount,<br /> +Or rested in the shadow of the palm.<br /><br /> + + I, too, amid the overflow of day,<br /> +Behold the power which wields and cherishes<br /> +The frame of Nature. From this brow of rock<br /> +That overlooks the Hudson's western marge,<br /> +I gaze upon the long array of groves,<br /> +The piles and gulfs of verdure drinking in<br /> +The grateful heats. They love the fiery sun;<br /> +Their broadening leaves grow glossier, and their sprays<br /> +Climb as he looks upon them. In the midst,<br /> +The swelling river, into his green gulfs,<br /> +Unshadowed save by passing sails above,<br /> +Takes the redundant glory, and enjoys<br /> +The summer in his chilly bed. Coy flowers,<br /> +That would not open in the early light,<br /> +Push back their plaited sheaths. The rivulet's pool,<br /> +That darkly quivered all the morning long<br /> +In the cool shade, now glimmers in the sun;<br /> +And o'er its surface shoots, and shoots again,<br /> +The glittering dragon-fly, and deep within<br /> +Run the brown water-beetles to and fro.<br /><br /> + + A silence, the brief sabbath of an hour,<br /> +Reigns o'er the fields; the laborer sits within<br /> +His dwelling; he has left his steers awhile,<br /> +Unyoked, to bite the herbage, and his dog<br /> +Sleeps stretched beside the door-stone in the shade.<span class="page"><a name="page252" id="page252">[Page 252]</a></span><br /> +Now the grey marmot, with uplifted paws,<br /> +No more sits listening by his den, but steals<br /> +Abroad, in safety, to the clover field,<br /> +And crops its juicy blossoms. All the while<br /> +A ceaseless murmur from the populous town<br /> +Swells o'er these solitudes: a mingled sound<br /> +Of jarring wheels, and iron hoofs that clash<br /> +Upon the stony ways, and hammer-clang,<br /> +And creak of engines lifting ponderous bulks,<br /> +And calls and cries, and tread of eager feet,<br /> +Innumerable, hurrying to and fro.<br /> +Noon, in that mighty mart of nations, brings<br /> +No pause to toil and care. With early day<br /> +Began the tumult, and shall only cease<br /> +When midnight, hushing one by one the sounds<br /> +Of bustle, gathers the tired brood to rest.<br /><br /> + + Thus, in this feverish time, when love of gain<br /> +And luxury possess the hearts of men,<br /> +Thus is it with the noon of human life.<br /> +We, in our fervid manhood, in our strength<br /> +Of reason, we, with hurry, noise, and care,<br /> +Plan, toil, and strife, and pause not to refresh<br /> +Our spirits with the calm and beautiful<br /> +Of God's harmonious universe, that won<br /> +Our youthful wonder; pause not to inquire<br /> +Why we are here; and what the reverence<br /> +Man owes to man, and what the mystery<br /> +That links us to the greater world, beside<br /> +Whose borders we but hover for a space.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page253" id="page253">[Page 253]</a></span> +<h3>THE CROWDED STREET.</h3> +<p class="indent2"> +Let me move slowly through the street,<br /> + Filled with an ever-shifting train,<br /> +Amid the sound of steps that beat<br /> + The murmuring walks like autumn rain.<br /><br /> + +How fast the flitting figures come!<br /> + The mild, the fierce, the stony face;<br /> +Some bright with thoughtless smiles, and some<br /> + Where secret tears have left their trace.<br /><br /> + +They pass—to toil, to strife, to rest;<br /> + To halls in which the feast is spread;<br /> +To chambers where the funeral guest<br /> + In silence sits beside the dead.<br /><br /> + +And some to happy homes repair,<br /> + Where children, pressing cheek to cheek,<br /> +With mute caresses shall declare<br /> + The tenderness they cannot speak.<br /> + +And some, who walk in calmness here,<br /> + Shall shudder as they reach the door<br /> +Where one who made their dwelling dear,<br /> + Its flower, its light, is seen no more.<br /><br /> + +Youth, with pale cheek and slender frame,<span class="page"><a name="page254" id="page254">[Page 254]</a></span><br /> + And dreams of greatness in thine eye!<br /> +Goest thou to build an early name,<br /> + Or early in the task to die?<br /><br /> + +Keen son of trade, with eager brow!<br /> + Who is now fluttering in thy snare?<br /> +Thy golden fortunes, tower they now,<br /> + Or melt the glittering spires in air?<br /><br /> + +Who of this crowd to-night shall tread<br /> + The dance till daylight gleam again?<br /> +Who sorrow o'er the untimely dead?<br /> + Who writhe in throes of mortal pain?<br /><br /> + +Some, famine-struck, shall think how long<br /> + The cold dark hours, how slow the light,<br /> +And some, who flaunt amid the throng,<br /> + Shall hide in dens of shame to-night.<br /><br /> + +Each, where his tasks or pleasures call,<br /> + They pass, and heed each other not.<br /> +There is who heeds, who holds them all,<br /> + In his large love and boundless thought.<br /><br /> + +These struggling tides of life that seem<br /> + In wayward, aimless course to tend,<br /> +Are eddies of the mighty stream<br /> + That rolls to its appointed end.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page255" id="page255">[Page 255]</a></span> +<h3>THE WHITE-FOOTED DEER.<a href="#n255">°</a></h3> +<p class="indent3"> +It was a hundred years ago,<br /> + When, by the woodland ways,<br /> +The traveller saw the wild deer drink,<br /> + Or crop the birchen sprays.<br /><br /> + +Beneath a hill, whose rocky side<br /> + O'erbrowed a grassy mead,<br /> +And fenced a cottage from the wind,<br /> + A deer was wont to feed.<br /><br /> + +She only came when on the cliffs<br /> + The evening moonlight lay,<br /> +And no man knew the secret haunts<br /> + In which she walked by day.<br /><br /> + +White were her feet, her forehead showed<br /> + A spot of silvery white,<br /> +That seemed to glimmer like a star<br /> + In autumn's hazy night.<br /><br /> + +And here, when sang the whippoorwill,<br /> + She cropped the sprouting leaves,<br /> +And here her rustling steps were heard<br /> + On still October eves.<br /><br /> + +But when the broad midsummer moon<span class="page"><a name="page256" id="page256">[Page 256]</a></span><br /> + Rose o'er that grassy lawn,<br /> +Beside the silver-footed deer<br /> + There grazed a spotted fawn.<br /><br /> + +The cottage dame forbade her son<br /> + To aim the rifle here;<br /> +"It were a sin," she said, "to harm<br /> + Or fright that friendly deer.<br /><br /> + +"This spot has been my pleasant home<br /> + Ten peaceful years and more;<br /> +And ever, when the moonlight shines,<br /> + She feeds before our door.<br /><br /> + +"The red men say that here she walked<br /> + A thousand moons ago;<br /> +They never raise the war-whoop here,<br /> + And never twang the bow.<br /><br /> + +"I love to watch her as she feeds,<br /> + And think that all is well<br /> +While such a gentle creature haunts<br /> + The place in which we dwell."<br /><br /> + +The youth obeyed, and sought for game<br /> + In forests far away,<br /> +Where, deep in silence and in moss,<br /> + The ancient woodland lay.<br /><br /> + +But once, in autumn's golden time,<br /> + He ranged the wild in vain,<br /> +Nor roused the pheasant nor the deer,<br /> + And wandered home again.<br /><br /> + +The crescent moon and crimson eve<span class="page"><a name="page257" id="page257">[Page 257]</a></span><br /> + Shone with a mingling light;<br /> +The deer, upon the grassy mead,<br /> + Was feeding full in sight.<br /><br /> + +He raised the rifle to his eye,<br /> + And from the cliffs around<br /> +A sudden echo, shrill and sharp,<br /> + Gave back its deadly sound.<br /><br /> + +Away into the neighbouring wood<br /> + The startled creature flew,<br /> +And crimson drops at morning lay<br /> + Amid the glimmering dew.<br /><br /> + +Next evening shone the waxing moon<br /> + As sweetly as before;<br /> +The deer upon the grassy mead<br /> + Was seen again no more.<br /><br /> + +But ere that crescent moon was old,<br /> + By night the red men came,<br /> +And burnt the cottage to the ground,<br /> + And slew the youth and dame.<br /><br /> + +Now woods have overgrown the mead,<br /> + And hid the cliffs from sight;<br /> +There shrieks the hovering hawk at noon,<br /> + And prowls the fox at night.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page258" id="page258">[Page 258]</a></span> +<h3>THE WANING MOON.</h3> +<p class="indent2"> +I've watched too late; the morn is near;<br /> + One look at God's broad silent sky!<br /> +Oh, hopes and wishes vainly dear,<br /> + How in your very strength ye die!<br /><br /> + +Even while your glow is on the cheek,<br /> + And scarce the high pursuit begun,<br /> +The heart grows faint, the hand grows weak,<br /> + The task of life is left undone.<br /><br /> + +See where upon the horizon's brim,<br /> + Lies the still cloud in gloomy bars;<br /> +The waning moon, all pale and dim,<br /> + Goes up amid the eternal stars.<br /><br /> + +Late, in a flood of tender light,<br /> + She floated through the ethereal blue,<br /> +A softer sun, that shone all night<br /> + Upon the gathering beads of dew.<br /><br /> + +And still thou wanest, pallid moon!<br /> + The encroaching shadow grows apace;<br /> +Heaven's everlasting watchers soon<br /> + Shall see thee blotted from thy place.<br /><br /> + +Oh, Night's dethroned and crownless queen!<span class="page"><a name="page259" id="page259">[Page 259]</a></span><br /> + Well may thy sad, expiring ray<br /> +Be shed on those whose eyes have seen<br /> + Hope's glorious visions fade away.<br /><br /> + +Shine thou for forms that once were bright,<br /> + For sages in the mind's eclipse,<br /> +For those whose words were spells of might,<br /> + But falter now on stammering lips!<br /><br /> + +In thy decaying beam there lies<br /> + Full many a grave on hill and plain,<br /> +Of those who closed their dying eyes<br /> + In grief that they had lived in vain.<br /><br /> + +Another night, and thou among<br /> + The spheres of heaven shalt cease to shine,<br /> +All rayless in the glittering throng<br /> + Whose lustre late was quenched in thine.<br /><br /> + +Yet soon a new and tender light<br /> + From out thy darkened orb shall beam,<br /> +And broaden till it shines all night<br /> + On glistening dew and glimmering stream.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr class="short" /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page260" id="page260">[Page 260]</a></span> +<h3>THE STREAM OF LIFE.</h3> +<p class="indent3"> +Oh silvery streamlet of the fields,<br /> + That flowest full and free!<br /> +For thee the rains of spring return,<br /> + The summer dews for thee;<br /> +And when thy latest blossoms die<br /> + In autumn's chilly showers,<br /> +The winter fountains gush for thee,<br /> + Till May brings back the flowers.<br /><br /> + +Oh Stream of Life! the violet springs<br /> + But once beside thy bed;<br /> +But one brief summer, on thy path,<br /> + The dews of heaven are shed.<br /> +Thy parent fountains shrink away,<br /> + And close their crystal veins,<br /> +And where thy glittering current flowed<br /> + The dust alone remains.</p><br /> + +<br /><br /><br /><hr /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + + <span class="page"><a name="page261" id="page261">[Page 261]</a></span> +<h1>NOTES</h1> + + +<br /><br /><br /><hr /><br /><br /> + +<span class="page"><a name="page263" id="page263">[Page 263]</a></span> + +<h2><a class="note" href="#page1">NOTES.</a></h2> +<p class="center1">(Click the poem's Name to return to the Poem)</p> + + +<h5>Page <a name="n1">1</a>.</h5> +<h4><a class="note" href="#page1">POEM OF THE AGES.</a></h4> +<p class="footnote"> +In this poem, written and first printed in the year 1821, the +author has endeavoured, from a survey of the past ages of the +world, and of the successive advances of mankind in knowledge, +virtue, and happiness, to justify and confirm the hopes of the +philanthropist for the future destinies of the human race.</p> +<br /><br /> + +<h5>Page <a name="n29">29</a>.</h5> +<h4><a class="note" href="#page29">THE BURIAL-PLACE.</a></h4> +<p class="footnote"> +The first half of this fragment may seem to the reader borrowed +from the essay on Rural Funerals in the fourth number of the +Sketch-Book. The lines were, however, written more than a year +before that number appeared. The poem, unfinished as it is, +would not have been admitted into this collection, had not the +author been unwilling to lose what had the honour of resembling +so beautiful a composition.</p> +<br /><br /> + +<h5>Page <a name="n40">40.</a>.</h5> +<h4><a class="note" href="#page40">THE MASSACRE AT SCIO.</a></h4> +<p class="footnote"> +This poem, written about the time of the horrible butchery of +the Sciotes by the Turks, in 1824, has been more fortunate than +most poetical predictions. The independence of the Greek nation, +which it foretold, has come to pass, and the massacre, by inspiring +a deeper detestation of their oppressors, did much to promote that +event.</p> +<br /><br /> +<span class="page"><a name="page264" id="page264">[Page 264]</a></span> +<h5>Page <a name="n41">41</a>.</h5> +<h4><a class="note" href="#page41">THE INDIAN GIRL'S LAMENT.</a></h4> +<p class="center"> +<i>Her maiden veil, her own black hair</i>, &c.</p> + +<p class="center"> +"The unmarried females have a modest falling down of the +hair over the eyes."—ELIOT.</p> +<br /><br /> + +<h5>Page <a name="n65">65</a>.</h5> +<h4><a class="note" href="#page65">MONUMENT MOUNTAIN.</a></h4> +<p class="footnote"> +The mountain, called by this name, is a remarkable precipice +in Great Barrington, overlooking the rich and picturesque valley +of the Housatonic, in the western part of Massachusetts. At the +southern extremity is, or was a few years since, a conical pile of +small stones, erected, according to the tradition of the surrounding +country, by the Indians, in memory of a woman of the Stockbridge +tribe, who killed herself by leaping from the edge of the precipice. +Until within a few years past, small parties of that tribe used to +arrive from their settlement in the western part of the state of +New York, on visits to Stockbridge, the place of their nativity and +former residence. A young woman belonging to one of these +parties related, to a friend of the author, the story on which the +poem of Monument Mountain is founded. An Indian girl had +formed an attachment for her cousin, which, according to the +customs of the tribe, was unlawful. She was, in consequence, +seized with a deep melancholy, and resolved to destroy herself. +In company with a female friend, she repaired to the mountain, +decked out for the occasion in all her ornaments, and, after passing +the day on the summit in singing with her companion the traditional +songs of her nation, she threw herself headlong from the +rock, and was killed.</p> +<br /><br /> + +<h5>Page <a name="n79">79</a>.</h5> +<h4><a class="note" href="#page79">THE MURDERED TRAVELLER.</a></h4> +<p class="footnote"> +Some years since, in the month of May, the remains of a human +body, partly devoured by wild animals, were found in a woody +ravine, near a solitary road passing between the mountains west +of the village of Stockbridge. It was supposed that the person +came to his death by violence, but no traces could be discovered +of his murderers. It was only recollected that one evening, in the +course of the previous winter, a traveller had stopped at an inn in +the village of West Stockbridge; that he had inquired the way to <span class="page"><a name="page265" id="page265">[Page 265]</a></span> +Stockbridge; and that, in paying the innkeeper for something he +had ordered, it appeared that he had a considerable sum of money +in his possession. Two ill-looking men were present, and went +out about the same time that the traveller proceeded on his journey. +During the winter, also, two men of shabby appearance, +but plentifully supplied with money, had lingered for awhile about +the village of Stockbridge. Several years afterward, a criminal, +about to be executed for a capital offence in Canada, confessed that +he had been concerned in murdering a traveller in Stockbridge for +the sake of his money. Nothing was ever discovered respecting +the name or residence of the person murdered.</p> +<br /><br /> + +<h5>Page <a name="n118">118</a>.</h5> +<h4><a class="note" href="#page118">THE AFRICAN CHIEF.</a></h4> +<p class="center"> +<i>Chained in the market place he stood</i>, &c.</p> +<p class="footnote"> +The story of the African Chief, related in this ballad, may be +found in the African Repository for April, 1825. The subject of +it was a warrior of majestic stature, the brother of Yarradee, king +of the Solima nation. He had been taken in battle, and was +brought in chains for sale to the Rio Pongas, where he was exhibited +in the market-place, his ankles still adorned with the massy +rings of gold which he wore when captured. The refusal of his +captor to listen to his offers of ransom drove him mad, and he died +a maniac.</p> +<br /><br /> + +<h5>Page <a name="n131">131</a>.</h5> +<h4><a class="note" href="#page131">THE CONJUNCTION OF JUPITER AND VENUS.</a></h4> +<p class="footnote"> +This conjunction was said in the common calendars to have +taken place on the 2d of August, 1826. This, I believe, was an +error, but the apparent approach of the planets was sufficiently +near for poetical purposes. +</p> +<br /><br /> + +<h5>Page <a name="n137">137</a>.</h5> +<h4><a class="note" href="#page137">THE HURRICANE.</a></h4> +<p class="footnote"> +This poem is nearly a translation from one by José Maria de +Heredia, a native of the Island of Cuba, who published at New +York, six or seven years since, a volume of poems in the Spanish +language.</p> +<br /><br /> + +<h5>Page <a name="n139">139</a>.</h5> +<h4><a class="note" href="#page139">SONNET—WILLIAM TELL.</a></h4> +<p class="footnote"> +Neither this, nor any of the other sonnets in the collection, with +the exception of the one from the Portuguese, is framed according +to the legitimate Italian model, which, in the author's opinion, +possesses no peculiar beauty for an ear accustomed only to the +metrical forms of our own language. The sonnets in this collection +are rather poems in fourteen lines than sonnets.</p> +<br /><br /> + +<h5>Page <a name="n140">140</a>.</h5> +<h4><a class="note" href="#page140">THE HUNTER'S SERENADE</a></h4> +<p class="center"><i>The slim papaya ripens</i>, &c.</p> +<p class="footnote"> +Papaya—papaw, custard-apple. Flint, in his excellent work +on the Geography and History of the Western States, thus +describes this tree and its fruit:—</p> + +<blockquote> +"A papaw shrub, hanging full of fruits, of a size and weight +so disproportioned to the stem, and from under long and rich-looking +leaves, of the same yellow with the ripened fruit, and of +an African luxuriance of growth, is to us one of the richest spectacles +that we have ever contemplated in the array of the woods. +The fruit contains from two to six seeds, like those of the tamarind, +except that they are double the size. The pulp of the fruit resembles +egg-custard in consistence and appearance. It has the +same creamy feeling in the mouth, and unites the taste of eggs, +cream, sugar, and spice. It is a natural custard, too luscious for +the relish of most people."</blockquote> + +<p class="footnote"> +Chateaubriand, in his Travels, speaks disparagingly of the +fruit of the papaw; but on the authority of Mr. Flint, who must +know more of the matter, I have ventured to make my western +lover enumerate it among the delicacies of the wilderness.</p> +<br /><br /> + +<h5>Page <a name="n156">156</a>.</h5> +<h4><a class="note" href="#page156">THE PRAIRIES</a></h4> +<p class="center"><i>The surface rolls and fluctuates to the eye.</i></p> +<p class="footnote"> +The prairies of the West, with an undulating surface, <i>rolling +prairies</i>, as they are called, present to the unaccustomed eye a +singular spectacle when the shadows of the clouds are passing +rapidly over them. The face of the ground seems to fluctuate and +toss like the billows of the sea.</p><br /> + +<span class="page"><a name="page267" id="page267">[Page 267]</a></span> +<h5>Page 156.</h5> + + <p class="center"><i>The prairie-hawk that, poised on high,<br /> +Flaps his broad wings, yet moves not.</i></p> + +<p class="footnote"> +I have seen the prairie-hawk balancing himself in the air for +hours together, apparently over the same spot; probably watching +his prey.</p><br /> + +<h5>Page 157.</h5> + + <p class="center"><i>These ample fields<br /> +Nourished their harvests.</i></p> + +<p class="footnote"> +The size and extent of the mounds in the valley of the Mississippi, +indicate the existence, at a remote period, of a nation at +once populous and laborious, and therefore probably subsisting by +agriculture.</p><br /><br /> + +<h5>Page 158.</h5> + + <p class="center"><i>The rude conquerors<br /> +Seated the captive with their chiefs.</i></p> + +<p class="footnote"> +Instances are not wanting of generosity like this among the +North American Indians towards a captive or survivor of a hostile +tribe on which the greatest cruelties had been exercised.</p> +<br /><br /> + +<h5>Page <a name="n160">160</a>.</h5> +<h4><a class="note" href="#page160">SONG OF MARION'S MEN.</a></h4> +<p class="footnote"> +The exploits of General Francis Marion, the famous partisan +warrior of South Carolina, form an interesting chapter in the annals +of the American revolution. The British troops were so +harassed by the irregular and successful warfare which he kept +up at the head of a few daring followers, that they sent an officer +to remonstrate with him for not coming into the open field and +fighting "like a gentleman and a Christian." +</p> +<br /><br /> + +<h5>Page <a name="n170">170</a>.</h5> +<h4><a class="note" href="#page170">MARY MAGDALEN.</a></h4> +<p class="footnote"> +Several learned divines, with much appearance of reason, in +particular Dr. Lardner, have maintained that the common notion +respecting the dissolute life of Mary Magdalen is erroneous, and +that she was always a person of excellent character. Charles +Taylor, the editor of Calmet's Dictionary of the Bible, takes the +same view of the subject.</p> +<p class="footnote"> +The verses of the Spanish poet here translated refer to the<span class="page"><a name="page268" id="page268">[Page 268]</a></span> +"woman who had been a sinner," mentioned in the seventh +chapter of St. Luke's Gospel, and who is commonly confounded +with Mary Magdalen. +</p> +<br /><br /> + +<h5>Page <a name="n173">173</a>.</h5> +<h4><a class="note" href="#page173">FATIMA AND RADUAN.</a></h4> +<p class="footnote"> +This and the following poems belong to that class of ancient +Spanish ballads, by unknown authors, called <i>Romances +Moriscos</i>—Moriscan romances or ballads. They were composed in the +14th century, some of them, probably, by the Moors, who then +lived intermingled with the Christians; and they relate the loves +and achievements of the knights of Grenada. +</p> +<br /><br /> + +<h5>Page <a name="n175">175</a>.</h5> +<h4><a class="note" href="#page175">LOVE AND FOLLY.—(FROM LA FONTAINE.)</a></h4> +<p class="footnote"> +This is rather an imitation than a translation of the poem of +the graceful French fabulist. +</p> +<br /><br /> + +<h5>Page <a name="n178">178</a>.</h5> +<h4>(<a class="note" href="#page178">THE ALCAYDE OF MOLINA—(FROM THE SPANISH)</a>)</h4> + +<p class="center"><i>These eyes shall not recall thee</i>, &c.</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +This is the very expression of the original—<i>No te llamarán +mis ojos</i>, &c. The Spanish poets early adopted the practice of +calling a lady by the name of the most expressive feature of her +countenance, her eyes. The lover styled his mistress "ojos +bellos," beautiful eyes; "ojos serenos," serene eyes. Green +eyes seem to have been anciently thought a great beauty in +Spain, and there is a very pretty ballad by an absent lover, in +which he addressed his lady by the title of "green eyes;" supplicating +that he may remain in her remembrance.</p> + +<p class="footnote2"> +¡Ay ojuelos verdes!<br /> + Ay los mis ojuelos!<br /> + Ay, hagan los cielos<br /> +Que de mi te acuerdes! +</p> +<br /><br /> + +<h5>Page <a name="n181">181</a>.</h5> +<h4>(<a class="note" href="#page179">THE DEATH OF ALIATAR—(FROM THE SPANISH)</a>)</h4> + +<p class="center"><i>Say, Love—for thou didst see her tears</i>, &c.</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +The stanza beginning with this line stands thus in the +original:—</p> + +<p class="footnote2"><span class="page"><a name="page269" id="page269">[Page 269]</a></span> +Dilo tu, amor, si lo viste;<br /> + ¡Mas ay! que de lastimado<br /> +Diste otro nudo á la venda,<br /> + Para no ver lo que ha pasado.</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +I am sorry to find so poor a conceit deforming so spirited a +composition as this old ballad, but I have preserved it in the +version. It is one of those extravagances which afterward became +so common in Spanish poetry, when Gongora introduced the +<i>estilo culto</i>, as it was called. +</p> +<br /><br /> + +<h5>Page <a name="n182">182</a>.</h5> +<h4><a class="note" href="#page182">LOVE IN THE AGE OF CHIVALRY.</a></h4> +<p class="footnote"> +This personification of the passion of Love, by Peyre Vidal, +has been referred to as a proof of how little the Provençal poets +were indebted to the authors of Greece and Rome for the imagery +of their poems. +</p> +<br /><br /> + +<h5>Page <a name="n183">183</a>.</h5> +<h4><a class="note" href="#page183">THE LOVE OF GOD.—(FROM THE PROVENÇAL OF BERNARD RASCAS.)</a></h4> +<p class="footnote"> +The original of these lines is thus given by John of Nostradamus, +in his lives of the Troubadours, in a barbarous Frenchified +orthography:—</p> + +<p class="footnote1"> +Touta kausa mortala una fes perirá,<br /> +Fors que l'amour de Dieu, que tousiours durará.<br /> +Tous nostres cors vendran essuchs, coma fa l'eska,<br /> +Lous Aubres leyssaran lour verdour tendra e fresca,<br /> +Lous Auselets del bosc perdran lour kant subtyeu,<br /> +E non s'auzira plus lou Rossignol gentyeu.<br /> +Lous Buols al Pastourgage, e las blankas fedettas<br /> +Sent'ran lous agulhons de las mortals Sagettas,<br /> +Lous crestas d'Arles fiers, Renards, e Loups espars,<br /> +Kabrols, Cervys, Chamous, Senglars de toutes pars,<br /> +Lous Ours hardys e forts, seran poudra, e Arena,<br /> +Lou Daulphin en la Mar, lou Ton, e la Balena:<br /> +Monstres impetuous, Ryaumes, e Comtas,<br /> +Lous Princes, e lous Reys, seran per mort domtas.<br /> +E nota ben eysso káscun: la Terra granda,<br /> +(Ou l'Escritura ment) lou fermament que branda,<br /> +Prendra autra figura. Enfin tout perirá,<br /> +Fors que l'Amour de Dieu, que touiours durará. +</p> +<br /><br /> +<span class="page"><a name="page270" id="page270">[Page 270]</a></span> + +<h5>Page <a name="n184">184</a>.</h5> +<h4><a class="note" href="#page184">FROM THE SPANISH OF PEDRO DE CASTRO Y AÑAYA.</a></h4> +<p class="footnote"> +<i>Las Auroras de Diana</i>, in which the original of these lines +is contained, is, notwithstanding it was praised by Lope de Vega, +one of the worst of the old Spanish Romances, being a tissue of +riddles and affectations, with now and then a little poem of considerable +beauty. +</p> +<br /><br /> + +<h5>Page <a name="n213">213</a>.</h5> +<h4><a class="note" href="#page213">(LIFE.)</a></h4> +<p class="center"> +<i>Where Isar's clay-white rivulets run<br /> +Through the dark wood's, like frighted deer.</i></p> + +<p class="footnote"> +Close to the city of Munich, in Bavaria, lies the spacious and +beautiful pleasure ground, called the English Garden, in which +these lines were written, originally projected and laid out by our +countryman, Count Rumford, under the auspices of one of the +sovereigns of the country. Winding walks of great extent, +pass through close thickets and groves interspersed with lawns; +and streams, diverted from the river Isar, traverse the grounds +swiftly in various directions, the water of which, stained with +the clay of the soil it has corroded in its descent from the upper +country, is frequently of a turbid white colour. +</p> +<br /><br /> + +<h5>Page <a name="n218">218</a>.</h5> +<h4><a class="note" href="#page218">THE GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS.</a></h4> +<p class="footnote"> +This song refers to the expedition of the Vermonters, commanded +by Ethan Allen, by whom the British fort of Ticonderoga, +on Lake Champlain, was surprised and taken, in May, 1775. +</p> +<br /><br /> + +<h5>Page <a name="n220">220</a>.</h5> +<h4><a class="note" href="#page220">THE CHILD'S FUNERAL.</a></h4> +<p class="footnote"> +The incident on which this poem is founded was related to +the author while in Europe, in a letter from an English lady. A +child died in the south of Italy, and when they went to bury it +they found it revived and playing with the flowers which, after +the manner of that country, had been brought to grace its funeral. +</p> +<br /><br /> + +<h5>Page <a name="n226">226</a>.</h5> +<h4><a class="note" href="#page226">(THE DEATH OF SCHILLER.)</a></h4> + +<p class="center"> +<i>'Tis said, when Schiller's death drew nigh,<br /> + The wish possessed his mighty mind,<br /> +To wander forth wherever lie + <br /> + The homes and haunts of human kind.</i></p> + +<p class="footnote"> +Shortly before the death of Schiller, he was seized with a +strong desire to travel in foreign countries, as if his spirit had a +presentiment of its approaching enlargement, and already longed +to expatiate in a wider and more varied sphere of existence. +</p> +<br /><br /> + +<h5>Page <a name="n227">228</a>.</h5> +<h4><a class="note" href="#page227">(THE FOUNTAIN.)</a></h4> + +<p class="center"> + + <i>The flower<br /> +Of Sanguinaria, from whose brittle stem<br /> +The red drops fell like blood.</i> + </p> + +<p class="footnote"> +The <i>Sanguinaria Canadensis</i>, or blood-root, as it is commonly +called, bears a delicate white flower of a musky scent, the stem +of which breaks easily, and distils a juice of a bright red colour. +</p> +<br /><br /> + +<h5>Page <a name="n234">234</a>.</h5> +<h4><a class="note" href="#page234">(THE OLD MAN'S COUNSEL.)</a></h4> + +<p class="center"> + + <i>The shad-bush, white with flowers,<br /> +Whitened the glens. +</i></p> +<p class="footnote"> +The small tree, named by the botanists <i>Aronia Botyrapium</i>, is +called, in some parts of our country, the shad-bush, from the circumstance +that it flowers about the time that the shad ascend the +rivers in early spring. Its delicate sprays, covered with white +blossoms before the trees are yet in leaf, have a singularly beautiful +appearance in the woods. +</p> +<br /><br /> + +<h5>Page <a name="n235">235</a>.</h5> +<h4><a class="note" href="#page235"></a></h4> + +<p class="center"> +"<i>There hast thou," said my friend, "a fitting type<br /> +Of human life." + + </i></p> + +<p class="footnote"> +I remember hearing an aged man, in the country, compare the +slow movement of time in early life and its swift flight as it +approaches old age, to the drumming of a partridge or ruffed +grouse in the woods—the strokes falling slow and distinct at +first, and following each other more and more rapidly, till they end +at last in a whirring sound. +</p> +<br /><br /> + + +<h5>Page <a name="n238">238</a>.</h5> +<h4><a class="note" href="#page238">AN EVENING REVERY.—FROM AN UNFINISHED POEM.</a></h4> +<p class="footnote"> +This poem and that entitled the Fountain, with one or two +others in blank verse, were intended by the author as portions +of a larger poem, in which they may hereafter take their place. +</p> +<br /><br /> + +<h5>Page <a name="n240">240</a>.</h5> +<h4><a class="note" href="#page240">(THE PAINTED CUP.)</a></h4> + +<p class="center"> +<i>The fresh savannas of the Sangamon <br /> +Here rise in gentle swells, and the long grass<br /> +Is mixed with rustling hazels. Scarlet tufts <br /> +Are glowing in the green, like flakes of fire. </i></p> + +<p class="footnote"> +The Painted Cup, <i>Euchroma Coccinea</i>, or <i>Bartsia Coccinea</i>, +grows in great abundance in the hazel prairies of the western +states, where its scarlet tufts make a brilliant appearance in the +midst of the verdure. The Sangamon is a beautiful river, tributary +to the Illinois, bordered with rich prairies. +</p> +<br /><br /> + +<h5>Page <a name="n251">251</a>.</h5> +<h4><a class="note" href="#page251">(NOON)</a></h4> +<p class="center"> + <i>At noon the Hebrew bowed the knee<br /> +And worshipped + </i><br /><br /> +<span style="font-size: 0.8em;"> +Evening and morning, and at noon, will I pray and cry aloud,<br /> +and he shall hear my voice.—PSALM LV. 17. + + </span> +</p> +<br /><br /> + +<h5>Page <a name="n255">255</a>.</h5> +<h4><a class="note" href="#page255">THE WHITE-FOOTED DEER.</a></h4> +<p class="footnote"> +During the stay of Long's Expedition at Engineer Cantonment, +three specimens of a variety of the common deer were brought in, +having all the feet white near the hoofs, and extending to those +on the hind feet from a little above the spurious hoofs. This white +extremity was divided, upon the sides of the foot, by the general +colour of the leg, which extends down near to the hoofs, leaving +a white triangle in front, of which the point was elevated rather +higher than the spurious hoofs.—GODMAN'S NATURAL HISTORY, +vol. ii. p 314. +</p> +<br /><br /> + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + + <!--<p> + <a href="http://validator.w3.org/check?uri=referer"><img + src="http://www.w3.org/Icons/valid-xhtml10" + alt="Valid XHTML 1.0!" height="31" width="88" /></a> + </p> + + <p> + <a href="http://jigsaw.w3.org/css-validator/"> + <img style="border:0;width:88px;height:31px" + src="http://jigsaw.w3.org/css-validator/images/vcss" + alt="Valid CSS!" /> + </a> +</p> + +Anchors +Found 298 anchors. + +Valid anchors! + +Links +Valid links! + +Checked 1 document in 7.8 seconds. + + +--> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by William Cullen Bryant + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 16341-h.htm or 16341-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/3/4/16341/ + +Produced by richyfourtytwo, Lesley Halamek and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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