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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/9569.txt b/9569.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..324cf8c --- /dev/null +++ b/9569.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1709 @@ +Project Gutenberg EBook, Mountain Pictures and Others by Whittier +Volume II., The Works of Whittier: Poems of Nature, Poems Subjective +and Reminiscent, Religious Poems +#14 in our series by John Greenleaf Whittier + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**EBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These EBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers***** + + + +Title: Mountain Pictures and Others, From Poems of Nature, + Poems Subjective and Reminiscent and Religious Poems + Volume II., The Works of Whittier + +Author: John Greenleaf Whittier + +Release Date: Dec, 2005 [EBook #9569] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on October 2, 2003] + + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + + + + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, MOUNTAIN PICTURES, ETC. *** + + + + +This eBook was produced by David Widger + + + + + + POEMS OF NATURE + + POEMS SUBJECTIVE AND REMINISCENT + + RELIGIOUS POEMS + + BY + JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER + + +CONTENTS: + + MOUNTAIN PICTURES + I. FRANCONIA FROM THE PEMIGEWASSET + II. MONADNOCK FROM WACHUSET + THE VANISHERS + THE PAGEANT + THE PRESSED GENTIAN + A MYSTERY + A SEA DREAM + HAZEL BLOSSOMS + SUNSET ON THE BEARCAMP + THE SEEKING OF THE WATERFALL + THE TRAILING ARBUTUS + ST. MARTINS SUMMER + STORM ON LAKE ASQUAM + A SUMMER PILGRIMAGE + SWEET FERN + THE WOOD GIANT + A DAY + + + + +MOUNTAIN PICTURES. + +I. FRANCONIA FROM THE PEMIGEWASSET +Once more, O Mountains of the North, unveil +Your brows, and lay your cloudy mantles by +And once more, ere the eyes that seek ye fail, +Uplift against the blue walls of the sky +Your mighty shapes, and let the sunshine weave +Its golden net-work in your belting woods, +Smile down in rainbows from your falling floods, +And on your kingly brows at morn and eve +Set crowns of fire! So shall my soul receive +Haply the secret of your calm and strength, +Your unforgotten beauty interfuse +My common life, your glorious shapes and hues +And sun-dropped splendors at my bidding come, +Loom vast through dreams, and stretch in billowy length +From the sea-level of my lowland home! + +They rise before me! Last night's thunder-gust +Roared not in vain: for where its lightnings thrust +Their tongues of fire, the great peaks seem so near, +Burned clean of mist, so starkly bold and clear, +I almost pause the wind in the pines to hear, +The loose rock's fall, the steps of browsing deer. +The clouds that shattered on yon slide-worn walls +And splintered on the rocks their spears of rain +Have set in play a thousand waterfalls, +Making the dusk and silence of the woods +Glad with the laughter of the chasing floods, +And luminous with blown spray and silver gleams, +While, in the vales below, the dry-lipped streams +Sing to the freshened meadow-lands again. +So, let me hope, the battle-storm that beats +The land with hail and fire may pass away +With its spent thunders at the break of day, +Like last night's clouds, and leave, as it retreats, +A greener earth and fairer sky behind, +Blown crystal-clear by Freedom's Northern wind! + +II. MONADNOCK FROM WACHUSET. +I would I were a painter, for the sake +Of a sweet picture, and of her who led, +A fitting guide, with reverential tread, +Into that mountain mystery. First a lake +Tinted with sunset; next the wavy lines +Of far receding hills; and yet more far, +Monadnock lifting from his night of pines +His rosy forehead to the evening star. +Beside us, purple-zoned, Wachuset laid +His head against the West, whose warm light made +His aureole; and o'er him, sharp and clear, +Like a shaft of lightning in mid-launching stayed, +A single level cloud-line, shone upon +By the fierce glances of the sunken sun, +Menaced the darkness with its golden spear! + +So twilight deepened round us. Still and black +The great woods climbed the mountain at our back; +And on their skirts, where yet the lingering day +On the shorn greenness of the clearing lay, +The brown old farm-house like a bird's-nest hung. +With home-life sounds the desert air was stirred +The bleat of sheep along the hill we heard, +The bucket plashing in the cool, sweet well, +The pasture-bars that clattered as they fell; +Dogs barked, fowls fluttered, cattle lowed; the gate +Of the barn-yard creaked beneath the merry weight +Of sun-brown children, listening, while they swung, +The welcome sound of supper-call to hear; +And down the shadowy lane, in tinklings clear, +The pastoral curfew of the cow-bell rung. +Thus soothed and pleased, our backward path we took, +Praising the farmer's home. He only spake, +Looking into the sunset o'er the lake, +Like one to whom the far-off is most near: +"Yes, most folks think it has a pleasant look; +I love it for my good old mother's sake, +Who lived and died here in the peace of God!" +The lesson of his words we pondered o'er, +As silently we turned the eastern flank +Of the mountain, where its shadow deepest sank, +Doubling the night along our rugged road: +We felt that man was more than his abode,-- +The inward life than Nature's raiment more; +And the warm sky, the sundown-tinted hill, +The forest and the lake, seemed dwarfed and dim +Before the saintly soul, whose human will +Meekly in the Eternal footsteps trod, +Making her homely toil and household ways +An earthly echo of the song of praise +Swelling from angel lips and harps of seraphim. +1862. + + + +THE VANISHERS. + +Sweetest of all childlike dreams +In the simple Indian lore +Still to me the legend seems +Of the shapes who flit before. + +Flitting, passing, seen and gone, +Never reached nor found at rest, +Baffling search, but beckoning on +To the Sunset of the Blest. + +From the clefts of mountain rocks, +Through the dark of lowland firs, +Flash the eyes and flow the locks +Of the mystic Vanishers! + +And the fisher in his skiff, +And the hunter on the moss, +Hear their call from cape and cliff, +See their hands the birch-leaves toss. + +Wistful, longing, through the green +Twilight of the clustered pines, +In their faces rarely seen +Beauty more than mortal shines. + +Fringed with gold their mantles flow +On the slopes of westering knolls; +In the wind they whisper low +Of the Sunset Land of Souls. + +Doubt who may, O friend of mine! +Thou and I have seen them too; +On before with beck and sign +Still they glide, and we pursue. + +More than clouds of purple trail +In the gold of setting day; +More than gleams of wing or sail +Beckon from the sea-mist gray. + +Glimpses of immortal youth, +Gleams and glories seen and flown, +Far-heard voices sweet with truth, +Airs from viewless Eden blown; + +Beauty that eludes our grasp, +Sweetness that transcends our taste, +Loving hands we may not clasp, +Shining feet that mock our haste; + +Gentle eyes we closed below, +Tender voices heard once more, +Smile and call us, as they go +On and onward, still before. + +Guided thus, O friend of mine +Let us walk our little way, +Knowing by each beckoning sign +That we are not quite astray. + +Chase we still, with baffled feet, +Smiling eye and waving hand, +Sought and seeker soon shall meet, +Lost and found, in Sunset Land +1864. + + + +THE PAGEANT. + +A sound as if from bells of silver, +Or elfin cymbals smitten clear, +Through the frost-pictured panes I hear. + +A brightness which outshines the morning, +A splendor brooking no delay, +Beckons and tempts my feet away. + +I leave the trodden village highway +For virgin snow-paths glimmering through +A jewelled elm-tree avenue; + +Where, keen against the walls of sapphire, +The gleaming tree-bolls, ice-embossed, +Hold up their chandeliers of frost. + +I tread in Orient halls enchanted, +I dream the Saga's dream of caves +Gem-lit beneath the North Sea waves! + +I walk the land of Eldorado, +I touch its mimic garden bowers, +Its silver leaves and diamond flowers! + +The flora of the mystic mine-world +Around me lifts on crystal stems +The petals of its clustered gems! + +What miracle of weird transforming +In this wild work of frost and light, +This glimpse of glory infinite! + +This foregleam of the Holy City +Like that to him of Patmos given, +The white bride coming down from heaven! + +How flash the ranked and mail-clad alders, +Through what sharp-glancing spears of reeds +The brook its muffled water leads! + +Yon maple, like the bush of Horeb, +Burns unconsumed: a white, cold fire +Rays out from every grassy spire. + +Each slender rush and spike of mullein, +Low laurel shrub and drooping fern, +Transfigured, blaze where'er I turn. + +How yonder Ethiopian hemlock +Crowned with his glistening circlet stands! +What jewels light his swarthy hands! + +Here, where the forest opens southward, +Between its hospitable pines, +As through a door, the warm sun shines. + +The jewels loosen on the branches, +And lightly, as the soft winds blow, +Fall, tinkling, on the ice below. + +And through the clashing of their cymbals +I hear the old familiar fall +Of water down the rocky wall, + +Where, from its wintry prison breaking, +In dark and silence hidden long, +The brook repeats its summer song. + +One instant flashing in the sunshine, +Keen as a sabre from its sheath, +Then lost again the ice beneath. + +I hear the rabbit lightly leaping, +The foolish screaming of the jay, +The chopper's axe-stroke far away; + +The clamor of some neighboring barn-yard, +The lazy cock's belated crow, +Or cattle-tramp in crispy snow. + +And, as in some enchanted forest +The lost knight hears his comrades sing, +And, near at hand, their bridles ring,-- + +So welcome I these sounds and voices, +These airs from far-off summer blown, +This life that leaves me not alone. + +For the white glory overawes me; +The crystal terror of the seer +Of Chebar's vision blinds me here. + +Rebuke me not, O sapphire heaven! +Thou stainless earth, lay not on me, +Thy keen reproach of purity, + +If, in this August presence-chamber, +I sigh for summer's leaf-green gloom +And warm airs thick with odorous bloom! + +Let the strange frost-work sink and crumble, +And let the loosened tree-boughs swing, +Till all their bells of silver ring. + +Shine warmly down, thou sun of noontime, +On this chill pageant, melt and move +The winter's frozen heart with love. + +And, soft and low, thou wind south-blowing, +Breathe through a veil of tenderest haze +Thy prophecy of summer days. + +Come with thy green relief of promise, +And to this dead, cold splendor bring +The living jewels of the spring! +1869. + + + +THE PRESSED GENTIAN. + +The time of gifts has come again, +And, on my northern window-pane, +Outlined against the day's brief light, +A Christmas token hangs in sight. + +The wayside travellers, as they pass, +Mark the gray disk of clouded glass; +And the dull blankness seems, perchance, +Folly to their wise ignorance. + +They cannot from their outlook see +The perfect grace it hath for me; +For there the flower, whose fringes through +The frosty breath of autumn blew, +Turns from without its face of bloom +To the warm tropic of my room, +As fair as when beside its brook +The hue of bending skies it took. + +So from the trodden ways of earth, +Seem some sweet souls who veil their worth, +And offer to the careless glance +The clouding gray of circumstance. +They blossom best where hearth-fires burn, +To loving eyes alone they turn +The flowers of inward grace, that hide +Their beauty from the world outside. + +But deeper meanings come to me, +My half-immortal flower, from thee! +Man judges from a partial view, +None ever yet his brother knew; +The Eternal Eye that sees the whole +May better read the darkened soul, +And find, to outward sense denied, +The flower upon its inmost side +1872. + + + +A MYSTERY. + +The river hemmed with leaning trees +Wound through its meadows green; +A low, blue line of mountains showed +The open pines between. + +One sharp, tall peak above them all +Clear into sunlight sprang +I saw the river of my dreams, +The mountains that I sang! + +No clue of memory led me on, +But well the ways I knew; +A feeling of familiar things +With every footstep grew. + +Not otherwise above its crag +Could lean the blasted pine; +Not otherwise the maple hold +Aloft its red ensign. + +So up the long and shorn foot-hills +The mountain road should creep; +So, green and low, the meadow fold +Its red-haired kine asleep. + +The river wound as it should wind; +Their place the mountains took; +The white torn fringes of their clouds +Wore no unwonted look. + +Yet ne'er before that river's rim +Was pressed by feet of mine, +Never before mine eyes had crossed +That broken mountain line. + +A presence, strange at once and known, +Walked with me as my guide; +The skirts of some forgotten life +Trailed noiseless at my side. + +Was it a dim-remembered dream? +Or glimpse through ions old? +The secret which the mountains kept +The river never told. + +But from the vision ere it passed +A tender hope I drew, +And, pleasant as a dawn of spring, +The thought within me grew, + +That love would temper every change, +And soften all surprise, +And, misty with the dreams of earth, +The hills of Heaven arise. +1873. + + + +A SEA DREAM. + +We saw the slow tides go and come, +The curving surf-lines lightly drawn, +The gray rocks touched with tender bloom +Beneath the fresh-blown rose of dawn. + +We saw in richer sunsets lost +The sombre pomp of showery noons; +And signalled spectral sails that crossed +The weird, low light of rising moons. + +On stormy eves from cliff and head +We saw the white spray tossed and spurned; +While over all, in gold and red, +Its face of fire the lighthouse turned. + +The rail-car brought its daily crowds, +Half curious, half indifferent, +Like passing sails or floating clouds, +We saw them as they came and went. + +But, one calm morning, as we lay +And watched the mirage-lifted wall +Of coast, across the dreamy bay, +And heard afar the curlew call, + +And nearer voices, wild or tame, +Of airy flock and childish throng, +Up from the water's edge there came +Faint snatches of familiar song. + +Careless we heard the singer's choice +Of old and common airs; at last +The tender pathos of his voice +In one low chanson held us fast. + +A song that mingled joy and pain, +And memories old and sadly sweet; +While, timing to its minor strain, +The waves in lapsing cadence beat. + + . . . . . + +The waves are glad in breeze and sun; +The rocks are fringed with foam; +I walk once more a haunted shore, +A stranger, yet at home, +A land of dreams I roam. + +Is this the wind, the soft sea wind +That stirred thy locks of brown? +Are these the rocks whose mosses knew +The trail of thy light gown, +Where boy and girl sat down? + +I see the gray fort's broken wall, +The boats that rock below; +And, out at sea, the passing sails +We saw so long ago +Rose-red in morning's glow. + +The freshness of the early time +On every breeze is blown; +As glad the sea, as blue the sky,-- +The change is ours alone; +The saddest is my own. + +A stranger now, a world-worn man, +Is he who bears my name; +But thou, methinks, whose mortal life +Immortal youth became, +Art evermore the same. + +Thou art not here, thou art not there, +Thy place I cannot see; +I only know that where thou art +The blessed angels be, +And heaven is glad for thee. + +Forgive me if the evil years +Have left on me their sign; +Wash out, O soul so beautiful, +The many stains of mine +In tears of love divine! + +I could not look on thee and live, +If thou wert by my side; +The vision of a shining one, +The white and heavenly bride, +Is well to me denied. + +But turn to me thy dear girl-face +Without the angel's crown, +The wedded roses of thy lips, +Thy loose hair rippling down +In waves of golden brown. + +Look forth once more through space and time, +And let thy sweet shade fall +In tenderest grace of soul and form +On memory's frescoed wall, +A shadow, and yet all! + +Draw near, more near, forever dear! +Where'er I rest or roam, +Or in the city's crowded streets, +Or by the blown sea foam, +The thought of thee is home! + + . . . . . + +At breakfast hour the singer read +The city news, with comment wise, +Like one who felt the pulse of trade +Beneath his finger fall and rise. + +His look, his air, his curt speech, told +The man of action, not of books, +To whom the corners made in gold +And stocks were more than seaside nooks. + +Of life beneath the life confessed +His song had hinted unawares; +Of flowers in traffic's ledgers pressed, +Of human hearts in bulls and bears. + +But eyes in vain were turned to watch +That face so hard and shrewd and strong; +And ears in vain grew sharp to catch +The meaning of that morning song. + +In vain some sweet-voiced querist sought +To sound him, leaving as she came; +Her baited album only caught +A common, unromantic name. + +No word betrayed the mystery fine, +That trembled on the singer's tongue; +He came and went, and left no sign +Behind him save the song he sung. +1874. + + + +HAZEL BLOSSOMS. + +The summer warmth has left the sky, +The summer songs have died away; +And, withered, in the footpaths lie +The fallen leaves, but yesterday +With ruby and with topaz gay. + +The grass is browning on the hills; +No pale, belated flowers recall +The astral fringes of the rills, +And drearily the dead vines fall, +Frost-blackened, from the roadside wall. + +Yet through the gray and sombre wood, +Against the dusk of fir and pine, +Last of their floral sisterhood, +The hazel's yellow blossoms shine, +The tawny gold of Afric's mine! + +Small beauty hath my unsung flower, +For spring to own or summer hail; +But, in the season's saddest hour, +To skies that weep and winds that wail +Its glad surprisals never fail. + +O days grown cold! O life grown old +No rose of June may bloom again; +But, like the hazel's twisted gold, +Through early frost and latter rain +Shall hints of summer-time remain. + +And as within the hazel's bough +A gift of mystic virtue dwells, +That points to golden ores below, +And in dry desert places tells +Where flow unseen the cool, sweet wells, + +So, in the wise Diviner's hand, +Be mine the hazel's grateful part +To feel, beneath a thirsty land, +The living waters thrill and start, +The beating of the rivulet's heart! + +Sufficeth me the gift to light +With latest bloom the dark, cold days; +To call some hidden spring to sight +That, in these dry and dusty ways, +Shall sing its pleasant song of praise. + +O Love! the hazel-wand may fail, +But thou canst lend the surer spell, +That, passing over Baca's vale, +Repeats the old-time miracle, +And makes the desert-land a well. +1874. + + + +SUNSET ON THE BEARCAMP. + +A gold fringe on the purpling hem +Of hills the river runs, +As down its long, green valley falls +The last of summer's suns. + +Along its tawny gravel-bed +Broad-flowing, swift, and still, +As if its meadow levels felt +The hurry of the hill, +Noiseless between its banks of green +From curve to curve it slips; +The drowsy maple-shadows rest +Like fingers on its lips. + +A waif from Carroll's wildest hills, +Unstoried and unknown; +The ursine legend of its name +Prowls on its banks alone. +Yet flowers as fair its slopes adorn +As ever Yarrow knew, +Or, under rainy Irish skies, +By Spenser's Mulla grew; +And through the gaps of leaning trees +Its mountain cradle shows +The gold against the amethyst, +The green against the rose. + +Touched by a light that hath no name, +A glory never sung, +Aloft on sky and mountain wall +Are God's great pictures hung. +How changed the summits vast and old! +No longer granite-browed, +They melt in rosy mist; the rock +Is softer than the cloud; +The valley holds its breath; no leaf +Of all its elms is twirled +The silence of eternity +Seems falling on the world. + +The pause before the breaking seals +Of mystery is this; +Yon miracle-play of night and day +Makes dumb its witnesses. +What unseen altar crowns the hills +That reach up stair on stair? +What eyes look through, what white wings fan +These purple veils of air? +What Presence from the heavenly heights +To those of earth stoops down? +Not vainly Hellas dreamed of gods +On Ida's snowy crown! + +Slow fades the vision of the sky, +The golden water pales, +And over all the valley-land +A gray-winged vapor sails. +I go the common way of all; +The sunset fires will burn, +The flowers will blow, the river flow, +When I no more return. +No whisper from the mountain pine +Nor lapsing stream shall tell +The stranger, treading where I tread, +Of him who loved them well. + +But beauty seen is never lost, +God's colors all are fast; +The glory of this sunset heaven +Into my soul has passed, +A sense of gladness unconfined +To mortal date or clime; +As the soul liveth, it shall live +Beyond the years of time. +Beside the mystic asphodels +Shall bloom the home-born flowers, +And new horizons flush and glow +With sunset hues of ours. + +Farewell! these smiling hills must wear +Too soon their wintry frown, +And snow-cold winds from off them shake +The maple's red leaves down. +But I shall see a summer sun +Still setting broad and low; +The mountain slopes shall blush and bloom, +The golden water flow. +A lover's claim is mine on all +I see to have and hold,-- +The rose-light of perpetual hills, +And sunsets never cold! +1876 + + + +THE SEEKING OF THE WATERFALL. + +They left their home of summer ease +Beneath the lowland's sheltering trees, +To seek, by ways unknown to all, +The promise of the waterfall. + +Some vague, faint rumor to the vale +Had crept--perchance a hunter's tale-- +Of its wild mirth of waters lost +On the dark woods through which it tossed. + +Somewhere it laughed and sang; somewhere +Whirled in mad dance its misty hair; +But who had raised its veil, or seen +The rainbow skirts of that Undine? + +They sought it where the mountain brook +Its swift way to the valley took; +Along the rugged slope they clomb, +Their guide a thread of sound and foam. + +Height after height they slowly won; +The fiery javelins of the sun +Smote the bare ledge; the tangled shade +With rock and vine their steps delayed. + +But, through leaf-openings, now and then +They saw the cheerful homes of men, +And the great mountains with their wall +Of misty purple girdling all. + +The leaves through which the glad winds blew +Shared. the wild dance the waters knew; +And where the shadows deepest fell +The wood-thrush rang his silver bell. + +Fringing the stream, at every turn +Swung low the waving fronds of fern; +From stony cleft and mossy sod +Pale asters sprang, and golden-rod. + +And still the water sang the sweet, +Glad song that stirred its gliding feet, +And found in rock and root the keys +Of its beguiling melodies. + +Beyond, above, its signals flew +Of tossing foam the birch-trees through; +Now seen, now lost, but baffling still +The weary seekers' slackening will. + +Each called to each: "Lo here! Lo there! +Its white scarf flutters in the air!" +They climbed anew; the vision fled, +To beckon higher overhead. + +So toiled they up the mountain-slope +With faint and ever fainter hope; +With faint and fainter voice the brook +Still bade them listen, pause, and look. + +Meanwhile below the day was done; +Above the tall peaks saw the sun +Sink, beam-shorn, to its misty set +Behind the hills of violet. + +"Here ends our quest!" the seekers cried, +"The brook and rumor both have lied! +The phantom of a waterfall +Has led us at its beck and call." + +But one, with years grown wiser, said +"So, always baffled, not misled, +We follow where before us runs +The vision of the shining ones. + +"Not where they seem their signals fly, +Their voices while we listen die; +We cannot keep, however fleet, +The quick time of their winged feet. + +"From youth to age unresting stray +These kindly mockers in our way; +Yet lead they not, the baffling elves, +To something better than themselves? + +"Here, though unreached the goal we sought, +Its own reward our toil has brought: +The winding water's sounding rush, +The long note of the hermit thrush, + +"The turquoise lakes, the glimpse of pond +And river track, and, vast, beyond +Broad meadows belted round with pines, +The grand uplift of mountain lines! + +"What matter though we seek with pain +The garden of the gods in vain, +If lured thereby we climb to greet +Some wayside blossom Eden-sweet? + +"To seek is better than to gain, +The fond hope dies as we attain; +Life's fairest things are those which seem, +The best is that of which we dream. + +"Then let us trust our waterfall +Still flashes down its rocky wall, +With rainbow crescent curved across +Its sunlit spray from moss to moss. + +"And we, forgetful of our pain, +In thought shall seek it oft again; +Shall see this aster-blossomed sod, +This sunshine of the golden-rod, + +"And haply gain, through parting boughs, +Grand glimpses of great mountain brows +Cloud-turbaned, and the sharp steel sheen +Of lakes deep set in valleys green. + +"So failure wins; the consequence +Of loss becomes its recompense; +And evermore the end shall tell +The unreached ideal guided well. + +"Our sweet illusions only die +Fulfilling love's sure prophecy; +And every wish for better things +An undreamed beauty nearer brings. + +"For fate is servitor of love; +Desire and hope and longing prove +The secret of immortal youth, +And Nature cheats us into truth. + +"O kind allurers, wisely sent, +Beguiling with benign intent, +Still move us, through divine unrest, +To seek the loveliest and the best! + +"Go with us when our souls go free, +And, in the clear, white light to be, +Add unto Heaven's beatitude +The old delight of seeking good!" +1878. + + + +THE TRAILING ARBUTUS + +I wandered lonely where the pine-trees made +Against the bitter East their barricade, +And, guided by its sweet +Perfume, I found, within a narrow dell, +The trailing spring flower tinted like a shell +Amid dry leaves and mosses at my feet. + +From under dead boughs, for whose loss the pines +Moaned ceaseless overhead, the blossoming vines +Lifted their glad surprise, +While yet the bluebird smoothed in leafless trees +His feathers ruffled by the chill sea-breeze, +And snow-drifts lingered under April skies. + +As, pausing, o'er the lonely flower I bent, +I thought of lives thus lowly, clogged and pent, +Which yet find room, +Through care and cumber, coldness and decay, +To lend a sweetness to the ungenial day +And make the sad earth happier for their bloom. +1879. + + + +ST. MARTIN'S SUMMER. + + This name in some parts of Europe is given to the season we call + Indian Summer, in honor of the good St. Martin. The title of the + poem was suggested by the fact that the day it refers to was the + exact date of that set apart to the Saint, the 11th of November. + +Though flowers have perished at the touch +Of Frost, the early comer, +I hail the season loved so much, +The good St. Martin's summer. + +O gracious morn, with rose-red dawn, +And thin moon curving o'er it! +The old year's darling, latest born, +More loved than all before it! + +How flamed the sunrise through the pines! +How stretched the birchen shadows, +Braiding in long, wind-wavered lines +The westward sloping meadows! + +The sweet day, opening as a flower +Unfolds its petals tender, +Renews for us at noontide's hour +The summer's tempered splendor. + +The birds are hushed; alone the wind, +That through the woodland searches, +The red-oak's lingering leaves can find, +And yellow plumes of larches. + +But still the balsam-breathing pine +Invites no thought of sorrow, +No hint of loss from air like wine +The earth's content can borrow. + +The summer and the winter here +Midway a truce are holding, +A soft, consenting atmosphere +Their tents of peace enfolding. + +The silent woods, the lonely hills, +Rise solemn in their gladness; +The quiet that the valley fills +Is scarcely joy or sadness. + +How strange! The autumn yesterday +In winter's grasp seemed dying; +On whirling winds from skies of gray +The early snow was flying. + +And now, while over Nature's mood +There steals a soft relenting, +I will not mar the present good, +Forecasting or lamenting. + +My autumn time and Nature's hold +A dreamy tryst together, +And, both grown old, about us fold +The golden-tissued weather. + +I lean my heart against the day +To feel its bland caressing; +I will not let it pass away +Before it leaves its blessing. + +God's angels come not as of old +The Syrian shepherds knew them; +In reddening dawns, in sunset gold, +And warm noon lights I view them. + +Nor need there is, in times like this +When heaven to earth draws nearer, +Of wing or song as witnesses +To make their presence clearer. + +O stream of life, whose swifter flow +Is of the end forewarning, +Methinks thy sundown afterglow +Seems less of night than morning! + +Old cares grow light; aside I lay +The doubts and fears that troubled; +The quiet of the happy day +Within my soul is doubled. + +That clouds must veil this fair sunshine +Not less a joy I find it; +Nor less yon warm horizon line +That winter lurks behind it. + +The mystery of the untried days +I close my eyes from reading; +His will be done whose darkest ways +To light and life are leading! + +Less drear the winter night shall be, +If memory cheer and hearten +Its heavy hours with thoughts of thee, +Sweet summer of St. Martin! +1880. + + + +STORM ON LAKE ASQUAM. + +A cloud, like that the old-time Hebrew saw +On Carmel prophesying rain, began +To lift itself o'er wooded Cardigan, +Growing and blackening. Suddenly, a flaw + +Of chill wind menaced; then a strong blast beat +Down the long valley's murmuring pines, and woke +The noon-dream of the sleeping lake, and broke +Its smooth steel mirror at the mountains' feet. + +Thunderous and vast, a fire-veined darkness swept +Over the rough pine-bearded Asquam range; +A wraith of tempest, wonderful and strange, +From peak to peak the cloudy giant stepped. + +One moment, as if challenging the storm, +Chocorua's tall, defiant sentinel +Looked from his watch-tower; then the shadow fell, +And the wild rain-drift blotted out his form. + +And over all the still unhidden sun, +Weaving its light through slant-blown veils of rain, +Smiled on the trouble, as hope smiles on pain; +And, when the tumult and the strife were done, + +With one foot on the lake and one on land, +Framing within his crescent's tinted streak +A far-off picture of the Melvin peak, +Spent broken clouds the rainbow's angel spanned. +1882. + + + +A SUMMER PILGRIMAGE. + +To kneel before some saintly shrine, +To breathe the health of airs divine, +Or bathe where sacred rivers flow, +The cowled and turbaned pilgrims go. +I too, a palmer, take, as they +With staff and scallop-shell, my way +To feel, from burdening cares and ills, +The strong uplifting of the hills. + +The years are many since, at first, +For dreamed-of wonders all athirst, +I saw on Winnipesaukee fall +The shadow of the mountain wall. +Ah! where are they who sailed with me +The beautiful island-studded sea? +And am I he whose keen surprise +Flashed out from such unclouded eyes? + +Still, when the sun of summer burns, +My longing for the hills returns; +And northward, leaving at my back +The warm vale of the Merrimac, +I go to meet the winds of morn, +Blown down the hill-gaps, mountain-born, +Breathe scent of pines, and satisfy +The hunger of a lowland eye. + +Again I see the day decline +Along a ridged horizon line; +Touching the hill-tops, as a nun +Her beaded rosary, sinks the sun. +One lake lies golden, which shall soon +Be silver in the rising moon; +And one, the crimson of the skies +And mountain purple multiplies. + +With the untroubled quiet blends +The distance-softened voice of friends; +The girl's light laugh no discord brings +To the low song the pine-tree sings; +And, not unwelcome, comes the hail +Of boyhood from his nearing sail. +The human presence breaks no spell, +And sunset still is miracle! + +Calm as the hour, methinks I feel +A sense of worship o'er me steal; +Not that of satyr-charming Pan, +No cult of Nature shaming man, +Not Beauty's self, but that which lives +And shines through all the veils it weaves,-- +Soul of the mountain, lake, and wood, +Their witness to the Eternal Good! + +And if, by fond illusion, here +The earth to heaven seems drawing near, +And yon outlying range invites +To other and serener heights, +Scarce hid behind its topmost swell, +The shining Mounts Delectable +A dream may hint of truth no less +Than the sharp light of wakefulness. + +As through her vale of incense smoke. +Of old the spell-rapt priestess spoke, +More than her heathen oracle, +May not this trance of sunset tell +That Nature's forms of loveliness +Their heavenly archetypes confess, +Fashioned like Israel's ark alone +From patterns in the Mount made known? + +A holier beauty overbroods +These fair and faint similitudes; +Yet not unblest is he who sees +Shadows of God's realities, +And knows beyond this masquerade +Of shape and color, light and shade, +And dawn and set, and wax and wane, +Eternal verities remain. + +O gems of sapphire, granite set! +O hills that charmed horizons fret +I know how fair your morns can break, +In rosy light on isle and lake; +How over wooded slopes can run +The noonday play of cloud and sun, +And evening droop her oriflamme +Of gold and red in still Asquam. + +The summer moons may round again, +And careless feet these hills profane; +These sunsets waste on vacant eyes +The lavish splendor of the skies; +Fashion and folly, misplaced here, +Sigh for their natural atmosphere, +And travelled pride the outlook scorn +Of lesser heights than Matterhorn. + +But let me dream that hill and sky +Of unseen beauty prophesy; +And in these tinted lakes behold +The trailing of the raiment fold +Of that which, still eluding gaze, +Allures to upward-tending ways, +Whose footprints make, wherever found, +Our common earth a holy ground. +1883. + + + +SWEET FERN. + +The subtle power in perfume found +Nor priest nor sibyl vainly learned; +On Grecian shrine or Aztec mound +No censer idly burned. + +That power the old-time worships knew, +The Corybantes' frenzied dance, +The Pythian priestess swooning through +The wonderland of trance. + +And Nature holds, in wood and field, +Her thousand sunlit censers still; +To spells of flower and shrub we yield +Against or with our will. + +I climbed a hill path strange and new +With slow feet, pausing at each turn; +A sudden waft of west wind blew +The breath of the sweet fern. + +That fragrance from my vision swept +The alien landscape; in its stead, +Up fairer hills of youth I stepped, +As light of heart as tread. + +I saw my boyhood's lakelet shine +Once more through rifts of woodland shade; +I knew my river's winding line +By morning mist betrayed. + +With me June's freshness, lapsing brook, +Murmurs of leaf and bee, the call +Of birds, and one in voice and look +In keeping with them all. + +A fern beside the way we went +She plucked, and, smiling, held it up, +While from her hand the wild, sweet scent +I drank as from a cup. + +O potent witchery of smell! +The dust-dry leaves to life return, +And she who plucked them owns the spell +And lifts her ghostly fern. + +Or sense or spirit? Who shall say +What touch the chord of memory thrills? +It passed, and left the August day +Ablaze on lonely hills. + + + +THE WOOD GIANT + +From Alton Bay to Sandwich Dome, +From Mad to Saco river, +For patriarchs of the primal wood +We sought with vain endeavor. + +And then we said: "The giants old +Are lost beyond retrieval; +This pygmy growth the axe has spared +Is not the wood primeval. + +"Look where we will o'er vale and hill, +How idle are our searches +For broad-girthed maples, wide-limbed oaks, +Centennial pines and birches. + +"Their tortured limbs the axe and saw +Have changed to beams and trestles; +They rest in walls, they float on seas, +They rot in sunken vessels. + +"This shorn and wasted mountain land +Of underbrush and boulder,-- +Who thinks to see its full-grown tree +Must live a century older." + +At last to us a woodland path, +To open sunset leading, +Revealed the Anakim of pines +Our wildest wish exceeding. + +Alone, the level sun before; +Below, the lake's green islands; +Beyond, in misty distance dim, +The rugged Northern Highlands. + +Dark Titan on his Sunset Hill +Of time and change defiant +How dwarfed the common woodland seemed, +Before the old-time giant! + +What marvel that, in simpler days +Of the world's early childhood, +Men crowned with garlands, gifts, and praise +Such monarchs of the wild-wood? + +That Tyrian maids with flower and song +Danced through the hill grove's spaces, +And hoary-bearded Druids found +In woods their holy places? + +With somewhat of that Pagan awe +With Christian reverence blending, +We saw our pine-tree's mighty arms +Above our heads extending. + +We heard his needles' mystic rune, +Now rising, and now dying, +As erst Dodona's priestess heard +The oak leaves prophesying. + +Was it the half-unconscious moan +Of one apart and mateless, +The weariness of unshared power, +The loneliness of greatness? + +O dawns and sunsets, lend to him +Your beauty and your wonder! +Blithe sparrow, sing thy summer song +His solemn shadow under! + +Play lightly on his slender keys, +O wind of summer, waking +For hills like these the sound of seas +On far-off beaches breaking, + +And let the eagle and the crow +Find shelter in his branches, +When winds shake down his winter snow +In silver avalanches. + +The brave are braver for their cheer, +The strongest need assurance, +The sigh of longing makes not less +The lesson of endurance. +1885. + + + +A DAY. +Talk not of sad November, when a day +Of warm, glad sunshine fills the sky of noon, +And a wind, borrowed from some morn of June, +Stirs the brown grasses and the leafless spray. + +On the unfrosted pool the pillared pines +Lay their long shafts of shadow: the small rill, +Singing a pleasant song of summer still, +A line of silver, down the hill-slope shines. + +Hushed the bird-voices and the hum of bees, +In the thin grass the crickets pipe no more; +But still the squirrel hoards his winter store, +And drops his nut-shells from the shag-bark trees. + +Softly the dark green hemlocks whisper: high +Above, the spires of yellowing larches show, +Where the woodpecker and home-loving crow +And jay and nut-hatch winter's threat defy. + +O gracious beauty, ever new and old! +O sights and sounds of nature, doubly dear +When the low sunshine warns the closing year +Of snow-blown fields and waves of Arctic cold! + +Close to my heart I fold each lovely thing +The sweet day yields; and, not disconsolate, +With the calm patience of the woods I wait +For leaf and blossom when God gives us Spring! +29th, Eleventh Month, 1886. + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, MOUNTAIN PICTURES, ETC. *** +By John Greenleaf Whittier + +******* This file should be named 9569.txt or 9569.zip ****** + +This eBook was produced by David Widger + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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