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University of California • Berkeley Gift of

HENRY C. WARING

ml'

'CU</-^>

THE

POETICAL WOEKS

OF

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT,

WITH NOTES.

NEW YORK: THOMAS Y. OKOWELL & CO.,

No. 13 ASTOR PLACE.

CONTENTS.

POEMS.

The Ages . . . . . . . 1

Thanatopsis ....... 25

The Yellow Violet 30

Inscription for the Entrance to a Wood . . 33

Song. — " Soon as the glazed and gleaming snow " 37

To a Waterfowl 39

Green River 42

A Winter Piece 46

The West Wind 54

The Burial-place. A Fragment ... 57 Blessed are they that Mourn . . . .61

No Man knoweth his Sepulchre ... 63

A Walk at Sunset 65

Hymn to Death 71

The Massacre at Scio 82

The Indian Girl's Lament .... 84

Ode for an Agricultural Celebration . . 88 Rizpah . . . . . . . .90

The Old Man's Funeral 95

The Rivulet 99

JV CONTENTS.

POEMS, PAGE

March ....... t 105

Consumption 108

An Indian Story 110

Summer Wind 116

An Indian at the Burial-place of his Fathers . 119 Song. — " Dost thou idly ask to hear " . .124

Hymn of the Waldenses 127

Monument Mountain . . . . .129

After a Tempest 138

Autumn Woods . . . . .142

Mutation 146

Novemher ....... 148

Song of the Greek Amazon . . . .150

To a Cloud 153

The Murdered Traveller 156

Hymn to the North Star . . . .159

The Lapse of Time 103

Song of the Stars . . . . .167

A Forest Hymn 171

" Oh fairest of the rural maids " . . .179 " I broke the spell that held me long" . . 181

June 183

A Song of Pitcairn's Island . . . .187

The Firmament . . . . . .190

"I cannot forget with what fervid devotion " 194 To a Mosquito ...... 197

Lines on Eevisiting the Country . . . 203 The Death of the Flowers . . . .206

Romero ........ 210

A Meditation on Rhode Island Coal . .215 The New Moon . 222

CONTENTS. V

POEMS. PAGE

October 225

The Damsel of Peru 227

The African Chief . . . . . . .232

Spring in Town 236

The Gladness of Nature 241

The Disinterred Warrior ..... 243

Midsummer . 246

The Greek Partisan . . 248

The Two Graves 251

The Conjunction of Jupiter and Venus . . 256

A Summer Ramble 262

Scene on the Banks of the Hudson . . 267

The Hurricane 270

William Tell 274

The Hunter's Serenade . . . . .276

The Greek Boy 280

The Past 283

" Upon the mountain's distant head " . . 287

The Evening Wind 289

" When the firmament quivers with daylight's

young beam" 292

" Innocent child and snow-white flower " . 295

To the River Arve 297

To Cole, the Painter, departing for Europe . 300

To the Fringed Gentian 302

The Twenty-second of December . . . 304

Hymn of the City 306

The Prairies 309

Song of Marion's Men 317

The Arctic Lover 321

The Journey of Life 324

yi CONTENTS.

TRANSLATIONS. PA6E

Version of a Fragment of Simonides . . 327 From the Spanish of Villegas . . . .329 Mary Magdalen. (From the Spanish of Barto-

lome Leonardo de Argensola) . . .331 The Life of the Blessed. (From the Spanish of

Luis Ponce de Leon) 333

Fatima and Raduan. (From the Spanish) . 336 Love and Folly. (From La Fontaine) . . 341 The Siesta. (From the Spanish) . . . 344 The Alcayde of Molina. (From the Spanish) . 346 The Death of Aliatar. (From the Spanish) . 350 Love in the Age of Chivalry. (From Peyre

Vidal, the Troubadour) . . . .355 The Love of God. (From the Provencal of

Bernard Eascas) 357

From the Spanish of Pedro de Castro y Afiaya 360 Sonnet. (From the Portuguese of Semedo) . 3(52 Song. (From the Spanish of Iglesias) . .364 The Count of Greiers. (From the German of

Uhland) . . 366

The Serenade. (From the Spanish) . . 372 A Northern Legend. (From the German of

Uhland) 377

The Paradise of Tears. (From the German of

N. Mailer) 379

LATER POEMS.

To the Apennines 383

Earth 388

The Knight's Epitaph 395

The Hunter of the Prairies 399

CONTENTS. vii

LATER POEMS. PAGB

Seventy-six 403

The Living Lost 406

Catterskill Falls 409

The Strange Lady 41 G

Life 422

u Earth's children cleave to earth " . . 426

The Hunter's Vision 428

The Green Mountain Boys .... 432

A Presentiment ...... 434

The Child's Funeral 436

The Battle-field 440

The Future Life . . . . . . 444

The Death of Schiller .'•_.. . . .447

The Fountain 449

The Winds 458

The Old Man's Counsel 464

Lines in Memory of William Leggett . . 471

An Evening Kevery 473

The Painted Cup 478

A Dream 481

The Antiquity of Freedom .... 485

The Maiden's Sorrow 491

The Return of Youth 494

A Hymn of the Sea 498

Noon. (From an unfinished Poem) . . 503 The Crowded Street . . • . . .507

NOTES , 511

P OEM S.

THE AGES.

WHEN to the common rest that crowns our days, Called in the noon of life, the good man goes, Or full of years, and ripe in wisdom, lays His silver temples in their last repose ; When, o'er the buds of youth, the death-wind

blows,

And blights the fairest ; when our bitter tears Stream, as the eyes of those that love us close, We think on what they were, with many fears Lest goodness die with them, and leave the

coming years.

2 POEMS

II.

And therefore, to our hearts, the days gone by, When lived the honoured sage whose death we

wept,

And the soft virtues beamed from many an eye, And beat in many a heart that long has slept, — Like spots of earth where angel-feet have

stepped,

Are holy ; and high-dreaming bards have told Of times when worth was crowned, and faith

was kept,

Ere friendship grew a snare, or love waxed cold — Those pure and happy times — the golden days

of old.

in.

Peace to the just man's memory ; let it grow Greener with years, and blossom through the flight

THE AGES. O

Of ages ; let the mimic canvas show

His calm benevolent features ; let the light

Stream on his deeds of love, that shunned the

sight

Of all but heaven, and, in the book of fame, The glorious record of his virtues write, And hold it up to men, and bid them claim A palm like his, and catch from him the hal lowed flame.

IV.

But oh, despair not of their fate who rise To dwell upon the earth when we withdraw ! Lo ! the same shaft by which the righteous dies, Strikes through the wretch that scoffed at

mercy's law,

And trode his brethren down, and felt no awe Of Him who will avenge them. Stainless worth, Such as the sternest age of virtue saw,

POEMS.

Ripens, meanwhile, till time shall call it forth From the low modest shade, to light and bless the earth.

v.

Has Nature, in her calm, majestic march Faltered with age at last ? does the bright sun Grow dim in heaven ? or, in their far blue

arch,

Sparkle the crowd of stars, when day is done, Less brightly? when the dew-lipped Spring

comes on, Breathes she with airs less soft, or scents the

sky

With flowers less fair than when her reign be gun?

Does prodigal Autumn, to our age, deny The plenty that once swelled beneath his sober eye?

THE AGES. 0

VI.

Look on this beautiful world, and read the truth In her fair page ; see, every season brings New change, to her, of everlasting youth ; Still the green soil, with joyous living things, Swarms, the wide air is full of joyous wings, And myriads, still, are happy in the sleep Of ocean's azure gulfs, and where he flings The restless surge. Eternal Love doth keep In his complacent arms, the earth, the air, the deep.

VII.

Will then the merciful One, who stamped our

race

V\7ith his own image, and who gave them sway O'er earth and the glad dwellers on her face, Now that our swarming nations far away

(> POEMS.

Are spread, where'er the moist earth drinks the

day,

Forget the ancient care that taught and nursed His latest offspring ? will he quench the ray Infused by his own forming smile at first, And leave a work so fair all blighted and ac cursed ?

VIII.

Oh, no ! a thousand cheerful omens give Hope of yet happier days, whose dawn is nigh. He who has tamed the elements shall not live The slave of his own passions ; he whose eye Unwinds the eternal dances of the sky, And in the abyss of brightness dares to span The sun's broad circle, rising yet more high, In God's magnificent works his will shall scan — And love and peace shall make their paradise with man.

THE AGES. 7

IX.

Sit at the feet of history — through the night Of years the steps of virtue she shall trace, And show the earlier ages, where her sight Can pierce the eternal shadows o'er their face ; — When, from the genial cradle of our race, Went forth the tribes of men, their pleasant lot To choose, where palm-groves cooled their

dwelling-place,

Or freshening rivers ran ; and there forgot The truth of heaven, and kneeled to gods that

heard them not.

x.

Then waited not the murderer for the night, But smote his brother down in the bright day, And he who felt the wrong, and had the might. His own avenger, girt himself to slay ; Beside the path the unburied carcass lay ;

8 POEMS.

The shepherd, by the fountains of the glen, Fled, while the robber swept his flock away, And slew his babes. The sick, tmtended then, Languished in the damp shade, and died afar from men.

XI.

But misery brought in love — in passion's strife Man gave his heart to mercy, pleading long, And sought out gentle deeds to gladden life ; The weak, against the sons of spoil and wrong, Banded, and watched their hamlets, and grew

strong.

States rose, and, in the shadow of their might, The timid rested. To the reverent throng, Grave and time-wrinkled men, with locks all

white, G-ave laws, and judged their strifes, and taught

the way of right ;

THE AGES 9

XII.

Till bolder spirits seized the rule and nailed On men the yoke that man should never hear, And drove them forth to battle. Lo ! unveiled The scene of those stern ages ! What is there ! A boundless sea of blood, and the wild air Moans with the crimson surges that entomb Cities and bannered armies ; forms that wear The kingly circlet rise, amid the gloom, O'er the dark wave, and straight are swallowed in its womb.

XIII.

Those ages have no memory — but they left A record in the desert — columns strown On the waste sands, and statues fallen and cleft, Heaped like a host in battle overthrown ; Vast ruins, where the mountain's ribs of stone Were hewn into a city ; streets that spread

10 POEMS.

In the dark earth, where never breath has blown Of heaven's sweet air, nor foot of man dares tread The long and perilous ways — the Cities of the Dead :

XIV.

And tombs of monarchs to the clouds up-piled — They perished — but the eternal tombs remain — And the black precipice, abrupt and wild, Pierced by long toil and hollowed to a fane ; — Huge piers and frowning forms of gods sustain The everlasting arches, dark and wide, Like the night-heaven, when clouds are black

with rain. But idly skill was tasked, and strength was

plied, All was the work of slaves to swell a despot's

pride.

THE AGES. . 11

XV.

And Virtue cannot dwell with slaves, nor reign O'er those who cower to take a tyrant's yoke ; She left the down-trod nations in disdain, And flew to Greece, when Liberty awoke, New-born, amid those glorious vales, and broke Sceptre and chain with her fair youthful hands : As rocks are shivered in the thunder-stroke. And lo ! in full-grown strength, an empire

stands Of leagued and rival states, the wonder of the

lands.

XVI.

Oh, Greece ! thy flourishing cities were a spoil Unto each other ; thy hard hand oppressed And crushed the helpless ; thou didst make thy

soil Drunk with the blood of those that loved thee

best ;

12 POEMS.

A.nd thou didst drive, from thy unnatural breast, Thy just and brave to die in distant climes ; Earth shuddered at thy deeds, and sighed foi

rest

From thine abominations ; after times, That yet shall read thy tale, will tremble at

thy crimes.

XVII.

Yet there was that within thee which has saved Thy glory, and redeemed thy blotted name ; The story of thy better deeds, engraved On fame's unmouldering pillar, puts to shame Our chiller virtue ; the high art to tame The whirlwind of the passions was thine own ; And the pure ray, that from thy bosom came. Far over many a land and age has shone, A.nd mingles with the light that beams from God's own throne.

THE AGES. 13

XVIII.

And Rome, thy sterner, younger sister, she Who awed the world with her imperial frown, Rome drew the spirit of her race from thee, — The rival of thy shame and thy renown. Yet her degenerate children sold the crown Of earth's wide kingdoms to a line of slaves ; Guilt reigned, and wo with guilt, and plagues

came down, Till the north broke its floodgates, and the

waves Whelmed the degraded race, and weltered o'er

their graves.

XIX.

Vainly that ray of brightness from above, That shone around the Galilean lake, The light of hope, the leading star of love, Struggled, the darkness of that day to break ;

14 POEMS.

Even its own faithless guardians strove to

slake,

In fogs of earth, the pure ethereal flame ; And priestly hands, for Jesus' blessed sake, Were red with blood, and charity became, In that stern war of forms, a mockery and a

name.

AX.

They triumphed, and less bloody rites were kept Within the quiet of the convent cell ; The well-fed inmates pattered prayer, and slept, And sinned, and liked their easy penance well. Where pleasant was the spot for men to dwell, Amid its fair broad lands the abbey lay, Sheltering dark orgies that were shame to tell, And cowled and barefoot beggars swarmed the

way, All in their convent weeds, of black, and white,

and gray.

THE AGES. 15

XXI.

Oh, sweetly the returning muses' strain Swelled over that famed stream, whose gentle

tide

In their bright lap the Etrurian vales detain, Sweet, as when winter storms have ceased to

chide,

And all the new-leaved woods, resounding wide, Send out wild hymns upon the scented air. Lo ! to the smiling Arno's classic side The emulous nations of the west repair, And kindle their quenched urns, and drink

fresh spirit there.

XXII.

Still, Heaven deferred the hour ordained to

rend

From saintly rottenness the sacred stole ; And cowl and worshipped shrine could still

defend

16 POEMS.

The wretch with felon stains upon his soul ; And crimes were set to sale, and hard his dole Who could not bribe a passage to the skies ; And vice, beneath the mitre's kind control, Sinned gaily on, and grew to giant size, Shielded by priestly power, and watched by priestly eyes.

XXIII.

At last the earthquake came — the shock, that

hurled

To dust, in many fragments dashed and strown, The throne, whose roots were in another world, And whose far-stretching shadow awed our own. From many a proud monastic pile, overthrown, Fear-struck, the hooded inmates rushed and fled; The web, that for a thousand years had grown O'er prostrate Europe, in that day of dread Crumbled and fell, as fire dissolves the flaxen

thread.

THE AGES. 17

XXIV.

The spirit of that day is still awake, And spreads himself, and shall not sleep again ; But through the idle mesh of power shall break Like billows o'er the Asian monarch's chain ; Till men are rilled with him, and feel how vain, Instead of the pure heart and innocent hands, Are all the proud and pompous modes to gam The smile of heaven ; — till a new age expands Its white and holy wings above the peaceful lands.

XXV.

For look again on the past years ; — behold, How like the nightmare's dreams have flown

away

Horrible forms of worship, that, of old, Held o'er the shuddering realms, unquestioned

sway : See crimes, that feared not once the eye of day,

1 8 POEMS.

Rooted from men, without a name or place , See nations blotted out from earth, to pay The forfeit of deep guilt ; — with, glad embrace The fair disburdened lands welcome a noblei race.

XXVI.

Thus error's monstrous shapes from earth are

driven ; They fade, they fly, but truth survives their

flight ; Earth has no shades to quench that beam of

heaven ;

Each ray that shone, in early time, to light The faltering footstep in the path of right, Each gleam of clearer brightness shed to aid In man's maturer day his bolder sight, All blended, like the rainbow's radiant braid, Pour yet, and still shall pour, the blaze that

cannot fade.

THE AGES. 19

XXVII.

Late, from this western shore, that morning

chased The deep and ancient night, which threw its

shroud O'er the green land of groves, the "beautiful

waste,

Nurse of full streams, and lifter-up of proud Sky-mingling mountains that overlook the cloud. Erewhile, where yon gay spires their biightness

rear, Trees waved, and the brown hunter's shouts

were loud

Amid the forest ; and the bounding deer Fled at the glancing plume, and the gaunt

wolf yelled near,

XXVIII.

And where his willing waves yon bright blue bay Sends up, to kiss his decorated brim,

20 POEMS.

And cradles, in his soft embrace, the gay Young group of grassy islands born of him, And crowding nigh, or in the distance dim, Lifts the white throng of sails, that bear or bring The commerce of the world ; — with tawny limb. And belt and beads in sunlight glistening, The savage urged his skiff like wild bird on the

XXIX.

Then all this youthful paradise around, And all the broad and boundless mainland, lay Cooled by the interminable wood, that frowned O'er mount and vale, where never summer ray Glanced, till the strong tornado broke his way Through the gray giants of the sylvan wild ; Yet many a sheltered glade, with blossoms gay, Beneath the showery sky and sunshine mild, Within the shaggy arms of that dark forest smiled.

THE AGES. 21

XXX

There stood the Indian hamlet, there the lake Spread its blue sheet that flashed with many

an oar, Where the brown otter plunged him from the

brake,

And the deer drank : as the light gale flew o'er. The twinkling maize-field rustled on the shore ; And while that spot, so wild, and lone, and fair, A look of glad and guiltless beauty wore, And peace was on the earth and in the air, The warrior lit the pile, and bound his captive

there :

XXXI.

Not unavenged ; the foeman, from the wood, Beheld the deed, and when the midnight shade Was stillest, gorged his battle-axe with blood ; All died- -the wailing babe — the shrieking maid—

22 POEMS.

And in the flood of fire that scathed the glade, The roofs went down ; but deep the silence grew, When on the dewy woods the day-beam played ; No more the cabin smokes rose wreathed and

blue, And ever, by their lake, lay moored the bark

canoe.

XXXII.

Look now abroad — another race has filled These populous borders — wide the wood recedes, And towns shoot up, and fertile realms are tilled ; The land is full of harvests and green meads ; Streams numberless, that many a fountain feeds, Shine, disembowered, and give to sun and

breeze

Their virgin waters ; the full region leads New colonies forth, that toward the western seas Spread, like a rapid flame among the autumnal

trees.

THE AGES. 23

XXXIII.

Here the free spirit of mankind, at length, Throws its last fetters off ; and who shall place A limit to the giant's unchained strength, Or curb his swiftness in the forward race ? On, like the comet's way through infinite space Stretches the long untravelled path of light, Into the depths of ages : we may trace, Afar, the brightening glory of its flight, Till the receding rays are lost to human sight.

xxxiv.

Europe is given a prey to sterner fates, And writhes in shackles ; strong the arms

that chain

To earth her struggling multitude of states ; She too is strong, and might not chafe in vain Against them, but might fling to earth the

train

24 POEMS.

That trample her, and break their iron net. Yes, she shall look on brighter days and gain The meed of worthier deeds ; the moment set To rescue and raise up, draws near — but is not yet.

XXXV.

But thou, my country, thou shalt never fall, Save with thy children — thy maternal care, Thy lavish love, thy blessings showered on all — These are thy fetters — seas and stormy air Are the wide barrier of thy borders, where, Among thy gallant sons that guard thee well, Thou laugh'st at enemies : who shall then de clare

The date of thy deep-founded strength, or tell How happy, in thy lap, the sons of men shall dweU?

THANATOPSIS.

To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language ; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty, and she glides Into his darker musings, with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness ere he is aware. When thoughts Of the last bitter hour come like a blight Over thy spirit, and sad images Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart ; —

26 POEMS.

Go forth, under the open sky, and list

To Nature's teachings, while from all around —

Earth and her waters, and the depths of air, —

Comes a still voice — Yet a few days, and thee

The all-beholding sun shall see no more

In all his course ; nor yet in the cold ground,

Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears.

Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist

Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall

claim

Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again, And, lost each human trace, surrendering up Thine individual being, shalt thou go To mix for ever with the elements, To be a brother to the insensible rock And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain Turns with his share, and treads upon. The

oak Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy

mould.

THANATOPSIS. 27

Yet not to thine eternal resting-place Shalt thou retire alone, — nor couldst thou wish Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down With patriarchs of the infant world — with kings, The powerful of the earth — the wise, the good, Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun ; the vales Stretching in pensive quietness between ; The venerable woods ; rivers that move In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green ; and, poured

round all,

Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste, — Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven. Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes

28 POEMS.

That slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregan, and hears no sound, Save his own dashings — yet — the dead are

there :

And millions in those solitudes, since first The flight of years began, have laid them down Tn their last sleep — the dead reign there alone So shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdraw In silence from the living, and no friend Take note of thy departure ? All that breathe Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care Plod on, and each one as before will chase His favourite phantom ; yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall

come, And make their bed with thee. As the lon£

train

THANATOPSIS. 29

Of ages glide away, the sons of men,

The youth in life's green spring, and he who

goes

In the full strength of years, matron, and maid, The speechless bahe, and the gray-headed

man, —

Shall one by one he gathered to thy side, By those, who in their turn shall follow them.

So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan, which moves To that mysterious realm, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and

soothed

By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

THE YELLOW VIOLET.

WHEN beechen buds begin to swell, And woods the blue-bird's warble know,

The yellow violet's modest bell

Peeps from the last year's leaves below.

Ere russet fields their green resume. Sweet flower, I love, in forest bare,

To meet thee, when thy faint perfume Alone is in the virgin air.

THE YELLOW VIOLET. 31

Of all her train, the hands of Spring First plant thee in the watery mould,

And I have seen thee blossoming Beside the snow-bank's edges cold.

Thy parent sun, who bade thee view Pale skies, and chilling moisture sip,

Has bathed thee in his own bright hue, And streaked with jet thy glowing lip.

Yet slight thy form, and low thy seat, And earthward bent thy gentle eye,

Unapt the passing view to meet, When loftier flowers are flaunting nigh.

Oft, in the sunless April day,

Thy early smile has stayed my walk ;

But midst the gorgeous blooms of May, I passed thee on thy humble stalk.

32 POEMS.

So they, who climb to wealth, forget The friends in darker fortunes tried ;

I copied them — but I regret

That I should ape the ways of pride.

And when again the genial hour Awakes the painted tribes of light,

I'll not overlook the modest flower That made the woodg of April bright,

INSCRIPTION FOB THE ENTRANCE TO A WOOD.

STRANGER, if thou hast learned a truth which

needs

No school of long experience, that the world Is full of guilt and misery, and hast seen Enough of all its sorrows, crimes, and cares, To tire thee of it, enter this wild wood And view the haunts of Nature. The calm

shade Shall bring a kindred calm, and the sweet breeze

34 POEMS.

That makes the green leaves dance, shall waft

a balm

To thy sick heart. Thou wilt find nothing here Of all that pained thee in the haunts of men And made thee loathe thy life. The primal

curse

Fell, it is true, upon the unsinning earth, But not in vengeance. God hath yoked to guilt Her pale tormentor, misery. Hence these

shades

Are still the abodes of gladness ; the thick roof Of green and stirring branches is alive And musical with birds, that sing and sport In wantonness of spirit ; while below The squirrel, with raised paws and form erect, Chirps merrily. Throngs of insects in the shade Try their thin wings and dance in the warm

beam That waked them into life. Even the greeu

trees

INSCRIPTION. 35

Partake the deep contentment ; as they bend To the soft winds, the sun from the blue sky Looks in and sheds a blessing on the scene. Scarce less the cleft-born wild-flower seems to

enjoy

Existence, than the winged plunderer That sucks its sweets. The mossy rocks them selves, And the old and ponderous trunks of prostrate

trees

That lead from knoll to knoll a causey rude, Or bridge the sunken brook, and their dark

roots,

With all their earth upon them, twisting high, Breathe fixed tranquillity. The rivulet Sends forth glad sounds, and tripping o'er its

bed

Of pebbly sands, or leaping down the rocks, Seems, with continuous laughter, to rejoice In its own being. Softly tread the marge,

36 POEMS.

Lest from her midway perch thou scare the wren That dips her bill in water. The cool wind, That stirs the stream in play, shall come to

thee,

Like one that loves thee nor will let thee pass Ungreeted, and shall give its light embrace.

SONG.

as the glazed and gleaming snow Reflects the day-dawn cold and clear, The hunter of the west must go In depth of woods to seek the deer.

His rifle on his shoulder placed,

His stores of death arranged with skill,

His moccasins and snow-shoes laced, — Why lingers he beside the hill ?

38 * POEMS.

Far, in the dim and doubtful light, Where woody slopes a valley leave,

He sees what none but lover might, The dwelling of his Gene vie ve.

And oft he turns his truant eye, And pauses oft, and lingers near ;

But when he marks the reddening sky, He bounds away to hunt the deer.

TO A WATERFOWL.

WHITHER, midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of

day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue

Thy solitary way ?

Vainly the fowler's eye

Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly seen against the crimson sky,

Thy figure floats along.

10 POEMS.

Seek'st thou the plashy brink Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, Or where the rocking billows rise and sink

On the chafed ocean side ?

There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast, — The desert and illimitable air, —

Lone wandering, but not lost.

All day thy wings have fanned, At that far height, the cold thin atmosphere, Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,

Though the dark night is near.

And soon that toil shall end ; Soon shalt thou find a summer home and rest, And scream among thy fellows ; reeds shall bend,

Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest.

TO A WATERFOWL. 41

Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven Hath swallowed up thy form ; yet, on my heart Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given,

And shall not soon depart.

He who, from zone to zone, Guides through the boundless sky thy certain

flight, In the long way that I must tread alone,

Will lead my steps aright.

GKEEN KIVER.

WHEN breezes are soft and skies are fair, I steal an hour from study and care, And Me me away to the woodland scene, Where wanders the stream with waters of green, As if the bright fringe of herbs on its brink Had given their stain to the wave they drink ; And they, whose meadows it murmurs through, Have named the stream from its own fair hue.

Yet pure its waters — its shallows are bright With colored pebbles and sparkles of light,

GREEN KIVER. 43

And clear the depths where its eddies play, And dimples deepen and whirl away, And the plane-tree's speckled arms o'ershoot The swifter current that mines its root, Through whose shifting leaves, as you walk the

hill,

The quivering glimmer of sun and rill With a sudden flash on the eye is thrown, Like the ray that streams from the diamond- stone.

Oh, loveliest there the spring days come, With blossoms, and birds, and wild bees' hum ; The flowers of summer are fairest there, And freshest the breath of the summer air ; And sweetest the golden autumn day In silence and sunshine glides away.

Yet, fair as thou art, thou shunnest to glide, Beautiful stream ! by the village side ;

44 POEMS.

But windest away from haunts of men, To quiet valley and shaded glen ; And forest, and meadow, and slope of hill, Around thee, are lonely, lovely, and still. Lonely, save when, by thy rippling tides, From thicket to thicket the angler glides ; Or the simpler comes, with basket and book, For herbs of power on thy banks to look ; Or haply, some idle dreamer, like me, To wander, and muse, and gaze on thee. Still — save the chirp of birds that feed On the river cherry and seedy reed, And thy own wild music gushing out With mellow murmur or fairy shout, From dawn to the blush of another day, Like traveller singing along his way.

That fairy music I never hear, Noi gaze on those waters so green and clear.

GREEN RIVER. 4.5

And mark them winding away from sight, Darkened with shade or flashing with light, While o'er them the vine to its thicket clings, And the zephyr stoops to freshen his wings, But I wish that fate had left me free To wander these quiet haunts with thee, Till the eating cares of earth should depart, And the peace of the scene pass into my heart ; And I envy thy stream as it glides along, Through its beautiful banks, in a trance of song.

Though forced to drudge for the dregs of men, And scrawl strange words with the barbarous pen, And mingle among the jostling crowd, Where the sons of strife are subtle and loud — I often come to this quiet place, To breathe the airs that ruffle thy face, And gaze upon thee in silent dream,- For in thy lonely and lovely stream An image of that calm life appears That won my heart in my greener years

A WINTER PIECE.

THE time has been that these wild solitudes, Yet beautiful as wild, were trod by me Oftener than now ; and when the ills of life Had chafed my spirit — when the unsteady pulse Beat with strange flutterings — 1 would wander

forth

And seek the woods. The sunshine on my path Was to me as a friend. The swelling hills, The quiet dells retiring far between, With gentle invitation to explore

A WINTER PIECE. 47

Their windings, were a calm society

That talked with me and soothed me. Then

the chant

Of birds, and chime of brooks, and soft caress Of the fresh sylvan air, made me forget The thoughts that broke my peace, and I began To gather simples by the fountain's brink, And lose myself in day-dreams. While I stood In nature's loneliness, I was with one With whom I early grew familiar, one Who never had a frown for me, whose voice Never rebuked me for the hours I stole From cares I loved not, but of which the world Deems highest, to converse with her. When

shrieked The bleak November winds, and smote the

woods, And the brown fields were herbless, and the

shades, That met above the merry rivulet,

48 POEMS.

Were spoiled, I sought, I loved them still ;

they seemed

Like old companions in adversity. Still there was beauty in my walks ; the brook, Bordered with sparkling frost-work, was as gay As with its fringe of summer flowers. Afar, The village with its spires, the path of streams, And dim receding valleys, hid before By interposing trees, lay visible Through the bare grove, and iny familiar haunts Seemed new to me. Nor was I slow to come Among them, when the clouds, from their still

skirts,

Had shaken down on earth the feathery snow, And all was white. The pure keen air abroad, Albeit it breathed no scent of herb, nor heard Love-call of bird nor merry hum of bee, Was not the air of death. Bright mosses crept Over the spotted trunks, and the close buds, That lay along the boughs, instinct with life,

snow-stars out of the cloud Came floating downward in airy play.r

A WINTER PIECE. 49

Patient, and waiting the soft breath of Spring, Feared not the piercing spirit of the North. The snow-bird twittered on the beechen bough, And 'neath the hemlock, whose thick branches

bent

Beneath its bright cold burden, and kept diy A circle, on the earth, of withered leaves, The partridge found a shelter. Through the

snow

The rabbit sprang away. The lighter track Of fox, and the racoon's broad path were there, Crossing each other. From his hollow tree, The squirrel was abroad, gathering the nuts Just fallen, that asked the winter cold and sway Of winter blast, to shake them from their hold.

But winter has yet brighter scenes, — he

boasts

Splendors beyond what gorgeous Summer knows, Or Autumn with his many fruit R, and woods

50 POEMS.

All flushed with many hues. Come when the

rains Have glazed the snow, and clothed the trees

with ice ;

While the slant sun of February pours Into the bowers a flood of light. Approach ! The incrusted surface shall upbear thy steps, And the broad arching portals of the grove Welcome thy entering. Look ! the massy trunks Are cased in the pure crystal ; each light spray, Nodding and tinkling in the breath of heaven, Is studded with its trembling water-drops, That glimmer with an amethystine light. But round the parent stem the long low boughs Bend, in a glittering ring, and arbors hide The glassy floor. Oh ! you might deem the spot The spacious cavern of some virgin mine, Deep in the womb of earth — where the gems

grow, And diamonds put forth radiant rods and bud

A WINTER PIECE. 51

With amethyst and topaz — and the place Lit up, most royally, with the pure beam That dwells in them. Or haply the vast halJ Of fairy palace, that outlasts the night, And fades not in the glory of the sun ; — Where crystal columns send forth slender shafts And crossing arches ; and fantastic aisles Wind from the sight in brightness, and are

lost

Among the crowded pillars. Raise thine eye ; Thou seest no cavern roof, no palace vault ; There the blue sky and the white drifting cloud Look in. Again the wildered fancy dreams Of spouting fountains, frozen as they rose, And fixed, with all their branching jets, in air, And all their sluices sealed. All, all is light ; Light without shade. But all shall pass away With the next sun. From numberless vast

trunks, Loosened, the crashing ice shall make a sound

52 POEMS.

Like the far roar of rivers, and the eve

Shall close o'er the brown woods as it was wont,

And it is pleasant, when the noisy streams A re just set free, and milder suns melt off The plashy snow, save only the firm drift In the deep glen or the close shade of pines, — 'Tis pleasant to behold the wreaths of smoke Roll up among the maples of the hill, Where the shrill sound of youthful voices wakes The shriller echo, as the clear pure lymph, That from the wounded trees, in twinkling

drops,

Falls, mid the golden brightness of the morn, Is gathered in with brimming pails, and oft, Wielded by sturdy hands, the stroke of axe Makes the woods ring. Along the quiet air, Come and float calmly off the soft light clouds, Such as you see in summer, and the winds Scarce stir the branches. Lodged in sunny cleft,

A WINTER PIECE. 53

Where the cold breezes come not, blooms alone The little wind-flower, whose just opened eye Is blue as the spring heaven it gazes at — Startling the loiterer in the naked groves With unexpected beauty, for the time Of blossoms and green leaves is yet afar. And ere it comes, the encountering winds shall

oft

Muster their wrath again, and rapid clouds Shade heaven, and bounding on the frozen earth Shall fall their volleyed stores, rounded like hail And white like snow, and the loud North again Shall buffet the vexed forest in his rage.

THE WEST WIND

BENEATH the forest's skirt I rest,

Whose branching pines rise dark and high, And hear the breezes of the West

Among the thread-like foliage sigh.

Sweet Zephyr I why that sound of woe ?

Is not thy home among the flowers ? Do not the bright June roses blow,

To meet thy kiss at morning hours ?

THE WEST WIND. 55

And lo ! thy glorious realm outspread — Yon stretching valleys, green and gay,

And yon free hill-tops, o'er whose head The loose white clouds are borne away.

And there the full broad river runs, And many a fount wells fresh and sweet

To cool thee when the mid-day suns

Have made thee faint beneath their heat.

Thou wind of joy, and youth, and love ;

Spirit of the new- wakened year ! The sun, in his blue realm above,

Smooths a bright path when thou art here.

In lawns the murmuring bee is heard, The wooing ring-dove in the shade ;

On thy soft breath the new-fledged bird Takes wing, half happy, half afraid.

56 POEMS.

Ah ! thou art like our wayward race ; — When not a shade of pain or ill

Dims the bright smile of Nature's face, Thou lov'st to sigh and murmur still.

THE BURIAL-PLACE.

A FRAGMENT.

EREWHILE, on England's pleasant shores, our

sires Left not their churchyards unadorned with

shades

Or blossoms ; and indulgent to the strong And natural dread of man's last home; the grave, Its frost and silence — they disposed around, To soothe the melancholy spirit that dwelt Too sadly on life's close, the forms and hues

58 POEMS.

Of vegetable beauty. There the yew, Green even amid the snows of winter, told Of immortality, and gracefully The willow, a perpetual mourner, drooped ; And there the gadding woodbine crept about, And there the ancient ivy. From the spot Where the sweet maiden, in her blossoming

years

Cut off, was laid with streaming eyes, and hands That trembled as they placed her there, the rose Sprung modest, on bowed stalk, and better

spoke

Her graces, than the proudest monument. There children set about their playmate's grave The pansy. On the infant's little bed, Wet at its planting with maternal tears, Emblem of early sweetness, early death, Nestled the lowly primrose. Childless dames And maids that would not raise the reddened

eye —

THE BURIAL-PLACE. 59

Orphans, from whose young lids the light of joy Fled early, — silent lovers, who had given All that they lived for to the arms of earth, Came often, o'er the recent graves to strew Their offerings, rue, and rosemary, and flowers.

The pilgrim bands who passed the sea to keep Their Sabbaths in the eye of God alone, In his wide temple of the wilderness, Brought not these simple customs of the heart With them. It might be, while they laid their

dead

By the vast solemn skirts of the old groves, And the fresh virgin soil poured forth strange

flowers

About their graves ; and the familiar shades Of their own native isle and wonted blooms And herbs were wanting, which the pious hand Might plant or scatter there, these gentle rites

60 POEMS.

Passed out of use. Now they are scarcely

known,

And rarely in our borders may you meet The tall larch, sighing in the burying-place, Or willow, trailing low its boughs to hide The gleaming marble. Naked rows of graves And melancholy ranks of monuments Are seen instead, where the coarse grass, be»

tween,

Shoots up its dull green spikes, and in the wind Hisses, and the neglected bramble nigh, Offers its berries to the schoolboy's hand, In vain — they grow too near the dead. Yet here, Nature, rebuking the neglect of man, Plants often, by the ancient mossy stone, The brier rose, and upon the broken turf That clothes the fresher grave, the strawberry

plant

Sprinkles its swell with blossoms, and lays forth Her ruddy, pouting fruit. * * * * *

" BLESSED AKE THEY THAT MOURN.'

OH, deem not they are blest alone Whose lives a peaceful tenor keep ;

The Power who pities man, has shown A blessing for the eyes that weep.

The light of smiles shall fill again The lids that overflow with tears ;

And weary hours of woe and pain Are promises of happier years.

62 POEMS.

There is a day of sunny rest

For every dark and troubled night ;

And grief may bide an evening guest, But joy shall come with early light.

And thou, who, o'er thy friend's low bier, Dost shed the bitter drops like rain,

Hope that a brighter, happier sphere Will give him to thy arms again.

Nor let the good man's trust depart, Though life its common gifts deny, —

Though, with a pierced and bleeding heart. And spurned of men, he goes to die.

For God hath marked each sorrowing day And numbered every secret tear,

And heaven's long age of bliss shall pay For all his children suffer here.

"NO MAN KNOWETH HIS SEPUL- CHRE."

WHEN he, who, from the scourge of wrong, Aroused the Hebrew tribes to fly,

Saw the fair region, promised long, And bowed him on the hills to die ;

God made his grave, to men unknown, Where Moab's rocks a vale infold,

And laid the aged seer alone

To slumber while the world grows old.

64 POEMS.

Thus still, whene'er the good and just Close the dim eye on life and pain,

Heaven watches o'er their sleeping dust Till the pare spirit comes again.

Though nameless, trampled, and forgot, His servant's humble ashes lie,

Yet God has marked and sealed the spot, To call its inmate to the sky.

A WALK AT SUNSET.

WHEN insect wings are glistening in the beam Of the low sun, and mountain-tops are bright,

Oh, let me, by the crystal valley-stream, Wander amid the mild and mellow light ;

And,while the wood-thrush pipes his evening lay,

Give me one lonely hour to hymn the setting day.

Oh, sun ! that o'er the western mountains now Go'st down in glory ! ever beautiful

And blessed is thy radiance, whether thou Colorest the eastern heaven and night-mist cool,

66 POEMS.

Till the bright day-star vanish, or on high Climbest and streamest thy white splendors from mid sky.

Yet, loveliest are thy setting smiles, and fair,

Fairest of all that earth beholds, the hues

That live among the clouds and flush the air,

Lingering and deepening at the hour of dews. Then softest gales are breathed, and softest

heard

The plaining voice of streams and pensive note of bird.

They who here roamed, of yore, the forest wide,

Felt, by such charm, their simple bosoms won ;

They deemed their quivered warrior, when he

died,

Went to bright isles beneath the setting sun;

A WALK AT SUNSET. 67

Where winds are aye at peace; and skies are fair, And purple-skirted clouds curtain the crimson air.

So; with the glories of the dying day,

Its thousand trembling lights and changing

hues, The memory of the brave who passed away

Tenderly mingled ; — fitting hour to muse On such grave theme, and sweet the dream

that shed

Brightness and beauty round the destiny of the dead.

For ages, on the silent forests here,

Thy beams did fall before the red man came

To dwell beneath them ; in their shade the

deer Fed, and feared not the arrow's deadly aim.

68 POEMS.

Nor tree was felled in all that world of woods, Save by the beaver's tooth, or winds, or rush oi floods.

Then came the hunter tribes, and thou didst

look,

For ages, on their deeds in the hard chase, And well-fought wars ; green sod and silver

brook

Took the first stain of blood ; before thy face The warrior generations came and passed, And glory was laid up for many an age to last.

Now they are gone, gone as thy setting blaze Groes down the west, while night is press ing on,

And with them the old tale of better days And trophies of remembered power, are gone.

A WALK AT SUNSET. 69

Yon field that gives the harvest, where the

plough Strikes the white hone, is all that tells their

story now.

I stand upon their ashes in thy heam,

The offspring of another race, I stand, Beside a stream they loved, this valley stream ; And where the night-fires of the quivered

hand Showed the gray oak "by fits, and war-song

rung,

I teach the quiet shades the strains of this new tongue.

Farewell ! hut thou shalt come again ! thy

light Must shine on other changes, and "behold

70 POEMS.

The place of the thronged city still as night — States fallen — new empires "built upon the

old-

But never shalt thou see these realms again Darkened by boundless groves, and roamed by

savage men.

HYMN TO DEATH

OH ! could I hope the wise and pure in heart Might hear my song without a frown, nor deem My voice unworthy of the theme it tries, — I would take up the hymn to Death, and say To the grim power, The world hath slandered

thee And mocked thee. On thy dim and shadowy

brow

They place an iron crown, and call thee king Of terrors, and the spoiler of the world, Deadly assassin, that strik'st down the fair, The loved, the good — that breathest on the

lights

72 POEMS.

Of virtue set along the vale of life, And they go out in darkness. I am come, Not with reproaches, not with cries and prayers, Such as have stormed thy stern, insensible ear From the beginning ; I am come to speak Thy praises. True it is that I have wept Thy conquests, and may weep them yet again And thou from some I love wilt take a life Dear to me as my own. Yet while the spell Is on my spirit, and I talk with thee In sight of all thy trophies, face to face, Meet is it that my voice should utter forth Thy nobler triumphs ; I will teach the world To thank thee. Who are thine accusers? —

Who?

The living ! — they who never felt thy power, And know thee not. The curses of the wretch Whose crimes are ripe, his sufferings when thy

hand Is on him, and the hour he dreads is come,

HYMN TO DEATH. 73

Are writ among thy praises. But the good — Does lie whom thy kind hand dismissed to

peace,

Upbraid the gentle violence that took off His fetters, and unbarred his prison cell ?

Kaise then the hymn to Death. Deliverer ! Grod hath anointed thee to free the oppressed And crush the oppressor. When the armed

chief,

The conqueror of nations, walks the world, And it is changed beneath his feet, and all Its kingdoms melt into one mighty realm — Thou, while his head is loftiest and his heart Blasphemes, imagining his own right hand Almighty, thou dost set thy sudden grasp Upon him, and the links of that strong chain Which bound mankind are crumbled ; thou

dost break

6

74 POEMS.

Sceptre and crown, and beat his throne to dust Then the earth shouts with gladness, and hei

tribes

Gather within their ancient bounds again. Else had the mighty of the olden time, Nimrod, Sesostris, or the youth who feigned His birth from Libyan Ammon, smitten yet The nations with a rod of iron, and driven The chariot o'er our necks. Thou dost avenge, In thy good time, the wrongs of those who know No other friend. Nor dost thou interpose Only to lay the sufferer asleep, Where he who made him wretched troubles not His rest — thou dost strike down his tyrant too. Oh, there is joy when hands that held the

scourge

Drop lifeless, and the pitiless heart is cold. Thou too dost purge from earth its horrible And old idolatries ; — from the proud fanes Each to his grave their priests go out, till none

HYMN TO DEATH. 75

Is left to teach their worship ; then the fires Of sacrifice are chilled, and the green moss O'ercreeps their altars ; the fallen images Oumher the weedy courts, and for loud hymns, Chanted by kneeling multitudes, the wind Shrieks in the solitary aisles. When he Who gives his life to guilt, and laughs at all The laws that God or man has made, and round Hedges his seat with power, and shines in

wealth, —

Lifts up his atheist front to scoff at Heaven, And celebrates his shame in open day, Thou, in the pride of all his crimes, cutt'st off The horrible example. Touched by thine The extortioner's hard hand foregoes the gold Wrung from the o'er-worn poor. The perjurer Whose tongue was lithe, even now, and voluble Against his neighbor's life, and he who laughed And leaped for joy to see a spotless fame Blasted before his own foul calumnies,

76 POEMS.

Are smit with deadly silence. He; who sold His conscience to preserve a worthless life, Even while he hugs himself on his escape, Trembles, as, doubly terrible, at length, Thy steps o'ertake him, and there is no time For parley — nor will bribes unclench thy grasp Oft, too, dost thou reform thy victim, long Ere his last hour. And when the reveller, Mad in the chase of pleasure, stretches on, And strains each nerve, and clears the path of

life Like wind, thou point'st him to the dreadful

goal,

And shak'st thy hour-glass in his reeling eye, And check'st him in mid course. Thy skeleton

hand

Shows to the faint of spirit the right path, And he is warned, and fears to step aside. Thou sett'st between the ruffian and his crime Thy ghastly countenance, and his slack hand

HYMN TO DEATH. 77

Drops the drawn knife. But, oh, most fear fully Dost thou show forth Heaven's justice, when

thy shafts

Drink up the ebbing spirit- — then the hard Of heart and violent of hand restores The treasure to the friendless wretch he wronged. Then from the writhing bosom thou dost pluck The guilty secret ; lips, for ages sealed, Are faithless to the dreadful trust at length, And give it up ; the felon's latest breath Absolves the innocent man who bears his crime ; The slanderer, horror-smitten, and in tears, Recalls the deadly obloquy he forged To work his brother's ruin. Thou dost make Thy penitent victim utter to the air The dark conspiracy that strikes at life, And aims to whelm the laws ; ere yet the

hour Is come, and the dread sign of murder given.

78 POEMS.

Thus, from the first of time, hast thou been

found

On virtue's side ; the wicked, but for thee, Had been too strong for the good ; the great of

earth Had crushed the weak for ever. Schooled in

guile

For ages, while each passing year had brought Its baneful lesson, they had filled the world With their abominations ; while its tribes, Trodden to earth, imbruted, and despoiled, Had knelt to them in worship ; sacrifice Had smoked on many an altar, temple roofs Had echoed with the blasphemous prayer and

hymn i

But thou, the great reformer of the world, Tak'st off the sons of violence and fraud In their green pupilage, their lore half learned— Ere guilt had quite o'errun the simple heart God gave them at their birth, and blotted out

HYMN TO DEATH. 79

His image. Thou dost mark them flushed with

hope,

As on the threshold of their vast designs Doubtful and loose they stand, and strik'st

them down.

Alas ! I little thought that the stern power Whose fearful praise I sung, would try me thus Before the strain was ended. It must cease — For he is in his grave who taught my youth The art of verse, and in the bud of life Offered me to the muses. Oh, cut off Untimely ! when thy reason in its strength, Ripened by years of toil and studious search And watch of Nature's silent lessons, taught Thy hand to practise best the lenient art To which thou gavest thy laborious days, And, last, thy life. And, therefore, when the earth

80 POEMS.

Received thee, tears were in unyielding eyes And on hard cheeks, and they who deemed thj

skill Delayed their death-hour, shuddered and turned

pale When thou wert gone. This faltering verse,

which thou

Shalt not, as wont, overlook, is all I have To offer at thy grave — this — and the hope To copy thy example, and to leave A name of which the wretched shall not think As of an enemy's, whom they forgive As all forgive the dead. Best, therefore, thou Whose early guidance trained my infant steps — Rest, in the bosom of God, till the brief sleep Of death is over, and a happier life Shall dawn to waken thine insensible dust.

Now thou art not — and yet the men whose guilt

HYMN TO DEATH. 81

Has wearied Heaven for vengeance — he who

bears

False witness — he who takes the orphan's bread, And robs the widow — he who spreads abroad Polluted hands in mockery of prayer, Are left to cumber earth. Shuddering I look On what is written, yet I blot not out The desultory numbers ; let them stand, The record of an idle re very.

THE MASSACRE AT SCIO.

WEEP not for Scio's children slain ;

Their blood, by Turkish falchions shed, Sends not its cry to Heaven in vain

For vengeance on the murderer's head

Though high the warm red torrent ran Between the flames that lit the sky,

Yet, for each drop, an armed man Shall rise, to free the land, or die.

THE MASSACRE AT SCIO. 83

And for each corpse, that in the sea Was thrown, to feast the scaly herds,

A hundred of the foe shall he

A "banquet for the mountain birds.

Stern rites and sad shall Greece ordain To keep that day, along her shore,

Till the last link of slavery's chain Is shivered, to be worn no more.

THE INDIAN GIKL'S LAMENT,

AN Indian girl was sitting where Her lover, slain in battle, slept ;

Her maiden veil, her own black hair, Came down o'er eyes that wept ;

And wildly, in her woodland tongue,

This sad and simple lay she sung :

" I've pulled away the shrubs that grew

Too close above thy sleeping head, And broke the forest boughs that threw

Their shadows o'er thy bed, That, shining from the sweet south-west, The sunbeams might rejoice thy rest.

THE INDIAN GIRI/S LAMENT. 85

" It was a weary, weary road

That led thee to the pleasant coast, Where thou, in his serene abode,

Hast met thy father's ghost ; Where everlasting autumn lies On yellow woods and sunny skies.

" 'Twas I the broidered mocsen made,

That shod thee for that distant land ; 'Twas I thy bow and arrows laid

Beside thy still cold hand ; Thy bow in many a battle bent, Thy arrows never vainly sent.

" With wampum belts I crossed thy breast, And wrapped thee in the bison's hide,

And laid the food that pleased thee best, In plenty, by thy side,

And decked thee bravely, as became

A warrior of illustrious name.

86 POEMS.

" Thou'rt happy now, for thou hast passed

The long dark journey of the grave, And in the land of light, at last,

Hast joined the good and brave ; Amid the flushed and balmy air, The bravest and the loveliest there.

" Yet, oft to thine own Indian maid

Even there thy thoughts will earthward

stray, — To her who sits where thou wert laid,

And weeps the hours away, Yet almost can her grief forget, To think that thou dost love her yet.

u And thou, by one of those still lakes

That in a shining cluster lie, On which the south wind scarcely breaks

The image of the sky, A bower for thee and me hast made Beneath the many-colored shade.

THE INDIAN GIRI/S LAMENT. 87

' And thou dost wait and watch to meet

My spirit sent to join the blest, And; wondering what detains my feet

From the bright land of rest, Dost seem, in every sound, to hear The rustling of my footsteps near "

ODE FOK AN AGRICULTURAL CELE- BRATION.

FAR back in the ages,

The plough with wreaths was crowned ; The hands of kings and sages

Entwined the chaplet round ; Till men of spoil disdained the toil

By which the world was nourished, And dews of blood enriched the soil

Where green their laurels flourished. — Now the world her fault repairs —

The guilt that stains her story, And weeps her crimes amid the cares

That formed her earliest glory.

ODE. 89

The proud throne shall crumble,

The diadem shall wane, The tribes of earth shall humble

The pride of those who reign ; And War shall lay his pomp away ; —

The fame that heroes cherish, The glory earned in deadly fray

Shall fade, decay, and perish. Honor waits, o'er all the Earth,

Through endless generations, The art that calls her harvests forth,

And feeds the expectant nations.

RIZPAH.

And he delivered them into the hands of the Gibeonites, and they hang ed them on 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 begin ning of barley-harvest.

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 up on 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.

2 SAMUEL, xxi. 10

UEAR what the desolate Kizpah said, A.S on Gibeah's rocks she watched the dead. The sons of Michal before her lay,

her .own fair children, dearer than they ;

RIZPAH. 91

By a death of shame they all had died,

And were stretched on the "bare rock, side by

side;

And Kizpah, once the loveliest of all That bloomed and smiled in the court of Saul, All wasted with watching and famine now, And scorched by the sun her haggard brow, Sat mournfully guarding their corpses there, And murmured a strange and solemn air ; The low, heart-broken and wailing strain Of a mother that mourns her children slain :

" I have made the crags my home and spread On their desert backs my sackloth bed ; I have eaten the bitter herb of the rocks, And drunk the midnight dew in my locks ; I have wept till I could not weep, and the pain Of my burning eyeballs went to my brain. Seven blackened corpses before me lie, In the blaze of the sun and the winds of the eky ,

92 POEMS.

I have watched them through the burning

day,

And driven the vulture and raven away ; And the cormorant wheeled in circles round, Yet feared to light on the guarded ground. And when the shadows of twilight came, I have seen the hyena's eyes of flame, And heard at my side his stealthy tread, But aye at my shout the savage fled : And I threw the lighted brand to fright The jackal and wolf that yelled in the night.

" Ye were foully murdered, my hapless sons; By the hands of wicked and cruel ones ; Ye fell, in your fresh and blooming prime, All innocent, for your father's crime. He sinned — but he paid the price of his guilt When his blood by a nameless hand was spilt ; When he strove with the heathen host in vain, And fell with the flower of his people slain,

RIZPAH. 93

And the sceptre his children's hands should

sway From his injured lineage passed away.

" But I hoped that the cottage roof would he A safe retreat for my sons and me ; And that while they ripened to manhood fast, They should wean my thoughts from the woes

of the past.

And my "bosom swelled with a mother's pride, As they stood in their beauty and strength by

my side,

Tall like their sire, with the princely grace Of his stately form, and the bloom of his face.

" Oh, what an hour for a mother's heart, When the pitiless ruffians tore us apart ! When I clasped their knees and wept and

prayed, And struggled and shrieked to Heaven for aid

94 POEMS.

And clung to my sons with desperate strength. Till the murderers loosed my hold at length, And bore me breathless and faint aside, In their iron arms, while my children died. They died — and the mother that gave them birth Is forbidden to cover their bones with earth.

"The barley harvest was nodding white, When my children died on the rocky height, And the reapers were singing on hill and plain, When I came to my task of sorrow and pain. But now the season of rain is nigh, The sun is dim in the thickening sky, And the clouds in sullen darkness rest Where he hides his light at the doors of the west I hear the howl of the wind that brings The long drear storm on its heavy wings ; But the howling wind and the driving rain Will beat my houseless head in vain ; I shall stay, from my murdered sons to scare The beasts of the desert, and fowls of air."

THE OLD MAN'S FUNEKAL.

1 SAW an aged man upon his bier,

His hair was thin and white, and on his brow A record of the cares of many a year ; —

Cares that were ended and forgotten now. And there was sadness round, and faces bowed, And woman's tears fell fast, and children wailed aloud.

Then rose another hoary man and said, In faltering accents, to that weeping train,

96 POEMS.

" Why mourn ye that our aged friend is dead ?

Ye are not sad to see the gathered grain, Nor when their mellow fruit the orchards cast, Nor when the yellow woods shake down the ripened mast.

" Ye sigh not when the sun., his course fulfilled, His glorious course, rejoicing earth and sky,

In the soft evening, when the winds are stilled, Sinks where his islands of refreshment lie,

And leaves the smile of his departure spread

O'er the warm-colored heaven and ruddy moun tain head.

" Why weep ye then for him, who, having won The bound of man's appointed years, at last,

Life's blessings all enjoyed, life's labors done, Serenely to his final rest has passed ;

While the soft memory of his virtues, yet,

Lingers like twilight hues, when the bright sun is set ?

THE OLD MAN'S FUNERAL. 97

" His youth was innocent ; his riper age

Marked with some act of goodness every day ; And watched by eyes that loved him, calm and

sage,

Faded his last declining years away. Cheerful he gave his being up, and went To share the holy rest that waits a life well spent.

"That life was happy ; every day he gave Thanks for the fair existence that was his ;

For a sick fancy made him not her slave, To mock him with her phantom miseries.

No chronic tortures racked his aged limb,

For luxury and sloth had nourished none for him.

" And I am glad that he has lived thus long, And glad that he has gone to his reward ;

98 POEMS.

Nor can I deem that nature did him wrong,

Softly to disengage the vital cord. For when his hand grew palsied, and his eye Dark with the mists of age, it was his time to die/'

THE RIVULET.

THIS little rill, that from the springs Of yonder grove its current brings, Plays on the slope a while, and then Goes prattling into groves again, Oft to its warbling waters drew My little feet, when life was new. When woods in early green were dressed, And from the chambers of the west The warmer breezes, travelling out, Breathed the new scent of flowers about,

100 POEMS.

My truant steps from home would stray, Upon its grassy side to play, List the brown thrasher's vernal hymn, And crop the violet on its brim, With blooming cheek and open bro\\ , As young and gay, sweet rill as thou.

And when the days of boyhood came, And I had grown in love with fame, Duly I sought thy banks, and tried My first rude numbers by thy side. Words cannot tell how bright and gay The scenes of life before me lay. Then glorious hopes, that now to speak Would bring the blood into my cheek, Passed o'er me ; and I wrote, on high, A name I deemed should never die.

Years change thee not. Upon yon hill The tall old maples, verdant still,

THE RIVULET. 101

Yet tell, in grandeur of decay, How swift the years have passed away, Since first, a child, and half afraid, I wandered in the forest shade. Thou, ever joyous rivulet, Dost dimple, leap, and prattle yet ; And sporting with the sands that pave The windings of thy silver wave, And dancing to thy own wild chime, Thou laughest at the lapse of time. The same sweet sounds are in my ear My early childhood loved "to hear ; As pure thy limpid waters run ; As bright they sparkle to the sun ; As fresh and thick the bending ranks Of herbs that line thy oozy banks ; The violet there, in soft May dew, Comes up, as modest and as blue ; As green amid thy current's stress, Floats the scarce-rooted watercress ;

102 POEMS.

And the brown ground-bird, in thy glen, Still chirps as merrily as then.

Thou changest not — but I am changed, Since first thy pleasant banks I ranged ; And the grave stranger, come to see The play-place of his infancy, Has scarce a single trace of him Who sported once upon thy brim. The visions of my youth are past — Too bright, too beautiful to last. I've tried the world — it wears no more The coloring of romance it wore. Yet well has Nature kept the truth She promised to my earliest youth. The radiant beauty shed abroad On all the glorious works of God, Shows freshly, to my sobered eye, Each charm it wore in days gone by.

THE RIVULET. 103

A few brief years shall pass away, And I, all trembling, weak, and gray, Bowed to the earth, which waits to fold My ashes in the embracing mould, (If haply the dark will of fate . Indulge my life so long a date,) May come for the last time to look Upon my childhood's favorite brook. Then dimly on my eye shall gleam The sparkle of thy dancing stream ; And faintly on my ear shall fall Thy prattling current's merry call ; Yet shalt thou flow as glad and bright As when thou met'st my infant sight.

And I shall sleep — and on thy side, As ages after ages glide, Children their early sports shall try, And pass to hoary age and die.

104 POEMS.

But thou, unchanged from year to year, Gayly shalt play and glitter here ; Amid young flowers and tender grass Thy endless infancy shalt pass ; And; singing down thy narrow glen, Shalt mock the fading race of men.

MARCH.

THE stormy March is come at last,

With wind, and cloud, and changing skies, I hear the rushing of the blast,

That through the snowy valley flies.

Ah, passing few are they who speak,

Wild stormy month I in praise of thee ; Yet, though thy winds are loud and bleak,

Thou art a welcome month to me. 8

106 POEMS.

For thou, to northern lands, again The glad and glorious sun dost bring,

And thou hast joined the gentle train And wear'st the gentle name of Spring.

And, in thy reign of blast and storm, Smiles many a long, bright, sunny day,

When the changed winds are soft and warm, And heaven puts on the blue of May.

Then sing aloud the gushing rills,

In joy that they again are free, And brightly leaping down the hills,

Begin their journey to the sea.

The year's departing beauty hides Of wintry storms the sullen threat ;

But in thy sternest frown abides A look of kindly promise yet.

MARCH. 107

Thou bring'st the hope of those calm skies And that soft time of sunny showers,

When the wide bloom, on earth that lies, Seems of a brighter world than ours.

CONSUMPTION.

A.Y, tliou art for the grave ; thy glances shine

Too brightly to shine long ; another Spring Shall deck her for men's eyes, hut not for thine —

Sealed in a sleep which knows no wakening. The fields for thee have no medicinal leaf,

And the vexed ore no mineral of power ; And they who love thee wait in anxious grief

Till the slow plague shall bring the fatal hour. Glide softly to thy rest then; Death should come,

Gently, to one of gentle mould like thee,

CONSUMPTION. 109

As light winds wandering through groves of

bloom

Detach the delicate blossom from the tree. Close thy sweet eyes, calmly, and without pain ; And we will trust in God to see thee ye.t again,

AN INDIAN STORY.

'c I KNOW where the timid fawn abides

In the depths of the shaded dell, Where the leaves are broad and the thicket hides, With its many stems and its tangled sides,

From the eye of the hunter well.

" I know where the young May violet grows,

In its lone and lowly nook, On the mossy bank, where the larch-tree throws Its broad dark boughs, in solemn repose,

Far over the silent brook.

AN INDIAN STORY. Ill

" And that timid fawn starts not witli fear

When I steal to her secret bower ; And that young May violet to me is dear, And I visit the silent streamlet near, To look on the lovely flower."

Thus Maquon sings as he lightly walks To the hunting ground on the hills ; 'Tis a song of his maid of the woods and rocks, With her bright black eyes and long black locks, And voice like the music of rills.

He goes to the chase — but evil eyes

Are at watch in the thicker shades ; For she was lovely that smiled on his sighs, And he bore, from a hundred lovers, his prize, The flower of the forest maids.

The boughs in the morning wind are stirred, And the woods their song renew,

L12 POEMS.

With the early carol of many a bird, And the quickened tune of the streamlet heard Where the hazels trickle with dew.

And Maquon has promised his dark-haired

maid,

Ere eve shall redden the sky, A good red deer from the forest shade, That bounds with the herd through grove and

glade, At her cabin-door shall lie.

The hollow woods, in the setting suii, King shrill with the fire-bird's lay ; And Maquon' s sylvan labors are done, And his shafts are spent, but the spoil they won He bears on his homeward way.

Ea stops near his bower — his eye perceives Strange traces along the ground —

AN INDIAN STOKY. 113

At once to the earth his burden he heaves, He breaks through the veil of boughs and

leaves, And gains its door with a bound.

But the vines are torn on its walls that leant,

And all from the young shrubs there By struggling hands have the leaves been rent, And there hangs on the sassafras, broken and

bent, One tress of the well-known hair.

But where is she who, at this calm hour,

Ever watched his coming to see ? She is not at the door, nor yet in the bower ; He calls — but he only hears on the flower

The hum of the laden bee.

It is not a time for idle grief, Nor a time for tears to flow ;

114 POEMS.

The horror that freezes his limbs is brief — He grasps his war-axe and bow, and a sheaf Of darts made sharp for the foe.

And he looks for the print of the ruffian's feet,

Where he bore the maiden away ; And he darts on the fatal path more fleet Than the blast that hurries the vapor and sleet O'er the wild November day.

'Twas early summer when Maquon's bride

Was stolen away from his door ; But at length the maples in crimson are dyed, And the grape is black on the cabin side,-= —

And she smiles at his hearth once more.

But far in the pine-grove, dark and cold,

Where the yellow leaf falls not, Nor the autumn shines in scarlet and gold, There lies a hillock of fresh dark mould,

In the deepest gloom of the spot.

AN INDIAN STORY. 115

And the Indian girls, that pass that way,

Point out the ravisher's grave ; " And how soon to the bower she loved," they

say, " Eeturned the maid that was home away .

From Maquon, the fond and the brave."

SUMMER WIND.

IT is a sultry day ; the sun has drunk The dew that lay upon the morning grass ; There is no rustling in the lofty elm That canopies my dwelling, and its shade Scarce cools me. All is silent save the faint And interrupted murmur of the bee, Settling on the sick flowers, and then again Instantly on the wing. The plants around Feel the too potent fervors ; the tall maize Rolls up its long green leaves ; the clover droops

SUMMER WIND. 117

Its tender foliage, and declines its blooms. But far, in the fierce sunshine, tower the hills, With all their growth of woods, silent and stern ; As if the scorching heat and dazzling light Were but an element they loved. Bright clouds, Motionless pillars of the brazen heaven, — Their bases on the mountains — their white tops Shining in the far ether — fire the air With a reflected radiance, and make turn The gazer's eyes away. For me, I lie Languidly in the shade, where the thick turf, Yet virgin from the kisses of the sun, Ketains some freshness, and I woo the wind That still delays his coming. Why so slow, Gentle and voluble spirit of the air ? Oh, come and breathe upon the fainting earth Coolness and life. Is it that in his caves He hears me ? See, on yonder woody ridge, The pine is bending his proud top, and now Among the nearer groves, chestnut and oak

118 POEMS.

Are tossing their green boughs about. He comes ! Lo, where the grassy meadow runs in waves ! The deep distressful silence of the scene Breaks up with mingling of unnumbered sounds And universal motion. He is come, Shaking a shower of blossoms from the shrubs, And bearing on their fragrance ; and he brings Music of birds, and rustling of young boughs, And sound of swaying branches, and the voice Of distant waterfalls. All the green herbs Are stirring in his breath ; a thousand flowers, By the road-side and the borders of the brook, Nod gayly to each other ; glossy leaves Are twinkling in the sun, as if the dew Were on them yet, and silver waters break Into small waves and sparkle as he comes

AN INDIAN AT THE BURIAL PLACE OF HIS FATHERS.

IT is the spot I came to seek, — My fathers' ancient burial place,

Ere from these vales, ashamed and weak, Withdrew our wasted race.

It is the spot — I know it well — .

Of which our old traditions tell.

For here the upland bank sends out

A ridge toward the river side ; I know the shaggy hills about,

120 POEMS.

The meadows smooth and wide, The plains, that, toward the southern sky, Fenced east and west by mountains lie.

A white man gazing on the scene, Would say a lovely spot was here,

And praise the lawns so fresh and green, Between the hills so sheer.

I like -it not — I would the plain

Lay in its tall old groves again.

The sheep are on the slopes around, The cattle in the meadows feed,

And laborers turn the crumbling ground, Or drop the yellow seed,

And prancing steeds, in trappings gay,

Whirl the bright chariot o'er the way.

Met hinks it were a nobler sight

To see these vales in woods arrayed,

AN INDIAN AT THE BURIAL PLACE. 121

Their summits in the golden light,

Their trunks in grateful shade, And herds of deer, that bounding go O'er rocks and prostrate trees below.

And then to mark the lord of all, The forest hero, trained to wars,

Quivered and plumed, and lithe and tall, And seamed with glorious scars,

Walk forth, amid his reign, to dare

The wolf, and grapple with the bear.

This bank, in which the dead were laid, Was sacred when its soil was ours ;

Hither the silent Indian maid

Brought wreaths of beads and flowers,

And the gray chief and gifted seer

Worshipped the God of thunders here.

9

122 POEMS

But now the wheat is green and high, On clods that hid the warrior's breast,

And scattered in the furrows lie The weapons of his rest ;

And there, in the loose sand, is thrown

Of his large arm the mouldering bone.

Ah, little thought the strong and brave Who bore their lifeless chieftain forth,

Or the young wife, that weeping gave Her first-born to the earth,

That the pale race, who waste us now,

Among their bones should guide the plough

They waste us — ay — like April snow In the warm noon, we shrink away ;

And fast they follow, as we go Towards the setting day, —

Till they shall fill the land, and we

Are driven into the western sea.

AN INDIAN AT THE BURIAL PLACE. 123

But I behold a fearful sign,

To which the white men's eyes are blind ; Their race may vanish hence, like mine,

And leave no trace behind, Save ruins o'er the region spread, And the white stones above the dead.

Before these fields were shorn and tilled, Full to the brim our rivers flowed ;

The melody of waters filled The fresh and boundless wood ;

And torrents dashed and rivulets played,

And fountains spouted in the shade.

Those grateful sounds are heard no more, The springs are silent in the sun ;

The rivers, by the blackened shore, With lessening current run ;

The realm our tribes are crushed to get

May be a barren desert yet.

SONGk

DOST tliou idly ask to hear

At what gentle seasons Nymphs relent, when lovers near

Press the tenderest reasons ? Ah, they give their faith too oft

To the careless wooer ; Maidens' hearts are always soft :

Would that men's were truer.

Woo the fair one, when around Early birds are singing ;

SONG. 125

When, o'er all the fragrant ground,

Early herbs are springing ; When the brookside, bank, and grove,

All with blossoms laden, Shine with beauty, breathe of love —

Woo the timid maiden.

Woo her when, with rosy blush,

Summer eve is sinking ; When, on rills that softly gush,

Stars are softly winking ; When, through boughs that knit the bower.

Moonlight gleams are stealing ; Woo her, till the gentle hour

Wake a gentler feeling.

Woo her, when autumnal dyes

Tinge the woody mountain ; When the dropping foliage lies

In the weedy fountain ;

126 POEMS.

Let the scene, that tells how fast

Youth is passing over, Warn her, ere her bloom is past,

To secure her lover.

Woo her, when the north winds call

At the lattice nightly ; When, within the cheerful hall.

Blaze the fagots brightly ; While the wintry tempest round

Sweeps the landscape hoary. Sweeter in her ear shall sound

Love's delightful story.

HYMN OF THE WALDENSES.

HEAR, Father, hear thy faint afflicted flock Cry to thee, from the desert and the rock ; While those, who seek to slay thy children, hold Blasphemous worship under roofs of gold ; And the broad goodly lands, with pleasant airs That nurse the grape and wave the grain, are theirs.

Yet better were this mountain wilderness, And this wild life of danger and distress — Watchings by night and perilous flight by day,

L28 POEMS.

And meetings in the depths of earth to pray, Better, far better, than to kneel with them, And pay the impious rite thy laws condemn.

Thou, Lord, dost hold the thunder ; the firm

land

Tosses in billows when it feels thy hand ; Thou dashest nation against nation, then Stillest the angry world to peace again. Oh, touch their stony hearts who hunt thy sons — The murderers of our wives and little ones.

Yet, mighty God, yet shall thy frown look forth Unveiled, and terribly shall shake the earth. Then the foul power of priestly sin and all Its long-upheld idolatries shall fall. Thou shalt raise up the trampled and oppressed, And thy delivered saints shall dwell in rest.

MONUMENT MOUNTAIN.

THOU who wouldst see the lovely and the wild Mingled in harmony on Nature's face, Ascend our rocky mountains. Let thy foot Fail not with weariness, for on their tops The beauty and the majesty of earth Spread wide beneath, shall make thee to forget The steep and toilsome way. There, as thou

stand'st,

The haunts of men below thee, and around The mountain summits, thy expanding heart

130 POEMS.

Shall feel a kindred with that loftier world To which thou art translated, and partake The enlargement of thy vision. Thou shalt look Upon the green and rolling forest tops, And down into tha secrets of the glens, And streams, that with their bordering thickets

strive To hide their windings. Thou shalt gaze, at

once,

Here on white villages, and tilth, and herds, And swarming roads, and there on solitudes That only hear the torrent, and the wind, And eagle's shriek. There is a precipice That seems a fragment of some mighty wall Built by the hand that fashioned the old world, To separate its nations, and thrown down When the flood drowned them. To the north

a path

Conducts you up the narrow battlement. Steep is the western side, shaggy and wild

MONUMENT MOUNTAIN. 131

With mossy trees, and pinnacles of flint, And many a hanging crag. But, to the east, Sheer to the vale go down the bare old cliffs. — Huge pillars, that in middle heaven upbear Their weather-beaten capitals, here dark With moss, the growth of centuries, and there Of chalky whiteness where the thunderbolt Has splintered them. It is a fearful thing To stand upon the beetling verge, and see Where storm and lightning, from that huge

gray wall,

Have tumbled down vast blocks, and at the base Dashed them in fragments, and to lay thine ear Over the dizzy depth, and hear the sound Of winds that struggle with the woods below, Come up like ocean murmurs. But the scene Is lovely round ; a beautiful river there Wanders amid the fresh and fertile meads, The paradise he made unto himself, Mining the soil for ages. On each side

132 POEMS.

The fields swell upward to the hills ; beyond, Above the hills, in the blue distance, rise The mountain columns with which earth props heaven.

There is a tale about these reverend rocks, A sad tradition of unhappy love, And sorrows borne and ended, long ago, When over these fair vales the savage sought His game in the thick woods. There was a maid, The fairest of the Indian maids, bright-eyed, With wealth of raven tresses, a light form, And a gay heart. About her cabin door The wide old woods resounded with her song And fairy laughter all the summer day. She loved her cousin ; such a love was deemed, By the morality of those stern tribes, Incestuous, and she struggled hard and long Against her love, and reasoned with her heart, As simple Indian maiden might. In vain.

MONUMENT MOUNTAIN. 133

Then her eye lost its lustre, and her step

Its lightness, and the gray-haired men that

passed

Her dwelling, wondered that they heard no more The accustomed song and laugh of her whose

looks Were like the cheerful smile of Spring, they

said,

Upon the winter of their age. She went To weep, where no eye saw, and was not found When all the merry girls were met to dance, And all the hunters of the tribe were out ; Nor when they gathered from the rustling husk The shining ear ; nor when, by the river's side, They pulled the grape and startled the wild

shades With sounds of mirth. The keen-eyed Indian

dames

Would whisper to each other, as they saw Her wasting form, and say the girl will die!

134 POEMS.

One day into the bosom of a friend, A. playmate of her young and innocent years, She poured her griefs. " Thou know'st, and

thou alone,"

She said, " for I have told thee all. my love And guilt and sorrow. I am sick of life. All night I weep in darkness, and the morn Glares on me, as upon a thing accursed, That has no business on the earth. I hate The pastimes and the pleasant toils that once I loved ; the cheerful voices of my friends Sound in my ear like mockings, and, at night, In dreams, my mother, from the land of souls, Calls me and chides me. All that look on me Do seem to know my shame ; I cannot bear Their eyes ; I cannot from my heart root out The love that wrings it so, and I must die."

It was a summer morning, and they went To this old precipice. About the cliffs

MONUMENT MOUNTAIN. 135

Lay garlands, ears of maize, and shaggy skins Of wolf and bear, the offerings of the tribe Here made to the Great Spirit, for they deemed, Like worshippers of the elder time, that God Doth walk on the high places and affect The earth-o'erlooking mountains. She had on The ornaments with which her father loved To deck the beauty of his bright-eyed girl, And bade her wear when stranger warriors came To be his guests. Here the friends sat them

down,

And sang, all day, old songs of love and death, And decked the poor wan victim's hair with

flowers, And prayed that safe and swift might be her

way

To that calm world of sunshine, where no giief Makes the heart heavy and the eyelids red. Beautiful lay the region of her tribe Below her — waters resting in the embrace

136 POEMS.

Of the wide forest, and maize-planted glades Opening aniid the leafy wilderness. She gazed upon it long, and at the sight Of her own village peeping through the trees, And her own dwelling, and the cabin roof Of him she loved with an unlawful love, And came to die for, a warm gush of tears Ran from her eyes. But when the sun grew low And the hill shadows long, she threw herself From the steep rock and -perished. There was

scooped

Upon the mountain's southern slope, a grave ; And there they laid her, in the very garb With which the maiden decked herself for death, With the same withering wild flowers in her hair. And o'er the mould that covered her, the tribe Built up a simple monument, a cone Of small loose stones. Thenceforward all who

passed, Hunter, and dame, and virgin, laid a stone

MONUMENT MOUNTAIN. 137

fn silence on the pile. It stands there yet. And Indians from the distant West, who come To visit where their fathers' bones are laid, Yet tell the sorrowful tale, and to this day The mountain where the hapless maiden died Is called the Mountain of the Monument.

10

AFTER A TEMPEST.

THE day had been a day of wind and storm ; The wind was laid, the storm was overpast, And stooping from the zenith, bright and warm, Shone the great sun on the wide earth at last. I stood upon the upland slope, and cast My eye upon a broad and beauteous scene, Where the vast plain lay girt by mountains vast. And hills o'er hills lifted their heads of green, With pleasant vales scooped out and villages between.

AFTEE A TEMPEST. 139

The rain-drops glistened on the trees around, Whose shadows on the tall grass were not stirred, Save when a shower of diamonds, to the ground, Was shaken by the flight of startled bird ; For birds were warbling round, and bees were

heard

About the flowers ; the cheerful rivulet sung And gossiped, as he hastened ocean-ward ; To the gray oak the squirrel, chiding, clung, And chirping from the ground the grasshopper

upsprung.

And from beneath the leaves that kept them

dry

Flew many a glittering insect here and there, And darted up and down the butterfly, That seemed a living blossom of the air. The flocks came scattering from the thicket,

where The violent rain had pent them ; in the way

140 POEMS.

Strolled groups of damsels frolicsome and fair ; The farmer swung the scythe or turned the hay ; And 'twixt the heavy swaths the children were at play.

It was a scene of peace — and, like a spell, Did that serene and golden sunlight fall Upon the motionless wood that clothed the fell, And precipice upspringing like a wall, And glassy river and white waterfall, And happy living things that trod the bright And beauteous scene ; while far beyond them all, On many a lovely valley, out of sight, Was poured from the blue heavens the same soft golden light.

I looked, and thought the quiet of the scene An emblem of the peace that yet shall be, When o'er earth's continents, and isles between, The noise of war shall cease from sea to sea.

AFTER A TEMPEST. 141

And married nations dwell in harmony ; When millions, crouching in the dust to one, No more shall beg their lives on bended knee, Nor the black stake be dressed, nor in the sun The o'erlabored captive toil, and wish his life were done.

Too long, at clash of arms amid her bowers And pools of blood, the earth has stood aghast, The fair earth, that should only blush with

flowers

And ruddy fruits ; but not for aye can last The storm, and sweet the sunshine when 'tis

past.

Lo, the clouds roll away — they break — they fly, And, like the glorious light of summer, cast O'er the wide landscape from the embracing sky, On all the peaceful world the smile of heaven

shall lie.

AUTUMN WOODS.

ERE, in the northern gale, The summer tresses of the trees are gone, The woods of Autumn, all around our vale,

Have put their glory on.

The mountains that infold, In their wide sweep, the colored landscape round, Seem groups of giant kings, in purple and gold,

That guard the enchanted ground.

AUTUMN WOODS. 143

I roam the woods that crown The upland, where the mingled splendors glow, Where the gay company of trees look down

On the green fields below.

My steps are not alone In these bright walks ; the sweet south-west,

at play, Flies, rustling, where the painted leaves are

strown Along the winding way.

And far in heaven, the while, The sun, that sends that gale to wander here, Pours out on the fair earth his quiet smile, —

The sweetest of the year.

Where now the solemn shade, Verdure and gloom where many branches meet , So grateful, when the noon of summer made

The valleys sick with heat ?

144 POEMS.

Let in through all the trees Corne the strange rays ; the forest depths are

bright ; Their sunny-colored foliage; in the breeze,

Twinkles, like beams of light.

The rivulet, late unseen, Where bickering through the shrubs its waters

run, Shines with the image of its golden screen

And glimmerings of the sun.

But/neath yon crimson tree, Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame, Nor mark, within its roseate canopy,

Her blush of maiden shame.

Oh, Autumn ! why so soon Depart the hues that make thy forests glad, Thy gentle wind and thy fair sunny noon,

And leave thee wild and sau ?

AUTUMN WOODS. 145

Ah ! 'twere a lot too blest For ever in thy colored shades to stray ; Arnid the kisses of the soft south-west

To rove and dream for aye ;

And leave the vain low strife That makes men mad — the tug for wealth and

power, The passions and the cares that wither life,

And waste its little hour.

MUTATION.

THEY talk of short-lived pleasure — be it so— Pain dies as quickly : stern, hard-featured pain

Expires, and lets her weary prisonei go. The fiercest agonies have shortest reign ; And after dreams of horror, comes again

The welcome morning with its rays of peace. Oblivion, softly wiping out the stain,

Makes the strong secret pangs of shame to cease :

Remorse is virtue's root ; its fair increase Are fruits of innocence and blessedness.

MUTATION. 147

Thus joy, overborne and bound, doth still release His young limbs from the chains that round

him press.

Weep not that the world changes — did it keep A stable, changeless state, 'twere cause indeed

to weep,

NOVEMBER.

YET one smile more, departing, distant sun !

One mellow smile through the soft vapory air. Ere, o'er the frozen earth, the loud winds run,

Or snows are sifted o'er the meadows bare. One smile on the brown hills and naked trees,

And the dark rocks whose summer wreaths

are cast, And the blue gentian flower, that, in the breeze,

Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last, Yet a few sunny days, in which the bee

NOVEMBER. 149

Shall murmur by the hedge that skirts the

way, The cricket chirp upon the russet lea,

And man delight to linger in thy ray. Yet one rich smile, and we will try to bear The piercing winter frost, and winds, and dark ened air.

SONG OF THE GKEEK AMAZON.

I BUCKLE to my slender side

The pistol and the scimitar, And in my maiden flower and pride

Am come to share the tasks of war. And yonder stands my fiery steed,

That paws the ground and neighs to' go, My charger of the Arab breed, —

I took him from the routed foe.

My mirror is the mountain spring, At which I dress my ruffled hair ;

SONG OF THE GREEK AMAZON. 151

My dimmed and dusty arms I bring, And wash away the blood-stain there.

Why should I guard from wind and sun This cheek, whose virgin rose is fled ?

It was for one — oh? only one — I kept its bloom, and he is dead.

But they who slew him — unaware

Of coward murderers lurking nigh — And left him to the fowls of air,

Are yet alive — and they must die. They slew him — and my virgin years

Are vowed to Greece and vengeance now, And many an Othman dame in tears,

Shall rue the Grecian maiden's vow..

I touched the lute in better days, I led in dance the joyous band ;

Ah ! they may move to mirthful lays Whose hands can touch a lover's hand.

152 POEMS

The march of hosts that haste to meet Seems gayer than the dance to me ;

The lute's sweet tones are not so sweet As the fierce shout of victory.

TO A CLOUD.

BEAUTIFUL cloud !• with folds so soft and fair,

Swimming in the pure quiet air ! Thy fleeces bathed in sunlight, while below

Thy shadow o'er the vale moves slow ; Where, midst their labor, pause the reaper train,

As cool it comes along the grain. Beautiful cloud ! I would I were with thee

In thy calm way o'er land and sea : To rest on thy unrolling skirts, and look

On Earth as on an open book ; 11

154 POEMS.

On streams that tie her realms with silver bands,

And the long ways that seam her lands ; And hear her humming cities, and the sound

Of the great ocean breaking round. Ay — I would sail, upon thy air-borne car,

To blooming regions distant far, To where the sun of Andalusia shines

On his own olive-groves and vines, Or the soft lights of Italy's clear sky

In smiles upon her ruins lie.

But I would woo the winds to let us rest

O'er Greece long fettered and oppressed, Whose sons at length have heard the call that comes

From the old battle-fields and tombs, A.nd risen, and drawn the sword, and on the foe

Have dealt the swift and desperate blow, And the Othman power is cloven, and the stroke

Has touched its chains, and they are broke.

TO A CLOUD. 155

Ay, we would linger till the sunset there Should come, to purple all the air,

And thou reflect upon the sacred ground The ruddy radiance streaming round.

Bright meteor ! for the summer noontide made !

Thy peerless beauty yet shall fade. The sun, that fills with light each glistening fold,

Shall set, and leave thee dark and cold. The blast shalt rend thy skirts, or thou mayst frown

In the dark heaven when storms come down, And weep in rain till man's inquiring eye

Miss thee, for ever, from the sky.

THE MUKDEBED TRAVELLER.

WHEN spring, to woods and wastes around,

Brought bloom and joy again, The murdered traveller's bones were found.

Far down a narrow glen.

The fragrant birch, above him, hung

Her tassels in the sky ; And many a vernal blossom sprung,

And nodded careless by.

THE MURDERED TRAVELLER. 157

The red-bird warbled, as he wrought

His hanging nest overhead, And fearless, near the fatal spot,

Her young the partridge led.

But there was weeping far away,

And gentle eyes for him, With watching many an anxious day,

Were sorrowful and dim.

They little knew, who loved him so,

The fearful death he met, When shouting o'er the desert snow,

Unarmed, and hard beset ; —

Nor how, when round the frosty pole

The northern dawn was red, The mountain wolf and wild cat stole

To banquet on the dead ; —

158 POEMS.

Nor how, when strangers found his bones,

They dressed the hasty bier, And marked his grave with nameless stones,

Unmoistened by a tear.

But long they looked, and feared, and wept,

Within his distant home ; And dreamed, and started as they slept,

For joy that he was come.

Long, long they looked — but never spied

His welcome step again, Nor knew the fearful death he died

Far down that narrow glen

HYMN TO THE NORTH STAR.

THE sad and solemn night Hath yet her multitude of cheerful fires ;

The glorious host of light Walk the dark hemisphere till she retires ; All through her silent watches, gliding slow, Her constellations come, and climb the heavens, and go.

Day, too, hath many a star To grace his gorgeous reign, as bright as they ; Through the blue fields afar,

160 POEMS.

Unseen, they follow in his flaming way : Many a bright lingerer, as the eve grows dim, Tells what a radiant troop arose and set with him.

And thou dost see them rise, Star of the Pole ! and thou dost see them set.

Alone, in thy cold skies, Thou keep'st thy old unmoving station yet, Nor join'st the dances of that glittering train, Nor dipp'st thy virgin orb in the blue western main.

There, at morn's rosy birth, Thou lookest meekly through the kindling air,

And eve, that round the earth Chases the day, beholds thee watching there ; There noontide finds thee, and the hour that calls The shapes of polar flame to scale heaven's azure walls.

HYMN TO THE NORTH STAR. 161

Alike, beneath thine eye, The deeds of darkness and of light are done ;

High towards the star-lit sky Towns blaze, the smoke of battle blots the sun, The night-storm on a thousand hills is loud, And the strong wind of day doth mingle sea and cloud.

On thine unaltering blaze, The half- wrecked mariner, his compass lost,

Fixes his steady gaze,

And steers, undoubting, to the friendly coast ; And they who stray in perilous wastes, by night, Are glad when thou dost shine to guide their

footsteps right.

And, therefore, bards of old, Sages, and hermits of the solemn wood, Did in thy beams behold

162 POEMS.

A beauteous type of that unchanging good, That bright eternal beacon, by whose ray The voyager of time should shape his heedful way.

THE LAPSE OF TIME.

LAMENT who will, in fruitless tears, The speed with which our moments fly

I sigh not over vanished years,

But watch the years that hasten hy,

Look, how they come, — a mingled crowd Of bright and dark, but rapid days ;

Beneath them, like a summer cloud, The wide world changes as I gaze.

164 POEMS.

What ! grieve that time has brought so soon The sober age of manhood on ?

As idly might I weep at noon, To see the blush of morning gone.

Could I give up the hopes that glow

In prospect like Elysian isles ; And let the cheerful future go,

With all her promises and smiles ?

The future ! — cruel were the power

Whose doom would tear thee from my heart

Thou sweetener of the present hour 1 We cannot — no — we will not part.

Oh, leave me, still, the rapid flight That makes the changing seasons gay,

The grateful speed that brings the night, The swift and glad return of day ;

THE LAPSE OF TIME. 165

The months that touch, with added grace. This little prattler at my knee,

In whose arch eye and speaking face New meaning every hour I see ;

The years, that o'er each sister land Shall lift the country of my birth,

And nurse her strength, till she shall stand The pride and pattern of the earth :

Till younger commonwealths, for aid, Shall cling about her ample robe,

And from her frown shall shrink afraid The crowned oppressors of the globe.

True — time will seam and blanch my brow — Well — I shall sit with aged men,

And my good glass will tell me how A grizzly beard becomes me then.

166 POEMS.

And then, should no dishonor lie Upon my head, when I arn gray,

Love yet shall watch my fading eye, And smooth the path of my decay,

Then haste thee, Time — 'tis kindness all That speeds thy winged feet so fast ;

Thy pleasures stay not till they pall, And all thy pains are quickly past.

Thou fliest and bear'st away our woes. And as thy shadowy train depart,

The memory of sorrow grows A lighter burden on the heart.

SONG OF THE STARS.

W HEN the radiant morn of creation broke. And the world in the smile of God awoke, And the empty realms of darkness and death Were moved through their depths by his mighty

breath,

And orbs of beauty and spheres of flame From the void abyss by myriads came, — In the joy of youth as they darted away, Through the widening wastes of space to play, Their silver voices in chorus rang, And this was the song the bright ones sang :

168 POEMS.

" Away, away, through the wide, wide sky, The fair blue fields that before us lie, — Each sun with the worlds that round him roll, Each planet, poised on her turning pole ; With her isles of green, and her clouds of white? And her waters that lie like fluid light.

" For the source of glory uncovers his face, And the brightness overflows unbounded space ; And we drink as we go the luminous tides In our ruddy air and our blooming sides ; Lo, yonder the living splendors play ; Away, on our joyous path, away !

" Look, look, through our glittering ranks afar

In the infinite azure, star after star,

How they brighten and bloom as they swiftly

pass 1 How the verdure runs o'er each rolling mass 1

SONG OF THE STARS. 169

And the path of the gentle winds is seen, Where the small waves dance, and the young woods lean.

" And see, where the brighter day-beams pour, How the rainbows hang in the sunny shower ; And the morn and eve, with their pomp of hues, Shift o'er the bright planets and shed their dews; And 'twixt them both, o'er the teeming ground, With her shadowy cone the night goes round !

" Away, away ! in our blossoming bowers,

In the soft air wrapping these spheres of ours,

In the seas and fountains that shine with morn,

See, Love is brooding, and Life is born,

And breathing myriads are breaking from night,

To rejoice, like us, in motion and light.

" Glide on in your beauty, ye youthful spheres,

To weave the dance that measures the years ; ,12

170 POEMS.

Glide on, in the glory and gladness sent, To the furthest wall of the firmament, — The boundless visible smile of Him, To the veil of whose brow your lamps are dim."

A FOKEST HYMN.

THE groves were God's first temples. Ere

man learned

To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, And spread the roof above them, — ere he framed The lofty vault, to gather and roll back The sound of anthems ; in the darkling wood, Amid the cool and silence, he knelt down, And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks And supplication. For his simple heart Might not resist the sacred influences

172 POEMS.

Which, from the stilly twilight of the place, And from the gray old trunks that high in heaven Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the sound Of the invisible breath that swayed at once All their green tops, stole over him, and bowed His spirit with the thought of boundless power And inaccessible majesty. Ah, why Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore Only among the crowd, and under roofs That our frail hands have raised? Let me, at

least,

Here, in the shadow of this aged wood, Offer one hymn — thrice happy, if it find Acceptance in His ear.

Father, thy hand

Hath reared these venerable columns, thou Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down

A FOREST HYMN. 173

Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose Ml these fair ranks of trees. They, in thy sun. Budded, and shook their green leaves in thy

breeze, And shot towards heaven. The century-living

crow,

Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died Among their branches, till, at last, they stood, As now they stand, massy, and tall, and dark, Fit shrine for humble worshipper to hold Communion with his Maker. These dim vaults, These winding aisles, of human pomp or pride Keport not. No fantastic carvings show The boast of our vain race to change the form " Of thy fair works. But thou art here — thou

fill'st

The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds That run along the summit of these trees In music ; thou art in the cooler breath That from the inmost darkness of the place

174 POEMS.

Comes, scarcely felt ; the barky trunks, the

ground, The fresh moist ground, are all instinct with

thee.

Here is continual worship ; — nature, here, In the tranquillity that thou dost love, Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly, around, From perch to perch, the solitary bird Passes ; and yon clear spring, that, midst its

herbs,

Wells softly forth and wandering steeps the roots Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale Of all the good it does. Thou hast not left Thyself without a witness, in these shades, Of thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, and

grace

Are here to speak of thee. This mighty oak — By whose immovable stem I stand and seem Almost annihilated — not a prince, In all that proud old world beyond the deep,

A FOREST HYMN. 175

E'er wore his crown as loftily as lie Wears the green coronal of leaves with which Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his root Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare Of the broad sun. That delicate forest flower With scented breath, and look so like a smile, Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mould, An emanation of the indwelling Life, A visible token of the upholding Love, That are the soul of this wide universe.

My heart is awed within me when I think Of the great miracle that still goes on, In silence, round me — the perpetual work Of thy creation, finished, yet renewed For ever. Written on thy works I read The lesson of thy own eternity. Lo ! all grow old and die — but see again How on the faltering footsteps of decay

176 POEMS.

Youth presses — ever gay and beautiful youth, In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees Wave not less proudly that their ancestors Moulder beneath them. Oh, there is not lost One of earth's charms : upon her bosom yet, After the flight of untold centuries, The freshness of her far beginning lies And yet shall lie. Life mocks the idle hate Of his arch enemy Death — yea, seats himself Upon the tyrant's throne — the sepulchre, And of the triumphs of his ghastly foe Makes his own nourishment. For he came forth From thine own bosom, and shall have no end.

There have been holy men who hid themselves Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave Their lives to thought and prayer, till they

outlived

The generation born with them, nor seemed Less aged than the hoary trees and rocko

A FOREST HYMN. 177

Around them ; — and there have buen holy men

Who deemed it were not well to pass life thus.

But let me often to these solitudes

Retire, and in thy presence reassure

My feeble virtue. Here its enemies,

The passions, at thy plainer footsteps shiink

And tremble and are still. Oh, God! when

thou

Dost scare the world with tempests, set on fire The heavens with falling thunderbolts, or fill With all the waters of the firmament, The swift dark whirlwind that uproots the woods And drowns the villages ; when, at thy call, Uprises the great deep and throws himself Upon the continent, and overwhelms Its cities — who forgets not, at the sight Of these tremendous tokens of thy power, His pride, and lays his strifes and follies by ? Oh, from these sterner aspects of thy face Spare me and mine, nor let us need the wrath

178 POEMS.

Of the mad unchained elements to teach Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate, In these calm shades, thy milder majesty, And to the beantiful order of thy works Learn to conform the order of our lives.

" OH, FAIREST OF THE RURAL MAIDS."

OH, fairest of the rural maids ! Thy birth was in the forest shades ; Green boughs, and glimpses of the sky, Were all that met thine infant eye.

Thy sports, thy wanderings, when a child, Were ever in the sylvan wild ; And all the beauty of the place Is in thy heart and on thy face.

180 POEMS.

The twilight of the trees and rocks Is in the light shade of thy locks ; Thy step is as the wind, that weaves Its playful way among the leaves.

Thine eyes are springs, in whose serene And silent waters heaven is seen ; Their lashes are the herbs that look On their young figures in the brook.

The forest depths, by foot unpressed, Are not more sinless than thy breast ; The holy peace, that fills the air Of those calm solitudes, is there.

' I BKOKE THE SPELL THAT HELD ME LONG."

I BROKE the spell that held me long,

The dear, dear witchery of song.

I said, the poet's idle lore

Shall waste my prime of years no more,

For Poetry, though heavenly born,

Consorts with poverty and scorn.

I broke the spell — nor deemed its power Could fetter me another hour. Ah, thoughtless ! how could I forget Its causes were around me yet ?

182 POEMS.

For wheresoever I looked, the while, Was nature's everlasting smile.

Still came and lingered on my sight

Of flowers and streams the bloom and light,

And glory of the stars and sun ; —

And these and poetry are one.

They, ere the world had held me long,

Recalled me to the love of song.

JUNE.

1 GAZED upon the glorious sky

And the green mountains round, And thought that when I came to lie

At rest within the ground, 'Twere pleasant, that in flowery June, When brooks send up a cheerful tune,

And groves a joyous sound, The sexton's hand, my grave to make, The rich, green mountain turf should break

A cell within the frozen mould, A coffin borne through sleet,

184 POEMS.

•

And icy clods above it rolled,

While fierce the tempests beat —

Away ! — I will not think of these —

Blue be the sky and soft the breeze, Earth green beneath the feet,

And be the damp mould gently pressed

Into my narrow place of rest.

There, through the long, long summer hours,

The golden light should lie, And thick young herbs and groups of flowers

Stand in their beauty by. The oriole should build and tell His love-tale close beside my cell ;

The idle butterfly

Should rest him there, and there be heard The housewife bee and humming-bird.

And what if cheerful shouts at noon Come, from the village sent,

"In flower}' June. When brooks send up a cheerful tune."

JUNE. 185

Or songs of maids, beneath the moon,

With fairy laughter blent ? And what if; in the evening light, Betrothed lovers walk in sight

Of my low monument ? I would the lovely scene around Might know no sadder sight cr sound

I know, I know I should not see

The season's glorious show, Nor would its brightness shine for me,

Nor its wild music flow; Bat if, around my place of sleep, The friends I love should come to weep,

They might not haste to go. Soft airs and song and light and bloom Should keep them lingering by my tomb.

These to their softened hearts should bear

The thought of what has been, 13

186 POEMS.

And speak of one who cannot share

The gladness of the scene ; Whose part, in all the pomp that fills The circuit of the summer hills3 Is — that his grave is green : And deeply would their hearts rejoice To hear again his living voice.

A SONG OF PITCAIRN'S ISLAND.

COME, take our boy, and we will go

Before our cabin door ; The winds shall bring us, as they blow,

The murmurs of the shore ; And we will kiss his young blue eyes, And I will sing him, as he lies,

Songs that were made of yore : I'll sing, in his delighted ear, The island lays thou lov'st to hear.

And thou, while stammering I repeat, Thy country's tongue shall teach ;

188 POEMS.

'Tis not BO soft, but far more sweet

Than my own native speech : For thou no other tongue didst know, When, scarcely twenty moons ago,

Upon Tahete's beach, Thou cam'st to woo me to be thine, With many a speaking look and sign.

I knew thy meaning — thou didst praise My eyes, my locks of jet ;

Ah ! well for me they won thy gaze — But thine were fairer yet !

I'm glad to see my infant wear

Thy soft blue eyes and sunny hair, And when my sight is met

By his white brow and blooming cheek,

I feel a joy I cannot speak.

Come talk of Europe's maids with me, Whose necks and cheeks, they tell,

A SONG OF PITCAIRN'S ISLAND. 189

Outshine the beauty of the sea, White foam and crimson shell.

I'll shape like theirs my simple dress,

And bind like them each jetty tress, A sight to please thee well ;

And for my dusky brow will braid

A bonnet like an English maid.

Come, for the soft low sunlight calls, We lose the pleasant hours ;

'Tis lovelier than these cottage walls,— That seat among the flowers.

And I will learn of thee a prayer

To Him who gave a home so fair, A lot so blest as ours — •

The God who made for thee and me

This sweet lone isle amid the sea.

THE FIBMAMENT,

AY ! gloriously thou standest there, Beautiful, boundless firmament !

That, swelling wide o'er earth and air, And round the horizon bent,

With thy bright vault, and sapphire wall,

Dost overhang and circle all.

Far, far below thee, tall gray trees Arise, and piles built up of old,

THE FIRMAMENT. 191

And hills, whose ancient summits freeze

In the fierce light and cold. The eagle soars his utmost height, Yet far thou stretchest o'er his flight.

Thou hast thy frowns — with thee on high The storm has made his airy seat.

Beyond that soft hlue curtain lie His stores of hail and sleet.

Thence the consuming lightnings break,

There the strong hurricanes awake.

Yet art thou prodigal of smiles —

Smiles, sweeter than thy frowns are stern.

Earth sends, from all her thousand isles, A shout at their return.

The glory that comes down from thee,

Bathes, in deep joy, the land and sea.

192 POEMS.

The sun, the gorgeous sun is thine,

The pomp that brings and shuts the day,

The clouds that round him change and shine, The airs that fan his way.

Thence look the thoughtful stars, and there

The meek moon walks the silent air.

The sunny Italy may boast

The beauteous tints that flush her skies, And lovely, round the Grecian coast,

May thy blue pillars rise. I only know how fair they stand Around my own beloved land.

And they are fair — a charm is theirs,

That earth, the proud green earth, has not —

With all the forms, and hues, and airs, That haunt her sweetest spot.

We gaze upon thy calm pure sphere.

And read of Heaven's eternal year.

THE FIRMAMENT. 193

Oh, when, amid the throng of men, The heart grows sick of hollow mirth,

How willingly we turn us then Away from this cold earth,

And look into thy azure breast,

For seats of innocence and rest !

" I CANNOT FORGET WITH WHAT FERVID DEVOTION."

I CANNOT forget with, what fervid devotion I worshipped the visions of verse and of fame :

Each gaze at the glories of earth, sky, and

ocean, •To my kindled emotions, was wind over flame.

And deep were my musings in life's early blos som,

Mid the twilight of mountain groves wander ing long ;

195

How thrilled my young veins, and how throbbed

my full bosom, When o'er me descended the spirit of song.

'Mong the deep-cloven fells that for ages had

listened

To the rush of the pebble-paved river between, Where the kingfisher screamed and gray preci pice glistened,

All breathless with awe have I gazed on the scene ;

Till I felt the dark power o'er my reveries steal ing, From the gloom of the thickets that over me

hung, And the thoughts that awoke in that rapture

of feeling,

Were formed into verse as they rose to my tongue.

196 POEMS.

Bright visions ! I mixed with the world, and ye faded ;

No longer your pure rural worshipper now ; In the haunts your continual presence pervaded,

Ye shrink from the signet of care on my brow.

In the old mossy groves on the breast of the

mountain,

In deep lonely glens where the waters com plain, By the shade of the rock, by the gush of the

fountain,

I seek your loved footsteps, but seek them in vain.

Oh, leave not, forlorn and for ever forsaken, Your pupil and victim to life and its tears I

But sometimes return, and in mercy awaken The glories ye showed to his earlier years.

TO A MUSQUITO.

FAIR insect ! that, with threadlike legs spread out,

And blood-extracting bill and filmy wing, Dost murmur, as thou slowly sail'st about,

In pitiless ears full many a plaintive thing, And tell how little our large veins should bleed, Would we but yield them to thy bitter need.

Unwillingly, I own, and, what is worse, Full angrily men hearken to thy plaint ;

198 POEMS.

Thou gettest many a brush and many a curse, For saying thou art gaunt, and starved, and

faint :

Even the old beggar, while he asks for food, Would kill thee, hapless stranger, if he could.

I call thee stranger, for the town, I ween,

Has not the honor of so proud a birth, — Thou com'st from Jersey meadows, fresh and

green, The offspring of the gods, though born on

earth ;

For Titan was thy sire, and fair was she, The ocean nymph that nursed thy infancy.

Beneath the rushes was thy cradle swung, And when, at length, thy gauzy wings grew strong,

Abroad to gentle airs their folds were flung, Kose in the sky and bore thee soft along ;

TO A MUSQUITO. 199

The south wind breathed to waft thee on thy

way, And danced and shone beneath the billowy bay.

Calm rose afar the city spires, and thence Came the deep murmur of its throng of men,

And as its grateful odors met thy sense,

They seemed the perfumes of thy native fen.

Fair lay its crowded streets, and at the sight

Thy tiny song grew shriller with delight.

At length thy pinions fluttered in Broadway — Ah, there were fairy steps, and white necks

kissed

By wanton airs, and eyes whose killing ray Shone through the snowy veils like stars

through mist ;

And fresh as morn, on many a cheek and chin, Bloomed the bright blood through the trans parent skin.

200 POEMS.

Sure these were sights to touch an anchorite !

What ! do I hear thy slender voice complain? Thou wailest, when I talk of beauty's light,

As if it brought the memory of pain. Thou art a wayward being — well — come near, And pour thy tale of sorrow in my ear.

What sayst thou — slanderer ! — rouge makes

thee sick?

And China bloom at best is sorry food ? And Kowland's Kalydor, if laid on thick, Poisons the thirsty wretch that bores for

blood?

Go ! 'twas a just reward that met thy crime — But shun the sacrilege another time.

That bloom was made to look at, not to touch ;

To worship, not approach, that radiant white ;

And well might sudden vengeance light on such

TO A MUSQUITO. 201

As dared, like thee, most impiously to bite. Thou sliouldst have gazed at distance and ad mired, Murmured thy adoration and retired.

Thou'rt welcome to the town — but why come here

To bleed a brother poet, gaunt like thoe ? Alas ! the little blood I have is dear,

And thin will be the banquet drawn from me. Look round — the pale-eyed sisters in my cell, Thy old acquaintance, Song and Famine, dwell.

Try some plump alderman, and suck the blood Enriched by generous wine and costly meat ;

On well-filled skins, sleek as thy native mud, Fix thy light pump and press thy freckled feet :

Go to the men for whom, in ocean's halls,

The oyster breeds, and the green turtle sprawls. 14

202 POEMS.

There corks are drawn, and the red vintage

flows

To fill the swelling veins for thee; and now The ruddy cheek and now the ruddier nose Shall tempt thee, as thou flittest round the

brow j

And when the hour of sleep its quiet brings, No angry hand shall rise to brush thy wings.

LINES ON REVISITING THE COUNTRY.

I STAND upon my native hills again,

Broad, round, and green, that in the summer

sky With garniture of waving grass and grain,

Orchards, and beechen forests, basking lie ; While deep the sunless glens are scooped be tween,

Where brawl o'er shallow beds the streams un seen.

A lisping voice and glancing eyes are near, And ever restless feet of one, who, now,

204 POEMS.

Gathers the blossoms of her fourth bright year ; There plays a gladness o'er her fair young

brow,

As breaks the varied scene upon her sight, Upheaved and spread in verdure and in light.

For I have taught her, with delighted eye, To gaze upon the mountains, — to behold,

With deep affection, the pure ample sk/, And clouds along its blue abysses rolled, —

To love the song of waters, and to hear

The melody of winds with charmed ear.

Here, I have 'scaped the city's stifling heat, Its horrid sounds and its polluted air ;

And, where the season's milder fervors beat, And gales, that sweep the forest borders, beat

The song of bird, and sound of running stream,

Am come awhile to wander and to dream.

ON REVISITING THE COUNTRY. 205

Ay, flame thy fiercest, sun ! thou canst not

wake,

In this pure air, the plague that walks unseen.

The maize leaf and the maple bough but take,

From thy strong heats, a deeper, glossier

green.

The mountain wind, that faints not in thy ray, Sweeps the blue steams of pestilence away.

The mountain wind ! most spiritual thing of all The wide earth knows ; when, in the sultry time,

He stoops him from his vast cerulean hall, He seems the breath of a celestial clime !

As if from heaven's wide-open gates did flow

Health and refreshment on the world below.

THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS.

THE melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,

Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and mead ows brown and sere.

Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves He dead ;

They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rab bit's tread.

The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay,

A.nd from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day.

THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS. 207

Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers,

that lately sprang and stood In brighter light, and softer airs, a beauteous

sisterhood ? Alas ! they all are in their graves, the gentle

race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and

good of ours. The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold

November rain Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely

ones again.

The wind-flower and the violet, they perished

long ago, And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the

summer glow ; But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in

the wood,

208 POEMS.

And the yellow sun-flower by the brook in au tumn beauty stood,

Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague on men,

And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland, glade, and glen.

And noAV, when comes the calm mild day, as

still such days will come, To call the squirrel and the bee from out their

winter home ; When the sound of dropping nuts is heard,

though all the trees are still, And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of

the rill, The south wind searches for the flowers whose

fragrance late he bore, And sighs to find them in the wood and by the

stream no more.

THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS. 209

And then I think of one who in her youthful

beauty died, The fair meek blossom that grew up and faded

by my side : In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the

forest cast the leaf, And we wept that one so lovely should have a

life so brief : Yet not unmeet it was that one, like that

young friend of ours, So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with

the flowers.

ROMERO

WHEN freedom, from the land of Spain, By Spain's degenerate sons was driven,

Who gave their willing limbs again To wear the chain so lately riven ;

Romero broke the sword he wore — " Go, faithful brand," the warrior said,

" Gro, undishonored, never more

The blood of man shall make thee red : I grieve for that already shed ;

And I am sick at heart to know,

That faithful friend and noble foe

ROMERO. 211

Have only bled to make more strong The yoke that Spain has worn so long. Wear it who will, in abject fear —

I wear it not who have been free ; The perjured Ferdinand shall hear

No oath of loyalty from me/" Then, hunted by the hounds of power,

Komero chose a safe retreat, Where bleak Nevada's summits tower

Above the beauty at their feet. There once, when on his cabin lay The crimson light of setting day, When even on the mountain's breast The chainless winds were all at rest, And he could hear the river's flow From the calm paradise below ; Warmed with his former fires again, He framed this rude but solemn strain :

212 POEMS.

" Here will I make my home — for here at

least I see Upon this wild Sierra's side, the steps of

Liberty. Where the locust chirps unscared beneath the

unpruned lime, And the merry bee doth hide from man the

spoil of the mountain thyme ; Where the pure winds come and go, and the

wild vine strays at will, An outcast from the haunts of men, she dwells

with Nature still.

ii.

" I see the valleys, Spain ! where thy mighty

rivers run,

And the hills that lift thy harvests and vine yards to the sun,

ROMERO. 213

And the flocks that drink thy brooks and sprinkle all the green.

Where lie thy plains, with sheep-walks seamed, and olive-shades between.

I see thy jig-trees bask, with the fair pome granate near,

And the fragrance of thy lemon-groves can almost reach me here.

in.

" Fair-— fair — but fallen Spain ! 'tis with a

swelling heart, That I think on all thou mightst have been,

and look at what thou art ; But the strife is over now, and all the good and

brave, That would have raised thee up, are gone, to

exile or the grave.

214 POEMS.

Thy fleeces are for monks, thy grapes for the

convent feast, And the wealth of all thy harvest fields for the

pampered lord and priest.

IV.

" But I shall see the day — it will come before I die—

I shall see it in my silver hairs, and with an age- dimmed eye ; —

When the spirit of the land to liberty shall "bound,

As yonder fountain leaps away from the dark ness of the ground ;

And to my mountain cell, the voices of the free

Shall rise, as from the beaten shore the thunders of the sea."

A MEDITATION ON EHODE ISLAND COAL.

Decolor, obscuris, vilis, non ille repexara Cesariem regum, non Candida virginls ornat Colla, nee insigni splendet per cingula morsu. Sed nova si nigri videas miracula saxl, Tune superat pulehros cultus et quicquid Eois Indus litoribus rubra scrutatur in alga.

CLAUDI.VN.

I SAT beside the glowing grate, fresh heaped With Newport coal, and as the flame grew

bright —The many-colored flame — and played and

leaped,

216 POEMS.

I thought of rainbows and the northern light, Moore's Lalla Rookh, the Treasury Report, And other brilliant matters of the sort.

And last I thought of that fair isle which sent

The mineral fuel ; on a summer day I saw it once, with heat and travel spent, And scratched by dwarf oaks in the hollow

way; Now dragged through sand, now jolted over

stone — A rugged road through rugged Tiverton.

And hotter grew the air, and hollower grew The deep-worn path, and horror-struck, I thought,

Where will this dreary passage lead me to ? This long dull road, so narrow, deep, and hot ?

I looked to see it dive in earth outright ;

I looked — but saw a far more welcome sight.

A MEDITATION ON COAL. 217

Like a soft mist upon the evening shore, At once a lovely isle before me lay,

Smooth and with tender verdure covered o'er, As if just risen from its calm inland bay ;

Sloped each way gently to the grassy edge,

And the small waves that dallied with the sedge.

The barley was just reaped — its heavy sheaves Lay on the stubble field — the tall maize stood Dark in its summer growth, and shook its

leaves — And bright the sunlight played on the youDg

wood —

For fifty years ago, the old men say, The Briton hewed their ancient groves away.

I saw where fountains freshened the green land, And where the pleasant road, from door to door,

With rows of cherry-trees on either hand, 15

218 POEMS.

Went wandering all that fertile region o'er — Rogue's Island once — but when the rogues were

dead, Rhode Island was the name it took instead.

Beautiful island ! then it only seemed A lovely stranger — it has grown a friend.

I gazed on its smooth slopes, but never dreamed How soon that green and quiet isle would send

The treasures of its womb across the sea,

To warm a poet's room, and boil his tea.

Dark anthracite 1 that reddenest on my hearth, Thou in those island mines didst slumber

long;

But now thou art come forth to move the earth, And put to shame the men that mean thee wrong.

A MEDITATION ON COAL. 219

Thou shalt be coals of fire to those that hate

thee, And warm the shins of all that underrate thee.

Yea, they did wrong thee foully — they who

mocked Thy honest face, and said thou wouldst not

burn ; Of hewing thee to chimney pieces talked

And grew profane — and swore in bitter scorn, That men might to thy inner caves retire. And there, unsinged, abide the day of fire

Yet is thy greatness nigh. I pause to state, That I too have seen greatness — even I —

Shook hands with Adams — stared at La Fayette, When, barehead, in the hot noon of July,

He would not let the umbrella be held o'er him,

For which three cheers burst from the mob before him.

220 POEMS.

And I have seen — not many months ago — An eastern Governor in chapeau bras

And military coat, a glorious show !

Hide forth to visit the reviews, and ah !

How oft he smiled and bowed to Jonathan !

How many hands were shook and votes were won !

'Twas a great Governor — thou too shalt be Great in thy turn— and wide shall spread thy

fame,

And swiftly ; furthest Maine shall hear of thee, And cold New Brunswick gladden at thy

name,

And, faintly through its sleets, the weeping isle That sends the Boston folks their cod shall smile.

For thou shalt forge vast railways, and shalt heat The hissing rivers into steam, and drive

A MEDITATION ON COAL. 221

Huge masses from thy mines, on iron feet,

Walking their steady way, as if alive, Northward, till everlasting ice besets thee, And south as far as the grim Spaniard lets thee.

Thou shalt make mighty engines swim the sea, Like its own monsters — boats that for a guinea

Will take a man to Havre — and shalt be The moving soul of many a spinning-jenny,

And ply thy shuttles, till a bard can wear

As good a suit of broadcloth as the mayor.

Then we will laugh at winter when we hear The grim old churl about our dwellings rave ;

Thou, from that " ruler of the inverted year," Shalt pluck the knotty sceptre Cowper gave,

And pull him from his sledge, and drag him in,

And melt the icicles from off his chin.

THE NEW MOON.

WHEN, as the garish day is done, Heaven burns with the descended sun,

'Tis passing sweet to mark, Amid that flush of crimson light, The new moon's modest bow grow bright.

As earth and sky grow dark.

Few are the hearts too cold to feel A thrill of gladness o'er them steal, When first the wandering eye

THE 'NEW MOON. 223

Sees faintly, in the evening blaze, That glimmering curve of tender rays Just planted in the sky.

The sight of that young crescent brings Thoughts of all fair and youthful things —

The hopes of early years, And childhood's purity and grace, And joys that like a rainbow chase

The passing shower of tears.

The captive yields him to the dream Of freedom, when that virgin beam

Comes out upon the air, And painfully the sick man tries To fix his dim and burning eyes

On the soft promise there.

Most welcome to the lover's sight, Glitters that pure, emerging light ;

224 POEMS.

For prattling poets say That sweetest is tlie lovers' walk, And tenderest is their murmured talk,

Beneatn its gentle ray.

And there do graver men behold A type of errors, loved of old,

Forsaken and forgiven ; And thoughts and wishes not of earth, Just opening in their early birth,

Like that new light in heaven.

OCTOBER.

A SONNET.

AY, them art welcome, heaven's delicious breath, When woods begin to wear the crimson leaf, And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief,

And the year smiles as it draws near its death.

Wind of the sunny south ! oh still delay In the gay woods and in the golden air, Like to a good old age released from care,

Journeying, in long serenity, away.

In such a bright, late quiet, would that I

226 POEMS.

Might wear out life like thee, mid bowers and brooks,

And, dearer yet, the sunshine of kind looks, And music of kind voices ever nigh ; And when my last sand twinkled in the glass, Pass silently from men, as thou dost pass.

THE DAMSEL OF PEKU.

WHERE olive leaves were twinkling in every

wind that blew, There sat beneath the pleasant shade a damsel

of Peru. Betwixt the slender boughs, as they opened to

the air, Came glimpses of her ivory neck and of her

glossy hair ; And sweetly rang her silver voice, within that

shady nook, As from the shrubby glen is heard the sound of

hidden brook.

228 POEMS.

'Tis a song of love and valor, in the noble

Spanish tongue, That once upon the sunny plains of old Castile

was sung ; When, from their mountain holds, on the

Moorish rout below, Had rushed the Christians like a flood, and swept

away the foe. Awhile that melody is still, and then breaks

forth anew, A wilder rhyme, a livelier note, of freedom and

Peru.

For she has bound the sword to a youthful

lover's side, And sent him to the war the day she should

have been his bride, And bade him bear a faithful heart to battle for

the right,

THE DAMSEL OF PERU. 229

And held the fountains of her eyes till he was

out of sight. Since the parting kiss was given, six weary

months are fled, And yet the foe is in the land, and blood must

yet be shed.

A white hand parts the branches, a lovely face

looks forth, And bright dark eyes gaze steadfastly and

sadly toward the north. Thou look'st in vain, sweet maiden, the sharpest

sight would fail To spy a sign of human life abroad in all the

vale ; For the noon is coming on, and the sunbeams

fiercely beat, And the silent hills and forest-tops seem reeling

in the heat.

230 POEMS.

That white hand is withdrawn, that fair sad

face is gone, But the music of that silver voice is flowing

sweetly on, Not as of late, in cheerful tones, but mournfully

and low, — A ballad of a tender maid heart-broken long

ago, Of him who died in battle, the youthful and the

brave, And her who died of sorrow, upon his early

grave.

But see, along that mountain's slope, a fiery

horseman ride ; Mark his torn plume, his tarnished belt, the

sabre at his side. His spurs are buried rowel-deep, he rides with

loosened rein,

THE DAMSEL OF PERU. 231

There's blood upon his charger's flank, and foam

upon the mane ; He speeds him toward the olive-grove, along

that shaded hill : God shield the helpless maiden there, if he

should mean her ill !

And suddenly that song has ceased, and suddenly

I hear A shriek sent up amid the shade, a shriek — but

not of fear. For tender accents follow, and tenderer pauses

speak The overflow of gladness, when words are all

too weak : " I lay my good sword at thy feet, for now Peru

is free, And I am come to dwell beside the olive-grove

with thee."

THE AFRICAN CHIEF.

CHAINED in the market-place lie stood,

A man of giant frame, Amid the gathering multitude

That -shrunk to hear his name — All stern of look and strong of limb,

His dark eye on the ground : — And silently they gazed on him,

As on a lion bound.

Vainly, but well, that chief had fought, He was a captive now,

THE AFRICAN CHIEF. 233

Yet pride, that fortune humbles not,

Was written on his brow. The scars his dark broad bosom wore,

Showed warrior true and brave ; A prince among his tribe before,

He could not be a slave.

Then to his conqueror he spake —

" My brother is a king ; Undo this necklace from my neck,

And take this bracelet ring, And send me where my brother reigns,

And I will fill thy hands With store of ivory from the plains,

And gold-dust from the sands/'

" Not for thy ivory nor thy gold

Will I unbind thy chain ; That bloody hand shall never hold

The battle-spear again. 16

234 POEMS.

A price thy nation never gave Shall yet be paid for thee ;

For thou shalt be the Christian's slave, In lands beyond the sea."

Then wept the warrior chief and bade

To shred his locks away ; And one by one, each heavy braid

Before the victor lay. Thick were the platted locks, and long,

And closely hidden there Shone many a wedge of gold among

The dark and crisped hair.

" Look, feast thy greedy eye with gold Long kept for sorest need :

Take it — thou askest sums untold, And say that I am freed.

Take it — my wife, the long, long day, Weeps by the cocoa-tree,

THE AFRICAN CHIEF. 235

And my young children leave their play, And ask in vain for me."

" I take thy gold — but I have made

Thy fetters fast and strong, And ween that by the cocoa shade

Thy wife will wait thee long." Strong was the agony that shook

The captive's frame to hear, And the proud meaning of his look

Was changed to mortal fear.

His heart was broken — crazed his brain ;

At once his eye grew wild ; He struggled fiercely with his chain,

Whispered, and wept, and smiled ; Yet wore not long those fatal bands

And once, at shut of day, They drew him forth upon the sands,

The foul hyena's prey.

SPKING- IN TOWN.

THE country ever has a lagging Spring, Waiting for May to call its violets forth,

And June its roses — showers and sunshine "bring. Slowly, the deepening verdure o'er the earth;

To put their foliage out, the woods are slack,

And one "by one the singing-birds come back.

Within the city's bounds the time of flowers Comes earlier. Let a mild and sunny day, Such as full often, for a few bright hours,

SPRING IN TOWN. 237

Breathes through the sky of March the airs

of May,

Shine on our roofs and chase the wintry gloom — And lo ! our borders glow with sudden bloom.

For the wide sidewalks of Broadway are then Gorgeous as are a rivulet's banks in June,

That overhung with blossoms, through its glen, Slides soft away beneath the sunny noon,

And they who search the untrodden wood for flowers

Meet in its depths no lovelier ones than ours.

For here are eyes that shame the violet, Or the dark drop that on the pansy lies,

And foreheads, white, as when in clusters set, The anemones by forest fountains rise ;

And the spring-beauty boasts no tenderer streak

Than the soft red on many a youthful cheek.

238 POEMS

And thick about those lovely temples lie Locks that the lucky Yignardonne has curled

Thrice happy man ! whose trade it is to buy, And bake, and braid those love-nets of the world ;

Who curls of every glossy color keepest,

And sellest, it is said, the blackest cheapest.

And well thou rnayst — for Italy's brown maids Send the dark locks with which their brows are dressed,

And Gascon lasses, from their jetty braids, Crop half, to buy a riband for the rest ;

But the fresh Norman girls their tresses spare,

And the Dutch damsel keeps her flaxen hair.

Then, henceforth, let no maid or matron grieve, To see her locks of an unlovely hue,

Frouzy or thin, for liberal art shall give Such piles of curls as nature never knew.

SPRING IN TOWN. 239

Eve, with her veil of tresses, at the sight Had blushed, outdone, and owned herself a fright.

Soft voices and light laughter wake the street, Like notes of woodbirds, and where'er the

eye

Threads the long way, plumes wave, and twin kling feet

Fall light, as hastes that crowd of beauty by. The ostrich, hurrying o'er the desert space, Scarce bore those tossing plumes with fleetei pace.

* No swimming Juno-gait, of languor born,

Is theirs, but a light step of freest grace, Light as Camilla's o'er the unbent corn, —

A step that speaks the spirit of the place, Since Quiet, meek old dame, was driven away To Sing-Sing and the shores of Tappan bay.

240 POEMS.

Ye that dash by in chariots ! who will care For steeds or footmen now ? ye cannot show

Fair face, and dazzling dress, and graceful air, And last edition of the shape ! Ah no ;

These sights are for the earth and open sky.

And your loud wheels unheeded rattle hy.

THE GLADNESS OF NATURE.

Is this a time to be cloudy and sad, When our mother Nature laughs around ;

When even the deep blue heavens look glad, And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground ?

There are notes of joy from the hang-bird and

wren, And the gossip of swallows through all the

sky;

The ground-squirrel gayly chirps by his den, And the wilding bee hums merrily by.

242 POEMS.

The clouds are at play in the azure space, And their shadows at play on the bright green vale,

And here they stretch to the frolic chase, And there they roll on the easy gale.

There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower, There's a titter of winds in that beechen tree, There's a smile on the fruit and a smile on the

flower,

And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea.

And look at the broad-faced sun, how he smiles On the dewy earth that smiles in his ray,

On the leaping waters and gay young isles ; Ay, look, and he'll smile thy gloom away.

THE DISINTERRED WARRIOR.

GATHER him to his grave again,

And solemnly and softly lay, Beneath the verdure of the plain,

The warrior's scattered bones away. Pay the deep reverence, taught of old,

The homage of man's heart to death ; Nor dare to trifle with-the mould

Once hallowed by the Almighty's breath.

The soul hath quickened every part — That remnant of a martial brow,

244 POEMS.

Those ribs that held the mighty heart, That strong arm — strong no longer now.

Spare them, each mouldering relic spare, Of God's own image ; let them rest,

Till not a trace shall speak of where The awful likeness was impressed.

For he was fresher from the hand

That formed of earth the human face, And to the elements did stand

In nearer kindred than our race. In many a flood to madness tossed,

In many a storm has been his path ; He hid him not from heat or frost,

But met them, and defied their wrath.

Then they were kind — the forests here, Kivers, and stiller waters, paid

A tribute to the net and spear Of the red ruler of the shade.

THE DISINTERRED WARRIOR. 245

Fruits on the woodland branches lay,

Boots in the shaded soil below, The stars looked forth to teach his way,

The still earth warned him of the foe.

A noble race ! but they are gone,

With their old forests wide and deep, And we have built our homes upon

Fields where their generations sleep. Their fountains slake our thirst at noon,

Upon their fields our harvest waves, Our lovers woo beneath their moon —

Then let us spare at least their graves I

MIDSUMMER

A SONNET.

A POWER is on the earth and in the air, From which the vital spirit shrinks afraid, And shelters him, in nooks of deepest shade,

From the hot steam and from the fiery glare.

Look forth upon the earth — her thousand plants Are smitten ; even the dark sun-loving maize Faints in the field beneath the torrid blaze ;

The herd beside the shaded fountain pants ;

For life is driven from all the landscape brown ;

MIDSUMMER. 247

The bird hath sought his tree, the snake his

den, The trout floats dead in the hot stream, and

men

Drop by the sun-stroke in the populous town : As if the Day of Fire had dawned, and sent Its deadly breath into the firmament.

THE GREEK PARTISAN

OUK free flag is dancing

In the free mountain air, And burnished arms are glancing,

And warriors gathering there ! And fearless is the little train

Whose gallant bosoms shield it , The blood that warms their hearts shall stain

That banner ere they yield it. — Each dark eye is fixed on earth,

And brief each solemn greeting ; There is no look nor sound of mirth,

Where those stern men are meeting.

THE GREEK PARTISAN. 249

They go to the slaughter,

To strike the sudden blow, And pour on earth, like water,

The best blood of the foe ; To rush on them from rock and height,

And clear the narrow valley, Or fire their camp at dead of night,

And fly before they rally. • — Chains are round our country pressed,

And cowards have betrayed her, And we must make her bleeding breast

The grave of the invader.

Not till from her fetters

We raise up Greece again, And write, in bloody letters,

That tyranny is slain, — Oh, not till then the smile shall steal

Across those darkened faces,

Nor one of all those warriors feel

17

250 POEMS.

His children's dear embraces. — Keap we not the ripened wheat,

Till yonder hosts are flying, And all their bravest, at our feet,

Like autumn sheaves are lying.

THE TWO GKAVES.

'Tis a bleak wild hill, but green and bright In the summer warmth and the mid-day light ; There's the hum of the bee and the chirp of the

wren,

And the dash of the brook from the alder glen; There's the sound of a bell from the scattered

flock, And the shade of the beech lies cool on the

rock, And fresh from the west is the free wind's

breath, — There is nothing here that speaks of death.

252 POEMS

Far yonder, where orchards and gardens lie, And dwellings cluster, 'tis there men die. They are born, they die, and are buried near, Where the populous grave-yard lightens the

bier ;

For strict and close are the ties that bind In death the children of human-kind ; Yea, stricter and closer than those of life, — 'Tis a neighborhood that knows no strife. They are noiselessly gathered — friend and foe— To the still and dark assemblies below. Without a frown or a smile they meet, Each pale and calm in his winding-sheet ; In that sullen home of peace and gloom, Crowded, like guests in a banquet-room.

Yet there are graves in this lonely spot, Two humble graves, but I meet them not. I have seen them, — eighteen years are past, Since I found their place in the brambles last, —

THE TWO GRAVES. 253

The place where, fifty winters ago, And aged man in his locks of snow, And an aged matron, withered with years, Were solemnly laid ! — but not with tears. For none, who sat by the light of their hearth, Beheld their coffins covered with earth ; Their kindred were far, and their children dead, When the funeral prayer was coldly said.

Two low green hillocks, two small gray stones Rose over the place that held their bones ; But the grassy hillocks are levelled again, And the keenest eye might search in vain, 'Mong briers, and ferns, and paths of sheep, For the spot where the aged couple sleep.

Yet well might they lay, beneath the soil Of this lonely spot, that man of toil,

ite stare tad nwoii with the

Wkot

And gre the Tbgin fidfe to tie dajr ;

1DBHHT <ll|M9Bfiu

Ail :ii ii.:—.: :::.;.! ap, md Ube beudfid :y -? Badt 10v in tbe "hreatk of an unknowi:

Tfe aid tiat when fife k ended here, Hie qpint k IMKBC to a distant sphere ; That it fiats its eaitMj home no mare, Nor looks on the Launta it loved before. But *% sbcwld the badfleas sK»al be aent Far <•% to a long, feng laniahment 1 Talk not of the fight and the fifing green ! It wffl pine fer the dear fimnfiar

THE TWO GRAVBSL 255

It will yearn, in that strange bright world, to

behold The rock and the stream it knew of old,

'Tis a cruel creed/ believe it not ! Death to the good is a milder lot. They are here, — they are here, — that harmless

pair,

In th^ yellow sunshine and flowing air, In the light cloud-shadows that slowly pass, In the sounds that rise from the murmuring

grass.

They sit where their humble cottage stood, They walk by the waving edge of the wood, And list to the long accustomed flow Of the brook that wets the rocks below, Patient, and peaceful, and passionless, As seasons on seasons swiftly press, They watch, and wait, and linger around, Till the day when their bodies shall leave the

ground.

THE CONJUNCTION OF JUPITER

AND YENUS.

I WOULD not always reason. The straight

path

Wearies us with its never-varying lines, And we grow melancholy. I would make Reason my guide, but she should sometimes sii Patiently by the way-side, while I traced The mazes of the pleasant wilderness Around me. She should be my counsellor, But not my tyrant. For the spirit needs Impulses from a deeper source than hers,

CONJUNCTION OF JUPITER AND VENUS. 257

And there are motions, in the mind of man, That she must look upon with awe. I bow Reverently to her dictates, but not less Hold to the fair illusions of old time — Illusions that shed brightness over life, And glory over nature. Look, even now, Where two bright planets in the twilight meet, Upon the saffron heaven, — the imperial star Of Jove, and she that from her radiant urn Pours forth the light of love. Let me believe, Awhile, that they are met for ends of good, Amid the evening glory, to confer Of men and their affairs, and to shed down Kind influence. Lo ! they brighten as we gaze, And shake out softer fires ! The great earth

feels

The gladness and the quiet of the time. Meekly the mighty river, that infolds This mighty city, smooths his front, and far Glitters and burns even to the rocky base

258 POEMS.

Of the dark heights that bound him to the

west ;

And a deep murmur, from the many streets, . Kises like a thanksgiving. Put we hence Dark and sad thoughts awhile — there's time fot

them

Hereafter — on the morrow we will meet, With melancholy looks, to tell our griefs, And make each other wretched ; this calm hour, This balmy, blessed evening, we will give To cheerful hopes and dreams of happy days, Born of the meeting of those glorious stars.

Enough of drought has parched the year and

scared

The land with dread of famine. Autumn, yet, Shall make men glad with unexpected fruits. The dog-star shall shine harmless : genial days Shall softly glide away into the keen And wholesome cold of winter ; he that fears

CONJUNCTION OF JUPITER AND VENUS. 259

The pestilence, shall gaze on those pure beams, And breathe, with confidence, the quiet air.

Emblems of power and beauty ! well may

they

Shine brightest on our borders, and withdraw Towards the great Pacific, marking out The path of empire. Thus, in our own land, Ere long, the better Genius of our race, Having encompassed earth, and tamed its tribes, Shall sit him down beneath the farthest west, By the shore of that calm ocean, and look back On realms made happy.

Light the nuptial torch, And say the glad yet solemn rite that knits The youth and maiden. Happy days to them That wed this evening ! — a long life of love, And blooming sons and daughters ! Happy they

260 POEMS.

Born at this hour, — for they shall see an age Whiter and holier than the past, and go Late to their graves. Men shall wear softer

hearts,

And shudder at the butcheries of war, As now at other murders.

Hapless Greece !

Enough of blood has wet thy rocks, and stained Thy rivers ; deep enough thy chains have worn Their links into thy flesh ; the sacrifice Of thy pure maidens, and thy innocent babes, And reverend priests, has expiated all Thy crimes of old. In yonder mingling lights There is an omen of good days for thee. Thou shalt arise from midst the dust and sit Again among the nations. Thine own arm Shall yet redeem thee. Not in wars like thine The world takes part. Be it a strife of kings, Despot with despot battling for a throne,

CONJUNCTION OJ JUPITER AND VENUS. 261

And Europe shall be stirred throughout her

realms,

Nations shall put on harness, and shall fall Upon each other, and in all their bounds The wailing of the childless shall not cease. Thine is a war for liberty, and thou Must fight it single-handed. The old world Looks coldly on the murderers of thy race, And leaves thee to the struggle ; and the new— I fear me thou couldst tell a shameful tale Of fraud and lust of gain ; — thy treasury drained, And Missolonghi fallen. Yet thy wrongs Shall put new strength into thy heart and hand, And God and thy good sword shall yet workout For thee, a terrible deliverance.

A SUMMER BAMBLE.

THE quiet August noon has come, A slumberous silence fills the sky,

The fields are still, the woods are dumb, In glassy sleep the waters lie.

And mark yon soft white clouds that rest Above ojir vale, a moveless throng ;

The cattle on the mountain's breast Enjoy the grateful shadow long.

A SUMMER RAMBLE. 263

Oh, how unlike those merry hours,

In early June, when Earth laughs out,

When the fresh winds make love to flowers, And woodlands sing and waters shout.

When in the grass sweet voices talk, And strains of tiny music swell

From every moss-cup of the rock, From every nameless blossom's bell.

But now a joy too deep for sound, A peace no other season knows,

Hushes the heavens and wraps the ground, The blessing of supreme repose,

Away ! I will not be, to-day, The only slave of toil and care.

Away from desk and dust ! away ! I'll be as idle as the air.

264 POEMS.

Beneath the open sky abroad,

Among the plants and breathing things, The sinless, peaceful works of God,

I'll share the calm the season brings.

Come, thou, in whose soft eyes I see The gentle meanings of thy heart,

One day amid the woods with me, From men and all their cares apart.

And where, upon the meadow's breast, The shadow of the thicket lies,

The blue wild flowers thou gatherest Shall glow yet deeper near thine eyes.

Come, and when mid the calm profound, I turn, those gentle eyes to seek,

They, like the lovely landscape round, Of innocence and peace shall speak.

"The quiet August noon has come.

A SUMMER RAMBLE. 265

Rest here, beneath the unrnoving shade,

And on the silent valleys gaze, Winding and widening, till they fade

Tn yon soft ring of summer haze.

The village trees their summits rear Still as its spire, and yonder flock,

At rest in those calm fields, appear As chiselled from the lifeless rock.

One tranquil mount the scene o'erlooks — There the hushed winds their sabbath keep.

While a near hum from bees and brooks Comes faintly like the breath of sleep.

Well may the gazer deem that when,

Worn with the struggle and the strife, And heart-sick at the wrongs of men,

The good forsakes the scene of life ; 18

266 POEMS.

Like tliis deep quiet that, awhile, Lingers the lovely landscape o'er,

Shall be the peace whose holy smile Welcomes him to a happier shore.

A SCENE ON THE BANKS OF THE HUDSON.

COOL shades and dews are round my way,

And silence of the early day ;

Mid the dark rocks that watch his bed,

Glitters the mighty Hudson spread,

Unrippled, save "by drops that fall

From shrubs that fringe his mountain wall ;

And o'er the clear still water swells

The music of the Sabbath bells.

AH, save this little nook of land Circled with trees, on which I stand ;

268 POEMS.

All, save that line of hills which lie Suspended in the mimic sky — Seems a blue void, above, below, Through which the white clouds come and go, And from the green world's farthest steep I gaze into the airy deep.

Loveliest of lovely things are they, On earth, that soonest pass away. The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyond the sculptured flower. Even love, long tried and cherished long, Becomes more tender and more strong, At thought of that insatiate grave From which its yearnings cannot save.

River ! in this still hour thou hast Too much of heaven on earth to last ; Nor long may thy still waters lie, An image of the glorious sky.

A. SCENE ON THE HUDSON. 269

Thy fate and mine are not repose, And, ere another evening close, Thou to thy tides shalt turn again, And I to seek the crowd of men

THE HUKKICANE.

LORD of the winds ! I feel thee nigh, I know thy breath in the burning sky ! And I wait, with a thrill in every vein, For the coming of the hurricane !

And lo ! on the wing of the heavy gales, Through the boundless arch of heaven he sails ; Silent and slow, and terribly strong, The mighty shadow is borne along,

THE HURRICANE. 271

Like the dark eternity to come ; While the world below, dismayed and dumb. Through the calm of the thick hot atmosphere Looks up at its gloomy folds with fear.

They darken fast ; and the golden blaze Of the sun is quenched in the lurid haze, And he sends through the shade a funeral

ray —

A glare that is neither night nor day, A beam that touches, with hues of death, The clouds above and the earth beneath. To its covert glides the silent bird, While the hurricane's distant voice is heard, Uplifted among the mountains round, And the forests hear and answer the sound.

He is come ! he is come ! do ye not behold His ample robes on the wind unrolled ?

272 POEMS.

Giant of air ! we bid thee hail ! —

How his gray skirts toss in the whirling gale ;

How his huge and writhing arms are bent,

To clasp the zone of the firmament,

And fold at length, in their dark embrace,

From mountain to mountain the visible space

Darker — still darker ! the whirlwinds bear The dust of the plains to the middle air : And hark to the crashing, long and loud, Of the chariot of God in the thunder-cloud ! You may trace its path by the flashes that start From the rapid wheels where'er they dart, As the fire-bolts leap to the world below, And flood the skies with a lurid glow.

What roar is that ? — 'tis the rain that breaks In torrents away from the airy lakes, • Heavily poured on the shuddering ground, And shedding a nameless horror round.

THE HURRICANE. 273

Ah ! well known woods, and mountains, and

skies,

With the very clouds! — ye are lost to my eyes. I seek ye vainly, and see in your place The shadowy tempest that sweeps through space, A whirling ocean that fills the wall Of the crystal heaven, and buries all. And I, cut off from the world, remain A-lone with the terrible hurricane.

WILLIAM TELL.

CHAINS may subdue the feeble spirit, but thee, TELL, of the iron heart ! they could not tame ! For thou wert of the mountains ; they pro claim

The everlasting creed of liberty. That creed is written on the untrampled snow, Thundered by torrents which no power can

hold, Save that of God, when he sends forth his cold,

WILLIAM TELL. 275

And breathed by winds that through the free

heaven blow.

Thou, while thy prison walls were dark around, Didst meditate the lesson Nature taught, And to thy brief captivity was brought A. vision of thy Switzerland unbound.

The bitter cup they mingled, strengthened

'thee For the great work to set thy country free.

THE HUNTER'S SERENADE.

THY bower is finished, fairest !

Fit bower for hunter's bride — Where old woods overshadow

The green savanna's side. I've wandered long, and wandered far,

And never have I met, In all this lovely western land,

A spot so lovely yet. But I shall think it fairer,

When thou art come to bless,

277

With thy sweet smile and silver voice, Its silent loveliness.

For thee the wild grape glistens

On sunny knoll and tree, The slim papaya ripens

Its yellow fruit for thee. For thee the duck, on glassy stream,

The prairie-fowl shall die, My rifle for thy feast shall bring

The wild swan from the sky. The forest's leaping panther,

Fierce, beautiful, and fleet, Shall yield his spotted hide to be

A carpet for thy feet.

I know, for thou hast told me, Thy maiden love of flowers ;

Ah, those that deck thy gardens Are pale compared with ours.

273 POEMS.

When our wide woods and mighty lawns

Bloom to the April skies, The earth has no more gorgeous sight

To show to human eyes. In meadows red with blossoms,

All summer long, the bee Murmurs, and loads his yellow thighs,

For thee, my love, and me.

Or wouldst thou gaze at tokens

Of ages long ago — Our old oaks stream with mosses,

And sprout with misletoe ; And mighty vines, like serpents, climb

The giant sycamore ; And trunks, overthrown for centuries,

Cumber the forest floor ; And in the great savannas

The solitary mound, Built by the elder world, overlooks

The loneliness around.

THE HUNTER'S SERENADE.. 279

Come, thou hast not forgotten

Thy pledge and promise quite, With many blushes murmured,

Beneath the evening light. Come, the young violets crowd my door,

Thy earliest look to win, And at my silent window-sill

The jessamine peeps in. All day the red-bird warbles,

Upon the mulberry near, And the night-sparrow trills her song,

All night, with none to hear.

THE GKEEK BOY.

GONE are the glorious Greeks of old,

Glorious in mien and inind ; Their bones are mingled with the mould,

Their dust is on the wind ; The forms they hewed from living stone Survive the waste of years alone, And, scattered with their ashes, show What greatness perished long ago.

Yet fresh the myrtles there — the springs Gush brightly as of yore ;

THE GREEK BOY. 281

Flowers blossom from the dust of kings,

As many an age before. There nature moulds as nobly now, As e'er of old, the human brow ; And copies still the martial form That braved Platsea's battle storm.

Boy ! thy first looks were taught to seek

Their heaven in Hellas' skies ; Her airs have tinged thy dusky cheek,

Her sunshine lit thine eyes ; Thine ears have drunk the woodland strains Heard by old poets, and thy veins Swell with the blood of demigods, That slumber in thy country's sods.

Now is thy nation free — though late —

Thy elder brethren broke — Broke, ere thy spirit felt its weight ?

The intolerable yoke. 19

282 POEMS.

And Greece, decayed, dethroned, doth see Her youth renewed in such as thee : A shoot of that old vine that made The nations silent in its shade.

THE PAST.

THOU unrelenting Past ! Strong are the barriers round thy dark domain.

And fetters, sure and fast, Hold all that enter thy unbreathing reign.

Far in thy realm withdrawn Old empires sit in sullenness and gloom,

And glorious ages gone Lie deep within the shadow of thy womb.

284 POEMS.

Childhood, with all its mirth, Y^uth, Manhood, Age that draws us to the ground,

And last, Man's Life on earth, Glide to thy dim dominions, and are bound.

Thou hast my better years, Thou hast my earlier friends — the good — the kind,

Yielded to thee with tears — The venerable form — the exalted mind.

My spirit yearns to bring The lost ones back — yearns with desire intense,

And struggles hard to wring Thy bolts apart, and pluck thy captives thence

In vain — thy gates deny All passage save to those who hence depart ;

Nor to the streaming eye Thou giv'st them back — nor to the broken heart.

THE PAST. 285

In thine abysses hide Beauty and excellence unknown — to thee

Earth's wonder and her pride Are gathered, as the waters to the sea ;

Labors of good to man, Unpublished charity, unbroken faith, —

Love, that midst grief began, And grew with years, and faltered not in death

Full many a mighty name Lurks in thy depths, unuttered, unrevered ;

With. thee are silent fame, Forgotten arts, and wisdom disappeared.

Thine for a space are they — Yet shalt thou yield thy treasures up at last ;

Thy gates shall yet give way, Thy bolts shall fall, inexorable Past !

286 POEMS.

All that of good and fair Has gone into thy womb from earliest time,

Shall then come forth to wear The glory and the beauty of its prime.

They have not perished — no ! Kind words, remembered voices once so sweet,

Smiles, radiant long ago, And features, the great soul's apparent seat.

All shall come back, each tie Of pure affection shall be knit again ;

Alone shall Evil die, And Sorrow dwell a prisoner in thy reign.

And then shall I behold Him, by whose kind paternal side I sprung,

And her, who, still and cold, Fills the next grave — the beautiful and young,

"UPON THE MOUNTAIN'S DISTANT HEAD."

UPON the mountain's distant head, With trackless snows for ever white,

Where all is still, and cold, and dead, Late shines the day's departing light.

But far below those icy rocks,

The vales, in summer bloom arrayed,

Woods full of birds, and fields of flocks, Are dim with mist and dark with shade.

POEMS.

'Tis thus, from warm and kindly hearts, And eyes where generous meanings burn,

Earliest the light of life departs, But lingers with the cold and stern.

THE EVENING WIND.

SPIRIT that breathest through my lattice, thou That cool'st the twilight of the sultry day,

Gratefully flows thy freshness round my brow : Thou hast been out upon the deep at play,

Riding all day the wild blue waves till now, Roughening their crests, and scattering high their spray.

And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee

To the scorched land, thou wanderer of the sea!

Nor I alone — a thousand bosoms round Inhale thee in the fulness of delight ;

290 POEMS.

And languid forms rise up, and pulses bound Livelier, at coming of the wind of night ;

And, languishing to hear thy grateful sound, Lies the vast inland stretched beyond the sight.

Go forth into the gathering shade ; go forth,

God's blessing breathed upon the fainting earth!

Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest ; Curl the still waters, bright with stars, and

rouse The wide old wood from his majestic rest,

Summoning, from the innumerable boughs, The strange, deep harmonies that haunt his

breast :

Pleasant shall be thy way where meekly bows The shutting flower, and darkling waters pass, And where the overshadowing branches sweep the grass.

THE EVENING WIND. 291

The faint old man shall lean his silver head To feel thee ; thou shalt kiss the child asleep,

And dry the moistened curls that overspread His temples, while his breathing grows more deep :

And they who stand about the sick man's bed, Shall joy to listen to thy distant sweep,

And softly part his curtains to allow

Thy visit, grateful to his burning brow.

Go — but the circle of eternal change, Which is the life of nature, shall restore,

With sounds and scents from all thy mighty

range, Thee to thy birthplace of the deep once more;

Sweet odors in the sea-air, sweet and strange, Shall tell the home-sick mariner of the shore;

And, listening to thy murmur, he shall deem

He hears the rustling leaf and running stream.

"WHEN THE FIRMAMENT QUIVERS WITH DAYLIGHT'S YOUNG BEAM."

WHEN the firmament quivers with daylight's

young beam,

And the woodlands awaking burst into a hymn, A.nd the glow of the sky blazes back from the

stream,

How the bright ones of heaven in the bright ness grow dim.

Oh 1 'tis sad, in that moment of glory and song, To see, while the hill-tops are waiting the sun,

"WHEN THE FIRMAMENT QUIVERS." 293

The glittering band that kept watch all night

long, O'er Love and o'er Slumber, go out one by one:

Till the circle of ether, deep, ruddy, and vast, Scarce glimmers with one of the train that

were there ; And their leader the day-star, the brightest and

last, Twinkles faintly and fades in that desert of air.

Thus, Oblivion, from midst of whose shadow

we came,

Steals o'er us again when life's twilight is gone ; And the crowd of bright names, in the heaven

of fame,

Grow pale and are quenched as the years hasten on.

294

POEMS.

Let them fade — but we'll pray that the age, in

whose flight, Of ourselves and our friends the remembrance

shall die, May rise o'er the world, with the gladness and

light

Of the morning that withers the stars from the sky.

" INNOCENT CHILD AND SNOW- WHITE FLOWEK."

INNOCENT child and snow-white flower ! Well are ye paired in your opening hour. Thus should the pure and the lovely meet, Stainless with stainless, and sweet with sweet

White as those leaves, just blown apart, Are the folds of thy own young heart ; Guilty passion and cankering care Never have left their traces there.

296 POEMS.

Artless one ! though thou gazest now O'er the white blossom with earnest brow, Soon will it tire thy childish eye ; Fair as it is; thou wilt throw it by.

Throw it aside in thy weary hour, Throw to the ground the fair white flower ; Yet, as thy tender years depart, Keep that white and innocent heart.

TO THE RIVER ABVE.

SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN AT A HAMLET NEA.IJ THE FOOT OF MONT BLANO.

NOT from the sands or cloven rocks, Thou rapid Arve ! thy waters flow ;

Nor earth, within her bosom, locks Thy dark unfathomed wells below.

Thy springs are in the cloud, thy stream Begins to move and murmur first

Where ice-peaks feel the noonday beam,

Or rain-storms on the glacier burst. 20

298 POEMS.

Born where the thunder and the blast

And morning's earliest light are born, Thou rushest swoln, and loud, and fast,

By these low homes, as if in scorn : Yet humbler springs yield purer waves ;

And brighter, glassier streams than thine, Sent up from earth's unlighted caves,

With heaven's own beam and image shine

Yet stay ; for here are flowers and trees ;

Warm rays on cottage roofs are here, And laugh of girls, and hum of bees —

Here linger till thy waves are clear. Thou heedest not — thou hastest on ;

From steep to steep thy torrent falls, Till, mingling with the mighty Khone,

It rests beneath Geneva's walls.

Rush on — but were there one with me That loved me, I would light my hearth

TO THE RIVER ARVE. 299

Here, where with God's own majesty Are touched the features of the earth.

By these old peaks, white, high, and vast, Still rising as the tempests beat,

Here would I dwell, and sleep, at last, Among the blossoms at their feet.

TO COLE, THE PAINTER, DEPARTING FOR EUROPE.

THINE eyes shall see the light of distant skies : Yet, COLE ! thy heart shall bear to Europe's

strand

A living image of our own bright land, Such as upon thy glorious canvas lies ; Lone lakes — savannas where the bison roves — Rocks rich with summer garlands — solemn

streams —

Skies, where the desert eagle wheels and screams —

TO COLE, THE PAINTER. 301

Spring bloom and autumn blaze of boundless

groves. Fair scenes shall greet thee where thou goest —

fair,

But different— every where the trace of men, Paths, homes, graves, ruins, from the lowest

glen

To where life shrinks from the fierce Alpine air, Gaze on them, till the tears shall dim thy

sight, But keep that earlier, wilder image bright.

TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN.

THOU blossom bright with autumn dew, And colored with the heaven's own blue, That openest when the quiet light Succeeds the keen and frosty night.

Thou comest not when violets lean O'ei wandering brooks and springs unseen, Or columbines, in purple dressed, Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest,

TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN. 303

Thou waitest late and com'st alone, When woods are bare and birds are flown, And frosts and shortening days portend The aged year is near his end.

Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye Look through its fringes to the sky, Blue — blue — as if that sky let fall A flower from its cerulean wall.

I would that thus, when I shall see The hour of death draw near to me, Hope, blossoming within my heart, May look to heaven as I depart.

THE TWENTY-SECOND OF DECEMBEK

WILD was the day ; the wintry sea

Moaned sadly on New England's strand,

When first the thoughtful and the free, Our fathers, trod the desert land

They little thought how pure a light,

With years, should gather round that day ;

How love should keep their memories "bright, How wide a realm their sons should sway.

THE TWENTY-SECOND OF DECEMBER. 305

Green are their bays ; but greener still

Shall round their spreading fame be wreathed,

And regions, now untrod, shall thrill

With reverence when their names are breathed

Till where the sun; with softer fires,

Looks on the vast Pacific's sleep, The children of the pilgrim sires

This hallowed day like us shall keep.

HYMN OF THE CITY,

NOT in tlie solitude Alone may man commune with heaven, or see

Only in savage wood And sunny vale, the present Deity ;

Or only hear his voice Where the winds whisper and the waves rejoice.

Even here do I behold Thy steps, Almighty ! — here, amidst the crowd,

Through the great city rolled, (Vith everlasting murmur deep and loud; —

HYMN OF THE CITY. 307

Choking the ways that wind 'Mongst the proud piles, the work of human kind.

Thy golden sunshine comes From the round heaven, and on their dwellings

lies,

And lights their inner homes ; For them thou fill'st with air the unbounded

skies,

And givest them the stores Of ocean, and the harvests of its shores.

Thy spirit is around. Quickening the restless mass that sweeps along ;

And this eternal sound — Voices and footfalls of the numberless throng —

Like the resounding sea, Or like the rainy tempest, speaks of thee.

308 POEMS.

And when the hours of rest

•

Come, like a calm upon the mid-sea brine, Hushing its billowy breast —

The quiet of that moment too is thine ; It breathes of Him who keeps

The vast and helpless city while it sleeps.

THE PKAIKIES.

THESE are the gardens of the Desert, these The unshorn fields, boundless and beautiful, For which the speech of England has no name — • The Prairies. I behold them for the first, And my heart swells, while the dilated sight Takes in the encircling vastness. Lo ! they

stretch

In airy undulations, far away, As if the ocean, in his gentlest swell, Stood still, with all his rounded billows fixed,

310 POEMS.

And motionless for ever. — Motionless ? — • No — they are all unchained again. The clouds Sweep over with their shadows, and, beneath, The surface rolls and fluctuates to the eye ; Dark hollows seem to glide along and chase The sunny ridges. Breezes of the South ! Who toss the golden and the flame-like flowers, And pass the prairie-hawk that, poised on high, Flaps his broad wings, yet moves not — ye have

played

Among the palms of Mexico and vines Of Texas, and have crisped the limpid brooks That from the fountains of Sonora glide Into the calm Pacific — have ye fanned A nobler or a lovelier scene than this ? Man hath no part in all this glorious work : The hand that built the firmament hath heaved And smoothed these verdant swells, and sown

their slopes With herbage, planted them with island groves,

THE PRAIRIES. 311

And hedged them round with forests. Fitting

floor

For this magnificent temple of the sky — With flowers whose glory and whose multitude Rival the constellations ! The great heavens Seem to stoop down upon the scene in love, — A nearer vault, and of a tenderer blue, Than that which bends above our eastern hills.

As o'er the verdant waste I guide my steed, Among the high rank grass that sweeps his sides, The hollow beating of his footstep seems A sacrilegious sound. I think of those Upon whose rest he tramples. Are they here — The. dead of other days ? — and did the dust Of these fair solitudes once stir with life And burn with passion? Let the mighty

mounds

That overlook the rivers, or that rise In the dim forest crowded with old oaks,

312 POEMS.

Answer. A race, that long has passed away, Built them ; — a disciplined and populous race Heaped, with long toil, the earth, while yet the

Greek

Was hewing the Pentelicus to forms Of symmetry, and rearing on its rock The glittering Parthenon. These ample fields Nourished their harvests, here their herds were

fed,

When haply by their stalls the bison lowed, And bowed his maned shoulder to the yoke. All day this desert murmured with their toils, Till twilight blushed, and lovers walked, and

wooed

In a forgotten language, and old tunes, From instruments of unremembered form, Gave the soft winds a voice. The red man came — The roaming hunter tribes, warlike and fierce, And the mound-builders vanished from the earth. The solitude of centuries untold

THE PKAIRIES. 313

Has settled where they dwelt. The prairie-wolf Hunts in their meadows, and his fresh-dug den Yawns by my path. The gopher mines the

ground

Where stood their swarming cities. All is gone ; All — save the piles of earth that hold their

bones, The platforms where they worshipped unknown

gods,

The barriers which they builded from the soil To keep the foe at bay — till o'er the walls The wild beleaguerers broke, and, one by one The strongholds of the plain were forced, and

heaped

With corpses. The brown vultures of the wood Flocked to those vast uncovered sepulchres, And sat, un scared and silent, at their feast. Haply some solitary fugitive, Lurking in marsh and forest, till the sense

Of desolation and of fear became 21

314 POEMS.

Bitterer than death, yielded himself to. die. Man's better nature triumphed then. Kind

words

Welcomed and soothed him ; the rude con querors

Seated the captive with their chiefs ; he chose A bride among theii maidens, and at length Seemed to forget — yet ne'er forgot — the wife Of his first love, and her sweet little ones, Butchered, amid their shrieks, with all his race.

Thus change the forms of being. Thus arise Races of living things, glorious in strength, And perish, as the quickening breath of God Fills them, or is withdrawn. The red man, too, Has left the blooming wilds he ranged so long, And, nearer to the Rocky Mountains, sought A wider hunting-ground. The beaver builds No longer by these streams, but far away,

THE PRAIRIES. 315

On waters whose blue surface ne'er gave back The white man's face — among Missouri's springs, And pools whose issues swell the Oregan, He rears his little Yenice. In these plains The bison feeds no more. Twice twenty leagues Beyond remotest smoke of hunter's camp, Roams the majestic brute, in herds that shake The earth with thundering steps — yet here I

meet His ancient footprints stamped beside the pool.

Still this great solitude is quick with life. Myriads of insects, gaudy as the flowers They flutter over, gentle quadrupeds, And birds, that scarce have learned the fear of

man,

Are here, and sliding reptiles of the ground, Startlingly beautiful. The graceful deer Bounds to the wood at my approach. The bee, A more adventurous colonist than man,

316 POEMS.

With whom he came across the eastern deep. Fills the savannas with his murmurings, And hides his sweets, as in the golden age, Within the hollow oak. I listen long To his domestic hum, and think I hear The sound of that advancing multitude Which soon shall fill these deserts. From the

ground

Comes up the laugh of children, the soft voice Of maidens, and the sweet and solemn hymn Of Sabbath worshippers. The low of herds Blends with the rustling of the heavy grain Over the dark-brown furrows. All at once A fresher wind sweeps by, and breaks my dream, And I am in the wilderness alone.

SONG OF MARION'S MEN,

OUR band is few, but true and tried,

Our leader frank and bold ; The British soldier trembles

When Marion's name is told. Our fortress is the good greenwood,

Our tent the cypress-tree ; We know the forest round us,

As seamen know the sea. We know its walls of thorny vines,

318 POEMS.

Its glades of reedy grass, Its safe and silent islands Within the dark morass.

Wo to the English soldiery,

That little dread us near ! On them shall light at midnight

A strange and sudden fear : When, waking to their tents on fire.

They grasp their arms in vain, And they who stand to face us

Are beat to earth again. And they who fly in terror deem

A mighty host behind, And hear the tramp of thousands

Upon the hollow wind, 'in

Then sweet the hour that brings release

From danger and from toil ; We talk the battle over,

SONG OF MARION'S MEN. 319

And share the battle's spoil. The woodland rings with laugh and shout,

. As if a hunt were up, And woodland flowers are gathered

To crown the soldier's cup. With merry songs we mock the wind

That in the pine-top grieves, And slumber long and sweetly

On beds of oaken leaves.

Well knows the fair and friendly moon

The band that Marion leads — The glitter of their rifles,

The scampering of their steeds. 'Tis life to guide the fiery barb

Across the moonlight plain ; 'Tis life to feel the night-wind

That lifts his tossing mane. A moment in the British camp —

A moment — and away

320 POEMS.

Back to the pathless forest, Before the peep of day.

Grave men there are by broad Santee,

Grave men with hoary hairs ; Their hearts are all with Marion,

For Marion are their prayers. And lovely ladies greet our band

With kindliest welcoming, With smiles like those of summer,

And tears like those of spring. For them we wear these trusty arms,

And lay them down no more Till we have driven the Briton,

For ever, from our shore.

THE ARCTIC LOVER.

GONE is the long, long winter night ;

Look, my beloved one ! How glorious, through his depths of light,

Rolls the majestic sun ! The willows, waked from winter's death, Give out a fragrance like thy breath —

The summer is begun !

Ay, 'tis the long bright summer day : Hark, to that mighty crash !

322 POEMS.

The loosened ice-ridge breaks away —

The smitten waters flash. Seaward the glittering mountain rides, While, down its green translucent sides,

The foamy torrents dash.

See, love, my boat is moored for thee,

By ocean's weedy floor — The petrel does not skim the sea

More swiftly than my oar. We'll go, where, on the rocky isles, Her eggs the screaming sea-fowl piles

Beside the pebbly shore.

Or, bide thou where the poppy blows, With wind-flowers frail and fair,

While I, upon his isle of snows, Seek and defy the bear.

THE ARCTIC LOVER 323

Fierce though he be, and huge of frame, This arm his savage strength shall tame, And drag him from his lair.

When crimson sky and flamy cloud

Bespeak the summer o'er, And the dead valleys wear a shroud

Of snows that melt no more, I'll build of ice thy winter home, With glistening walls and glassy dome,

And spread with skins the floor.

The white fox by thy couch shall play ;

And, from the frozen skies, The meteors of a mimic day

Shall flash upon thine eyes. And I — for such thy vow — meanwhile Shall hear thy voice and see thy smile,

Till that long midnight flies.

THE JOURNEY OF LIFE

BENEATH the waning moon I walk at night, And muse on human life — for all around

Are dim uncertain shapes that cheat the sight, And pitfalls lurk in shade along the ground,

And broken gleams of brightness, here and there.

Glance through, and leave unwarmed tty3 death like air.

The trampled earth returns a sound of fear — A hollow sound, as if I walked on tombs ;

THE JOUKNEY OF LIFE. 325

And lights, that tell of cheerful homes, appear

Far off, and die like hope amid the glooms. A mournful wind across the landscape flies, And the wide atmosphere is full of sighs.

And I, with faltering footsteps, journey on, Watching the stars that roll the hours away,

Till the faint light that guides me now is gone, And, like another life, the glorious day

Shall open o'er me from the empyreal height,

With warmth, and certainty, and boundless light.

TRANSLATIONS.

VERSION OF A FRAGMENT OF SIMO- NIDES.

THE night winds howled — the billows dashed

Against the tossing chest ; As Danae to her "broken heart

Her slumbering infant pressed.

" My little child " — in tears she said —

" To wake and weep is mine, But thou canst sleep — thou dost not know

Thy mother's lot, and thine.

328 TRANSLATIONS.

" The moon is up, the moonbeams smile —

They tremble on the main : But dark, within my floating cell,

To me they smile in vain.

" Thy folded mantle wraps thee warm,

Thy clustering locks are dry, Thou dost not hear the shrieking gust,

Nor breakers booming high.

" As o'er thy sweet unconscious face

A mournful watch I keep, I think, didst thou but know thy fate,

How thou wouldst also weep.

" Yet, dear one, sleep, and sleep, ye winds

That vex the restless brine — When shall these eyes, my babe, be sealed

As peacefully as thine ! "

FROM THE SPANISH OF VILLEGAS.

'Tis sweet, in the green Spring, To gaze upon the wakening fields around ;

Birds in the thicket sing,

Winds whisper, waters prattle from the ground ;

A thousand odors rise, Breathed up from blossoms of a thousand dyes.

Shadowy, and close, and cool, The pine and poplar keep their quiet nook ; For ever fresh and full,

22

330 TRANSLATIONS.

Shines/ at their feet, the thirst-inviting brook ;

And the soft herbage seems Spread for a place of banquets and of dreams.

Thou, who alone art fair, And whom alone I love, art far away.

Unless thy smile be there, It makes me sad to see the earth so gay ;

I care not if the train Of leaves, and flowers, and zephyrs go again

MARY MAGDALEN.

FROM THE SPANISH OF BARTOLOME LEONARDO DE ARGENSOLA.

BLESSED; yet sinful one; and broken-hearted ! The crowd are pointing at the thing forlorn,

In wonder and in scorn ! Thou weepest days of innocence departed ; Thou weepest. and thy tears have power to

move The Lord to pity and love.

The greatest of thy follies is forgiven, Even for the least of all the tears that shine On that pale cheek of thine.

332 TRANSLATIONS.

Tliou didst kneel down, to Him who came from

heaven,

Evil and ignorant, and thou shalt rise Holy, and pure, and wise.

It is not much that to the fragrant blossom The ragged brier should change ; the bitter fir

Distil Arabian myrrh ; Nor that, upon the wintry desert's bosom, The harvest should rise plenteous, and the

swain Bear home the abundant grain.

But come and see the bleak and barren mountains Thick to their tops with roses ; come and see

Leaves on the dry dead tree ; The perished plant, set out by living fountains, Grows fruitful, and itsbeauteous branches rise, For ever, towards the skies.

THE LIFE OF THE BLESSED.

FROM THE SPANISH OF LUIS PONCE DE LEON.

KEGION of life and light !

Land of the good whose earthly toils are o'er ! Nor frost nor heat may blight Thy vernal "beauty, fertile shore,

Yielding thy blessed fruits for evermore !

There, without crook or sling, Walks the good shepherd ; blossoms white and

red Kound his meek temples cling ;

334 TRANSLATIONS.

And to sweet pastures led, His own loved flock beneath his eye is fed.

He guides, and near him they Follow delighted, for he makes them go

Where dwells eternal May,

And heavenly roses blow, Deathless, and gathered but again to grow.

He leads them to the height Named of the infinite and long-sought Grood,

And fountains of delight ;

And where his feet have stood Springs up, along the way, their tender food.

And when, in the mid skies, The climbing sun has reached his highest bound,

Reposing as he lies,

With all his flock around, He witches the still air with numerous sound.

THE LIFE OF THE BLESSED. 335

From his sweet lute flow forth Immortal harmonies, of power to still

All passions "born of earth,

And draw the ardent will Its destiny of goodness to fulfil.

Might hut a little part, A wandering hreath of that high melody,

Descend into my heart,

And change it till it he Transformed and swallowed up, oh love 1 in thee ;

Ah ! then my soul should know, Beloved ! where thouliest at noon of day,

And from this place of woe

Keleased, should take its way To mingle with thy flock and never stray.

FATIMA AND BADUAN.

FROM THE SPANISH.

Diamante falso y fingido, Engastado en pedernalj &c.

:i FALSE diamond set in flint ! hard heart in

haughty breast 1 By a softer warmer bosom the tiger's couch is

prest.

FATIMA AND RADUAN. 337

Thou art fickle as the sea, thou art wandering as

the wind, And the restless ever-mounting flame is not

more hard to bind. If the tears I shed were tongues, yet all too few

would be To tell of all the treachery that thou hast shown

to me. Oh ! I could chide thee sharply — but every

maiden knows That she who chides her lover, forgives him ere

he goes.

" Thou hast called me oft the flower of all Gre nada's maids,

Thou hast said that by the side of me the first and fairest fades ;

And they thought thy heart was mine, and it seemed to every one

338 TRANSLATIONS.

That what thou didst to win my love, for love

of me was done. Alas ! if they but knew thee, as mine it is to

know, They well might see another mark to which

thine arrows go ; But thou giv'st me little heed — for I speak to

one who knows That she who chides her lover, forgives him ere

he goes.

" It wearies me, mine enemy, that I must weep

and bear What fills thy heart with triumph, and fills my

own with care. Thou art leagued with those that hate me, and

ah ! thou know'st I feel That cruel words as surely kill as sharpest blades

of steel.

FATIMA AND RADUAN. 339

Twas the doubt that thou wert false that wrung

my heart with pain ; But, now I know thy perfidy, I shall be well

again. I would proclaim thee as thou art — but every

maiden knows That she who chides her lover, forgives him ere

he goes."

Thus Fatima complained to the valiant Kaduan,

Where underneath the myrtles Alhambra's foun tains ran :

The Moor was inly moved, and blameless as he was,

He took her white hand in his own, and pleaded thus his cause :

" Oh, lady, dry those star-like eyes — their dim ness does me wrong :

[f my heart be made of flint, at least 'twill keep thy image long ;

340 TRANSLATIONS.

Thou hast uttered cruel words — but I grieve

the less for those, Since she who chides her lover, forgives him ere

he goes."

LOVE AND FOLLY.

FROM LA FONTAINE.

LOVE'S worshippers alone can know

The thousand mysteries that are his His blazing touch, his twanging how,

His blooming age are mysteries. A charming science — but the day

Were all too short to con it o'er ; So take of me this little lay,

A sample of its boundless lore.

342

TRANSLATIONS.

As once, beneath the fragrant shade

Of myrtles fresh in heaven's pure air, The children, Love and Folly, played—

A quarrel rose betwixt the pair. Love said the gods should do him right —

But Folly vowed to do it then, And struck him, o'er the orbs of sight,

So hard he never saw again.

His lovely mother's grief was deep,

She called for vengeance on the deed ; A beauty does not vainly weep,

Nor coldly does a mother plead. A shade came o'er the eternal bliss

That fills the dwellers of the skies ; Even stony-hearted Nemesis,

And Khadamanthus, wiped their eyes.

" Behold," she said, " this lovely boy," While streamed afresh her graceful tears,

LOVE AND FOLLY. 343

" Immortal, yet shut out from joy And sunshine, all his future years.

The child can never take, you see, A single step without a staff —

The harshest punishment would he Too lenient for the crime by half/'

All said that Love had suffered wrong,

And well that wrong should he repaid ; Then weighed the public interest long,

And long the party's interest weighed. And thus decreed the court above —

" Since Love is blind from Folly's blow, Let Folly be the guide of Love,

Where'er the boy may choose to go."

THE SIESTA,

FROM THE SPANISH

Vientecico murmurador Que lo gozas y andas todo, &c,

AIRS, that wander and murmur round, Bearing delight where'er ye blow !

Make in the elms a lulling sound, While my lady sleeps in the shade below.

Lighten and lengthen her noonday rest, Till the heat of the noonday sun is o'er.

THE SIESTA.

Sweet be her si umbers ! though iu my breast The pain she has waked may slumber no more

Breathing soft from the blue profound, Bearing delight where'er ye blow,

Make in the elms a lulling sound,

While my lady sleeps in the shade below.

Airs ! that over the bending boughs,

And under the shade of pendent leaves, Murmur soft, like my timid vows

Or the secret sighs my bosom heaves. — Gently sweeping the grassy ground,

Bearing delight where'er ye blow, Make in the elms a lulling sound,

While my lady sleeps in the shade below.

23

THE ALCAYDE OF MOLINA.

FROM THE SPANISH.

To the town of Atienza, Molina's brave Alcayde,

The courteous and the valorous, led forth his bold brigade.

The Moor came back in triumph, he came with out a wound,

With many a Christian standard, and Christian captive bound.

He passed the city portals, with swelling heart and vain,

And towards his lady's dwelling he rode with slackened rein ;

THE ALCAYDE OF MOLINA. 34:7

Two circuits on his charger he took, and at the

third, From the door of her balcony Zelinda's voice

was heard. " Now if thou wert not shameless," said the

lady to the Moor, " Thou wouldst neither pass my dwelling, nor

stop before my door. Alas for poor Zelinda, and for her wayward

mood, That one in love with peace should have loved

a man of blood ! Since not that thou wert noble I chose thee for

my knight, But that thy sword was dreaded in tournay and

in fight. Ah, thoughtless and unhappy ! that I should

fail to see How ill the stubborn flint and the yielding wax

agree.

34:8 TRANSLATIONS.

Boast not thy love for me, while the shrieking

of the fife Can change thy mood of mildness to fury and

to strife. Say not my voice is magic — thy pleasure is to

hear The bursting of the carbine, and shivering of

the spear.

Well, follow thou thy choice — to the battle field away, To thy triumphs and thy trophies, since I am

less than they. Thrust thy arm into thy buckler, gird on thy

crooked brand, And call upon thy trusty squire to bring thy

spears in hand. Lead forth thy band to skirmish/ by mountain

and by mead, On thy dappled Moorish barb, or thy fleeter

border steed.

THE ALCAYDE OF MOLINA. 349

Go, waste the Christian hamlets, and sweep

away their flocks, From Almazan's broad meadows to Siguenza's

rocks. Leave Zelinda altogether, whom thou leavest

oft and long, And in the life thou lovest forget whom thou

dost wrong. These eyes shall not recall thee, though they

meet no more thine own, Though they weep that thou art absent, and

that I am all alone." She ceased, and turning from him her flushed

and angry cheek, Shut the door of her balcony before the Moor

could speak.

THE DEATH OF ALIATAR

FROM THE SPANISH.

'Tis not with gilded sabres

That gleam in baldricks blue, Nor nodding plumes in caps of Fez,

Of gay and gaudy hue — But, habited in mourning weeds,

Come marching from afar, By four and four, the valiant men

Who fought with Aliatar.

THE DEATH OF ALIATAR. 351

All mournfully and slowly

The afflicted warriors come, To the deep wail of the trumpet,

And beat of muffled drum.

The banner of the Phenix,

The flag that loved the sky, That scarce the wind dared wanton with,

It flew so proud and high — Now leaves its place in battle field,

And sweeps the ground in grief, The bearer drags its glorious folds

Behind the fallen chief, As mournfully and slowly

The afflicted warriors come, To the deep wail of the trumpet,

And beat of muffled drum.

Brave Aliatar led forward A hundred Moors to go

352 TRANSLATIONS,

To where his brother held Motril

Against the leaguering foe. On horseback went the gallant Moor,

That gallant band to lead ; And now his bier is at the gate,

From which he pricked his steed. While mournfully and slowly

The afflicted warriors come, To the deep wail of the trumpet,

And beat of muffled drum.

The knights of the Grand Master

In crowded ambush lay ; They rushed upon him where the reeds

Were thick beside the way ; They smote the valiant Aliatar,

They smote the warrior dead, And broken, but not beaten, were

The gallant ranks he led.

THE DEATH OF ALIATAR. 353

Now mournfully and slowly

The afflicted warriors come, To the deep wail of the trumpet,

And beat of muffled drum.

Oh 1 what was Zayda's sorrow,

How passionate her cries ! Her lover's wounds streamed not more free

Than that poor maiden's eyes. Say, Love — for didst thou see her tears :

Oh, no ! he drew more tight The "blinding fillet o'er his lids

To spare his eyes the sight. While mournfully and slowly

The afflicted warriors come, To the deep wail of the trumpet,

And beat of muffled drum.

Nor Zayda weeps him only, But all that dwell between

354: TRANSLATIONS.

The great Alhambra's palace walls

And springs of Albaicin. The ladies weep the flower of knights,

The brave the bravest here. The people weep a champion,

The Alcaydes a noble peer. While mournfully and slowly

The afflicted warriors come, To the deep wail of the trumpet,

And beat of muffled drum.

LOVE IN THE AGE OF CHIVALRY.

FROM FEYRE VIDAL, THE TROUBADOUR.

THE earth, was sown with early flowers,

The heavens were blue and bright — I met a youthful cavalier

As lovely as the light. I knew him not — but in my heart

His graceful image lies, And well I marked his open brow,

His sweet and tender eyes, His ruddy lips that ever smiled,

His glittering teeth betwixt,

356 TRANSLATIONS.

And flowing robe embroidered o'er,

With leaves and blossoms mixed, He wore a chaplet of the rose ;

His palfrey, white and sleek, Was marked with many an ebon spot,

And many a purple streak ; Of jasper was his saddle-bow,

His housings sapphire stone, And brightly in his stirrup glanced

The purple calcedon. Fast rode the gallant cavalier,

As youthful horsemen ride ; " Peyre Vidal ! know that I am Love/

The blooming stranger cried ; " And this is Mercy by my side,

A dame of high degree ; This maid is Chastity," he said,

" This squire is Loyalty."

THE LOVE OF GOD,

FROM THE PROVENgAL OF BERNARD RASCA84

ALL things that are on earth shall wholly

pass away, Except the love of God, which shall live and last

for aye. The forms of men shall be as they had nevei

been ; The blasted groves shall lose their fresh ana

tender green ;

358 TRANSLATIONS.

The birds of the thicket shall end their pleasant

song, And the nightingale shall cease to chant the

evening long. The kine of the pasture shall feel the dart that

kills, And all the fair white flocks shall perish from

the hills. The goat and antlered stag, the wolf and the

fox, The wild boar of the wood, and the chamois of

the rocks, And the strong and fearless bear, in the trodden

dust shall lie ; And the dolphin of the sea, and the mighty

whale, shall die. And realms shall be dissolved, and empires be

no more, And they shall bow to death, who ruled from

shore to shore ;

THE LOVE OF GOD. 359

And the great globe itself, (so the holy writings

tell,) With the rolling firmament, where the starry

armies dwell, Shall melt with fervent heat — they shall all

pass away, Except the love of God, which shall live and

last for aye.

FROM THE SPANISH OF PEDRO DE CASTRO Y ANAYA.

STA?, rivulet, nor haste to leave

The lovely vale that lies around thee.

Why wouldst thou be a sea at eve, When but a fount the morning found thee ?

Born when the skies began to glow, *

Humblest of all the rock's cold daughters,

No blossom bowed its stalk to show

Where stole thy still and scanty waters.

FROM THE SPANISH. 361

Now on thy stream the noonbeams look, Usurping, as thou downward driftest,

Its crystal from the clearest brook, Its rushing current from the swiftest.

Ah ! what wild haste ! — and all to be

A river and expire in ocean. Each fountain's tribute hurries thee

To that vast grave with quicker motion.

Far better 'twere to linger still

In this green vale, these flowers to cherish, And die in peace, an aged rill,

Than thus, a youthful Danube, perish.

24

SONNET.

FROM THE PORTUGUESE OF SEMEDO

IT is a fearful night ; a feeble glare

Streams from the sick moon in the o'ercloud- ed sky ;

The ridgy billows, with a mighty cry, Rush on the foamy beaches wild and bare ; No bark the madness of the waves will dare ;

The sailors sleep ; the winds are loud and high ;

Ah, peerless Laura ! for whose love I die, Who gazes on thy smiles while I despair ?

SONNET. 363

As thus, in bitterness of heart, I cried,

I turned, and saw my Laura, kind and bright.

A messenger of gladness, at my side : To my poor bark she sprang with footstep light,

And as we furrowed Tago's heaving tide, I never saw so beautiful a night.

SONG

FROM THE SPANISH OF IGLESIAS.

ALEXIS calls me cruel ;

The rifted crags that hold The gathered ice of winter,

He says, are not more cold.

When even the very blossoms Around the fountain's brim,

And forest walks, can witness The love I bear to him.

SONG. 365

I would that I could utter My feelings without shame ;

And tell him how I love him, Nor wrong my virgin fame

Alas ! to seize the moment When heart inclines to heart,

And press a suit with passion, Is not a woman's part.

If man come not to gather The roses where they stand,

They fade among their foliage ; They cannot seek his hand.

THE COUNT OF GREIERS

FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND.

AT morn the Count of Greiers before his castle

stands ; He sees afar the glory that lights the mountain

lands ; The horned crags are shining, and in the shade

between A pleasant Alpine valley lies beautifully green.

THE COUNT OF GREIERS. 367

' Oh, greenest of tlie valleys, how shall I come

to thee ! Thy herdsmen and thy maidens, how happy

must they be ! I have gazed upon thee coldly, all lovely as

thou art, But the wish to walk thy pastures now stirs

my inmost heart."

He hears a sound of timbrels, and suddenly appear,

A troop of ruddy damsels and herdsmen draw ing near ;

They reach the castle greensward, and gaily dance across ;

The white sleeves flit and glimmer, the wreaths and ribands toss.

368 TRANSLATIONS.

The youngest of the maidens, slim as a spray of spring,

She takes the young count's fingers, and draws him to the ring,

They fling upon his forehead a crown of moun tain flowers,

" And ho, young Count of Greiers ! this morning thou art ours/7

Then hand in hand departing, with dance and

roundelay, Through hamlet after hamlet, they lead the

Count away. They dance through wood and meadow, they

dance across the linn, Till the mighty Alpine summits have shut the

music in.

THE COUNT OF GREIERS. 369

The second morn is risen, and now the third is come ;

Where stays the Count of Greiers ? has he for got his home ?

Again, the evening closes, in thick and sultry air ;

There's thunder on the mountains, the storm is gathering there.

Tiie cloud has shed its waters, the brook comes

swollen down ; You see it by the lightning — a river wide and

brown. Around a struggling swimmer the eddies dash

and roar, Till, seizing on a willow, he leaps upon the

shore.

370 TRANSLATIONS.

" Here am I cast by tempests far from youi

mountain dell. Amid our evening dances the bursting deluge

fell. Ye all, in cots and caverns, have 'scaped the

water-spout, While me alone the tempest overwhelmed and

hurried out.

" Farewell, with thy glad dwellers, green vale among the rocks !

Farewell the swift sweet moments, in which I watched thy flocks !

Why rocked they not my cradle in that delicious spot,

That garden of the happy, where Heaven en dures me not ?

THE COUNT OF GREIERS. 371

" Hose of the Alpine valley ! I feel; in every vein,

The soft touch on my fingers ; oh, press them not again !

Bewitch me not, ye garlands, to tread that up ward track,

And thou, my cheerless mansion, receive thy master back"

THE SEBENADE.

FROM THE SPANISH.

IF slumber, sweet Lisena !

Have stolen o'er thine eyes, As night steals o'er the glory

Of spring's transparent skies ;

Wake, in thy scorn and beauty, And listen to the strain

That murmurs my devotion, That mourns for thy disdain

THE SERENADE. 373

Here by thy door at midnight,

I pass the dreary hour, With plaintive sounds profaning

The silence of thy bower ;

A tale of sorrow cherished

Too fondly to depart, Of wrong from love the flatterer,

And my own wayward heart.

Twice, o'er this vale, the seasons Have brought and borne away

The January tempest, The genial wind of May ;

Yet still my plaint is uttered, My tears and sighs are given

To earth's unconscious waters, And wandering winds of heaven.

374 TRANSLATIONS.

I saw, from this fair region, The smile of summer pass,

And myriad frost-stars glitter Among the russet grass.

While winter seized the streamlets That fled along the ground,

And fast in chains of crystal The truant murmurers bound.

I saw that to the forest

The nightingales had flown,

And every sweet-voiced fountain Had hushed its silver tone.

The maniac winds, divorcing The turtle from his mate,

Raved through the leafy beeches, And left them desolate.

THE SERENADE.

Now May, with life and music, The blooming valley fills,

And rears her flowery arches For all the little rills.

The minstrel bird of evening Comes back on joyous wings,

And, like the harp's soft murmur, Is heard the gush of springs.

And deep within the forest Are wedded turtles seen,

Their nuptial chambers seeking, Their chambers close and green.

The rugged trees are mingling Their flowery sprays in love !

The ivy climbs the laurel, To clasp the boughs above.

3T5

376 TRANSLATIONS.

They change — but thou, Lisena Art cold while I complain :

Why to thy lover only

Should spring return in vain?

A NORTHERN LEGEND.

FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND.

THERE sits a lovely maiden, The ocean murmuring nigh ,

She throws the hook, and watches ; The fishes pass it by.

A ring, with a red jewel,

Is sparkling on her hand ; Upon the hook she binds it,

And flings it from the land. 25

378 TRANSLATIONS.

Uprises from the water A hand like ivory fair.

What gleams upon its finger? The golden ring is there.

Uprises from the bottom

A young and handsome knight ;

In golden scales he rises, That glitter in the light.

The maid is pale with terror — " Kay, Knight of Ocean, nay,

It was not thou I wanted ; Let go the ring, I pray."

" Ah, maiden, not to fishes The bait of gold is thrown ;

The ring shall never leave me, And thou must be my own."

THE PARADISE OF TEARS.

FROM THE GERMAN OF N. MUELLER.

BESIDE the River of Tears, with branches low, And bitter leaves, the weeping willows grow ; The branches stream like the dishevelled hair Of women in the sadness of despair.

On rolls the stream with a perpetual sigh ; The rocks moan wildly as it passes by ; Hyssop and wormwood border all the strand, And not a flower adorns the dreary land.

380 TRANSLATIONS.

Then comes a child, whose face is like the

sun,

And dips the gloomy waters as they run. And waters all the region, and behold The ground is bright with blossoms manifold.

Where fall the tears of love the rose appears, And where the ground is bright with friendship's

tears,

Forget-me-not, and violets, heavenly blue, Spring, glittering with the cheerful drops like

dew.

The souls of mourners, all whose tears are

dried, Like swans, come gently floating down the

tide,

Walk up the golden sands by which it flows, And in that Paradise of Tears repose.

THE PARADISE OF TEARS. 381

There every heart rejoins its kindred heart ; There, in a long embrace that none may part, Fulfilment meets desire, and that fair shore Beholds its dwellers happy evermore.

LATER POEMS.

TO THE APENNINES.

TOUR peaks are beautiful, ye Apennines 1 In the soft light of these serenest skies ;

From the "broad highland region, black with

pines, Fair as the hills of Paradise they rise,

Bathed in the tint Peruvian slaves behold

In rosy flushes on the virgin gold.

384 LATER POEMS.

There, rooted to the aerial shelves that wear

The glory of a brighter world, might spring Sweet flowers of heaven to scent the unbreathed

air, And heaven's fleet messengers might rest the

wing

To view the fair earth in its summer sleep, Silent, and cradled by the glimmering deep.

Below you lie men's sepulchres, the old

Etrurian tombs, the graves of yesterday ; The herd's white bones lie mixed with human

mould,

Yet up the radiant steeps that I survey Death never climbed, nor life's soft breath, with

pain, Was yielded to the elements again.

Ages of war have filled these plains with fear ; How oft the hind has started at the clash

TO THE APENNINES. 385

Of spears, and yell of meeting armies here, Or seen the lightning of the battle flash From clouds, that rising with the thunder's

sounl, Hung like an earth-born tempest o'er the ground.

Ah me ! what armed nations — Asian horde, And Libyan host — the Scythian and the

Gaul, Have swept your base and through your passes

poured,

Like ocean-tides uprising at the call Of tyrant winds — against your rocky side The bloody billows dashed, and howled, and died.

How crashed the towers before beleaguering foes, Sacked cities smoked and realms weie rent in twain ;

386 LATER POEMS.

And commonwealths against their rivals rose, Trode out their lives and earned the curse oi

Cain !

While in the noiseless air and light that flowed Round your fair brows, eternal Peace abode.

Here pealed the impious hymn; and altar flames Rose to false gods, a dream-begotten throng,

Jove, Bacchus, Pan, and earlier, fouler names ; While, as the unheeding ages passed along,

Ye, from your station in the middle skies,

Proclaimed the essential Goodness, strong and wise.

In you the heart that sighs for freedom seeks Her image ; there the winds no barrier

know, Clouds come and rest and leave your fairy

peaks ;

TO THE APENNINES. 387

While even the immaterial Mind, below, And Thought, her winged offspring, chained by

power, Pine silently for the redeeming hour.

EARTH.

A MIDNIGHT black with clouds is in the sky ; I seem to feel; upon my limbs, the weight Of its vast brooding shadow. All in vain Turns the tired eye in search of form ; no star Pierces the pitchy veil ; no ruddy blaze, From dwellings lighted by the cheerful hearth, Tinges the flowering summits of the grass. No sound of life is heard, no village hum, Nor measured tramp of footstep in the path, Nor rush of wing, while, on the breast of Earth,

EARTH. 389

I lie and listen to her mighty voice :

A voice of many tones — sent up from streams

That wander through the gloom, from woods

unseen,

Swayed by the sweeping of the tides of air, From rocky chasms where darkness dwells all

day,

And hollows of the great invisible hills, And sands that edge the ocean, stretching far Into the night — a melancholy sound !

0 Earth ! dost thou too sorrow for the past Like man thy offspring ? Do I hear thee mourn Thy childhood's unreturning hours, thy springs Gone with their genial airs and melodies, The gentle generations of thy flowers, And thy majestic groves of olden time, Perished with all their dwellers ? Dost thou

wail For that fair age of which the poets tell,

390 LATER POEMS.

Ere yet the winds grew keen with frost, or fire Fell with the rains, or spouted from the hills, To blast thy greenness, while the virgin night Was guiltless and salubrious as the day ] Or haply dost thou grieve for those who die — For living things that trod thy paths awhile, The love of thee and heaven — and now they

sleep Mixed with the shapelses dust on which thy

herds Trample and graze ? I too must grieve with

thee,

O'er loved ones lost. Their graves are far away Upon thy mountains ; yet, while I recline Alone, in darkness, on thy naked soil, The mighty nourisher and burial-place Of man, I feel that I embrace their dust.

Ha ! how the murmur deepens ! I perceive And tremble at its dreadful import. Earth

EARTH. 391

Uplifts a general cry for guilt and wrong, And heaven is listening. The forgotten graves Of the heart-broken utter forth their plaint. The dust of her who loved and was betrayed, And him who died neglected in his age ; The sepulchres of those who for mankind Labored, and earned the recompense of scorn ; Ashes of martyrs for the truth, and bones Of those who, in the strife for liberty, Were beaten down, their corses given to dogs, Their names to infamy, all find a voice. The nook in which the captive, overtoiled, Lay down to rest at last, and that which holds Childhood's sweet blossoms, crushed by cruel

hands,

Send up a plaintive sound. From battle-fields, Where heroes madly drave and dashed their

hosts

Against each other, rises up a noise, As if the armed multitudes of dead

392 LATER POEMS.

Stirred in their heavy slumber. Mournful tones Come from the green abysses of the sea — A story of the crimes the guilty sought To hide beneath its waves. The glens, the

groves,

Paths in the thicket, pools of running brook, And banks and depths of lake, and streets and

lanes

Of cities, now that living sounds are hushed, Murmur of guilty force and treachery.

Here, where I rest, the vales of Italy Are round me, populous from early time, And field of the tremendous warfare waged 'Twixt good and evil. Who, alas, shall dare Interpret to man's ear the mingled voice That comes from her old dungeons yawning now To the black air, her amphitheatres, Where the dew gathers on the mouldering stones. And fanes of banished gods, and open tombs,

EARTH. 393

And roofless palaces, and streets and hearths Of cities dug from their volcanic graves?

hear a sound of many languages, The utterance of nations now no more, Driven out by mightier, as the days of heaven Chase one another from the sky. The blood Of freemen shed by freemen, till strange lords Came in their hour of weakness, and made fast The yoke that yet is worn, cries out to Heaven.

What then shall cleanse thy bosom, gentle

Earth,

From all its painful memories of guilt ? The whelming flood, or the renewing fire, Or the slow change of time ? that so, at last The horrid tale of perjury and strife, Murder and spoil, which men call history, May seem a fable, like the inventions told By poets of the gods of Greece. 0 thou,

Who sittest far beyond the Atlantic deep 26

394: LATER POEMS.

Among the sources of thy glorious streams, My native Land of Groves ! a newer page In the great record of the world is thine ; Shall it be fairer ? Fear, and friendly hope, And envy, watch the issue, while the lines, By which thou shalt be judged, are written down

THE KNIGHT'S EPITAPH.

THIS is the church which. Pisa, great and free, Reared to St. Catharine. How the time-stain ed walls, That earthquakes shook not from their poise,

appear

To shiver in the deep and voluble tones Rolled from the organ ! Underneath my feet There lies the lid of a sepulchral vault. The image of an armed knight is graven Upon it, clad in perfect panoply —

396 LATER POEMS.

Cuishes, and greaves, and cuirass, with barred

helm,

Gauntleted hand, and sword, and blazoned shield. Around, in Gothic characters, worn dim By feet of worshippers, are traced his name, And birth, and death, and words of eulogy. Why should I pore upon them ? This old tomb, This effigy, the strange disused form Of this inscription, eloquently show His history. Let me clothe in fitting words The thoughts they breathe, and frame his epi taph.

" He whose forgotten dust for centuries Has lain beneath this stone, was one in whom Adventure, and endurance, and emprise Exalted the mind's faculties and strun°-

o

The body's sinews. Brave he was in fight, Courteous in banquet, scornful of repose, And bountiful, and cruel, and devout,

THE KNIGHT'S EPITAPH 397

And quick to draw the sword in private feud.

He pushed his quarrels to the death, yet prayed

The saints as fervently on bended knees

As ever shaven cenobite. He loved

As fiercely as he fought. He would have borne

The maid that pleased him from her bower by

night

To his hill-castle, as the eagle bears His victim from the fold, and rolled the rocks On his pursuers. He aspired to see His native Pisa queen and arbitress Of cities : earnestly for her he raised His voice in council, and affronted death In battle-field, and climbed the galley's deck, And brought the captured flag of Genoa back, Or piled upon the Arno's crowded quay The glittering spoils of the tamed Saracen. He was not born to brook the stranger's yoke, But would have joined the exiles that withdrew For ever, when the Florentine broke in

398 LATER POEMS.

The gates of Pisa, and bore off* the bolts For trophies — but he died before that day. " He lived, the impersonation of an age That never shall return. His soul of fire Was kindled by the breath of the rude time He lived in. Now a gentler race succeeds, Shuddering at blood ; the eifeminate cavalier, Turning his eyes from the reproachful past, And from the hopeless future, gives to ease. And love, and music, his inglorious life."

THE HUNTER OF THE PRAIRIES.

AY, this is freedom ! — these pure skies

Were never stained with village smoke : The fragrant wind, that through them flies,

Is breathed from wastes by plough unbroke. Here, with my rifle and my -steed,

And her who left the world for me, I plant me, where the red deer feed

In the green desert — and am free.

For here the fair savannas know No barriers in the bloomy grass ;

400 LATER POEMS.

Wherever breeze of heaven may blow, Or beam of heaven may glance, I pass.

In pastures, measureless as air, The bison is my noble game ;

The bounding elk, whose antlers tear The branches, falls before my aim.

Mine are the river-fowl that scream

From the long stripe of waving sedge ; The bear that marks my weapon's gleam,

Hides vainly in the forest's edge ; In vain the she-wolf stands at bay ;

The brinded catamount, that lies High in the boughs to watch his prey,

Even in the act of springing, dies.

With what free growth the elm and plane Fling their huge arms across my way,

Gray, old, and cumbered with a train Of vines, as huge, and old, and gray !

THE HUNTER OF THE PRAIRIES. 401

Free stray the lucid streams, and find

No taint in these fresh lawns and shades ;

Free spring the flowers that scent the wind Where never scythe has swept the glades.

Alone the Fire, when frost-winds sere

The heavy herbage of the ground, G-athers his annual harvest here,

With roaring like the battle's sound, And hurrying flames that sweep the plain,

And smoke-streams gushing up the sky : I meet the flames with flames again,

And at my door they cower and die.

Here, from dim woods, the aged past

Speaks solemnly ; and I behold The boundless future in the vast

And lonely river, seaward rolled. Who feeds its founts with rain and dew ;

Who moves, I ask, its gliding mass,

4:02 LATER POEMS.

And trains the bordering vines, whose blue Bright clusters tempt me as I pass ?

Broad are these streams — my steed obeys,

Plunges, and bears me through the tide Wide are these woods — I thread the maze

Of giant stems, nor ask a guide. I hunt till day's last glimmer dies

O'er woody vale and grassy height , And kind the voice and glad the eyes

That welcome my return at night,

SEVENTY-SIX.

WHAT heroes from the woodland sprung, When, through the fresh awakened land,

The thrilling cry of freedom rung,

And to the work of warfare strung The yeoman's iron hand !

Hills flung the cry to hills around, And ocean-mart replied to mart, And streams, whose springs were yet unfound,

4:04: LATER POEMS.

Pealed far away the startling sound Into the forest's heart.

Then marched the brave from rocky steep,

From mountain river swift and cold ; The borders of the stormy deep, The vales where gathered waters sleep, Sent up the strong and bold, —

As if the very earth again

Grew quick with God's creating breath. And, from the sods of grove and glen, Rose ranks of lion-hearted men

To battle to the death

The wife, whose babe first smiled that day,

The fair fond bride of yestereve, And aged sire and matron gray, Saw the loved warriors haste away, And deemed it sin to grieve.

SEVENTY-SIX. 405

Already had the strife begun ;

Already blood on Concord's plain Along the springing grass had run, And blood had flowed at Lexington,

Like brooks of April rain.

That death-stain on the vernal sward Hallowed to freedom all the shore ;

In fragments fell the yoke abhorred —

The footstep of a foreign lord Profaned the soil no more.

THE LIVING LOST.

MATRON ! the children of whose love,

Each to his grave, in youth have passed, And now the mould is heaped ahove

The dearest and the last ! Bride ! who dost wear the widow's veil Before the wedding flowers are pale ! Ye deem the human heart endures No deeper, bitterer grief than yours.

Yet there are pangs of keener wo, Of which the sufferers never speak,

THE LIVING LOST. 407

N"or to the world's cold pity show The tears that scald the cheek, Wrung from their eyelids by the shame And guilt of those they shrink to name, Whom once they loved with cheerful will, And love, though fallen and branded, still.

Weep, ye who sorrow for the dead,

Thus breaking hearts their pain relieve ; And reverenced are the tears ye shed,

And honored ye who grieve. The praise of those who sleep in earth, The pleasant memory of their worth, The hope to meet when life is past, Shall heal the tortured mind at last.

But ye, who for the living lost

That agony in secret bear, Who shall with soothing words accost

The strength of your despair ?

408 LATER POEMS.

Grief for your sake is scorn for them Whom ye lament and all condemn ; And o'er the world of spirits lies A. gloom from which ye turn your eyes.

CATTERSKILL FALLS.

MIDST greens and shades the Catterskill leaps, From cliffs where the wood-flower clings ;

All summer he moistens his verdant steeps With the sweet light spray of the mountain springs ;

And he shakes the woods on the mountain side,

Whec they drip with the rains of autumn-tide.

But when, in the forest bare and old,

The blast of December calls,

27

410 LATER POEMS.

He builds, in the starlight clear and cold, A palace of ice where his torrent falls, With turret, and arch, and fretwork fair, And pillars blue as the summer air

For whom are those glorious chambers wroughtj

In the cold and cloudless night ? Is there neither spirit nor motion of thought

In forms so lovely, and hues so bright? Hear what the gray-haired woodmen tell Of this wild stream and its rocky dell.

;Twas hither a youth of dreamy mood,

A hundred winters ago, Had wandered over the mighty wood,

When the panther's track was fresh on the

snow,

And keen were the winds that came to stir The long dark boughs of the hemlock-fir.

CATTERSKILL FALLS. 411

Too gentle of mien he seemed and fair For a child of those rugged steeps ;

His home lay low in the valley where The kingly Hudson rolls to the deeps ;

But he wore the hunter's frock that day,

And a slender gun on his shoulder lay.

And here he paused, and against the trunk

Of a tall gray linden leant, When the broad clear orb of the sun had sunk

From his path in the frosty firmament, And over the round dark edge of the hill A cold green light was quivering still.

And the crescent moon, high over the green,

From a sky of crimson shone, On that icy palace, whose towers were seen

To sparkle as if with stars of their own ; While the water fell with a hollow sound, 'Twixt the glistening pillars ranged around.

412 LATER POEMS.

Is that a being of life, that moves Where the crystal battlements rise ?

A maiden watching the moon she loves, At the twilight hour, with pensive eyes?

Was that a garment which seemed to gleam

Betwixt his eye and the falling stream ?

"Pis only the torrent tumbling o'er, In the midst of those glassy walls,

Gushing, and plunging, and beating the floor Of the rocky basin in which it falls.

;Tis only the torrent — but why that start ?

Why gazes the youth with a throbbing heart ?

He thinks no more of his home afar,

Where his sire and sister wait. He heeds no longer how star after star

Looks forth on the night as the hour grows late. He heeds not the snow-wreaths, lifted and cast From a thousand boughs, by the rising blast.

CATTERSKILL FALLS. 413

His thoughts are alone of those who dwell

In the halls of frost and snow, Who pass where the crystal domes upswell

From the alabaster floors below, Where the frost-trees shoot with leaf and spray, And frost-gems scatter a silvery day.

"And oh that those glorious haunts were mine !

He speaks, and throughout the glen Thin shadows swim in the faint moonshine,

And take a ghastly likeness of men, As if the slain by the wintry storms Came forth to the air in their earthly forms.

There pass the chasers of seal and whale, With their weapons quaint and grim,

And bands of warriors in glittering mail, And herdsmen and hunters huge of limb.

There are naked arms, with bow and spear,

And furry gauntlets the carbine rear.

414: LATER POEMS.

There are mothers — and oh how sadly their eyes On their children's white brows rest !

There are youthful lovers — the maiden lies, In a seeming sleep, on the chosen breast ;

There are fair wan women with moonstruck air,

The snow stars necking their long loose hair.

They eye him not as they pass along, But his hair stands up with dread,

When he feels that he moves with that phantom

throng, Till those icy turrets are over his head,

And the torrent's roar as they enter seems ,

Like a drowsy murmur heard in dreams.

The glittering threshold is scarcely passed, When there gathers and wraps him round

A thick white twilight, sullen and vast, In which there is neither form nor sound ;

The phantoms, the glory, vanish all,

With the dying voice of the waterfall.

CATTEKSKILL FALLS. 415

Slow passes the darkness of that trance,

And the youth now faintly sees Huge shadows and gushes of light that dance

On a rugged ceiling of unhewn trees, And walls where the skins of beasts are hung, And rifles glitter on antlers strung.

On a couch of shaggy skins he lies ;

As he strives to raise his head, Hard-featured woodmen, with kindly eves,

Come round him and smooth his furry bed, And bid him rest, for the evening star Is scarcely set and the day is far.

They had found at eve the dreaming one

By the base of that icy steep, When over his stiffening limbs begun

The deadly slumber of frost to creep, And had cherished the pale and breathless form. Till the stagnant blood ran free and warm.

THE STRANGE LADY.

THE summer morn is bright and fresh; the birds

are darting by, As if they loved to breast the breeze that sweeps

the cool clear sky ; Young Albert, in the forest's edge, has heard a

rustling sound, An arrow lightly strikes his hand and falls

upon the ground.

THE STRANGE LADY. 417

A. dark-haired woman from the wood comes sud-

•

denly in sight ; Her merry eye is full and black, her cheek is

brown and bright ; Her gown is of the mid-sea blue; her belt with

beads is strung, And yet she speaks in gentle tones, and in the

English tongue.

" It was an idle bolt I sent, against the villain

crow ; Fair sir, I fear it harmed thy hand ; beshrew

my erring bow ! " ''Ah! would that bolt had not been spent 1

then, lady, might I wear A lasting token on my hand of one so passing

fair!"

418 LATER POEMS.

" Thou art a flatterer like the rest, but wouldst

thou take with me A day of hunting in the wilds, beneath the

greenwood tree, I know where most the pheasants feed, and

where the red deer herd, And thou shouldst chase the nobler game, and

I bring down the bird."

Now Albert in her quiver lays the arrow in its place,

And wonders as he gazes on the beauty of her face :

" Those hunting-grounds are far away, and, lady, 'twere not meet,

That night, amid the wilderness, should over take thy feet."

THE STRANGE LADY. 419

•' Heed not the night ; a summer lodge amid the wild is mine, —

Tis shadowed by the tulip-tree, 'tis mantled by the vine ;

The wild plum sheds its yellow fruit from fra grant thickets nigh,

And flowery prairies from the door stretch till they meet the sky.

" There in the boughs that hide the roof the

mock-bird sits and sings, And there the hang-bird's brood within its little

hammock swings ; A pebbly brook, where rustling winds among the

hopples sweep, Shall lull thee till the morning sun looks in upon

thy sleep."

420 LATER POEMS.

Away, into the forest depths by pleasant paths

they go, He with his rifle on his arm, the lady with her

bow, Where cornels arch their cool dark boughs o'er

beds of wintergreen, And never at his father's door again was Albert

seen.

That night upon the woods came down a furious

hurricane, With howl of winds and roar of streams, and

beating of the rain ; Tho mighty thunder broke and drowned the

noises in its crash ; The old trees seemed to fight like fiends beneath

the lightning-flash.

THE STKANGE LADY. 421

Next day, within a mossy glen, 'mid moulder ing trunks were found

The fragments of a human form upon the bloody ground ;

With bones from which the flesh was torn, and locks of glossy hair ;

They laid them in the place of graves, yet wist not whose they were.

And whether famished evening wolves had

mangled Albert so, Or that strange dame so gay and fair were some

mysterious foe, Or whether to that forest lodge, beyond the

mountains blue, He went to dwell with her, the friends who

mourned him never knew.

LIFE

On Life, I breathe thee in the breeze, I feel thee bounding in my veins,

I see thee in these stretching trees,

These flowers, this still rock's mossy stains.

This stream of odors flowing by,

From clover field and clumps of pine,

This music, thrilling all the sky,

From all the morning birds, are thine.

LIFE. 423

Thou filTst with joy this little one, That leaps and shouts beside me here,

\Vhere Isar's clay-white rivulets run Through the dark woods like frighted deer.

Ah ! must the mighty breath, that wakes Insect and bird, and flower and tree,

From the low trodden dust, and makes Their daily gladness, pass from me —

Pass, pulse by pulse, till o'er the ground

These limbs, now strong, shall creep with pain,

And this fair world of sight and sound Seem fading into night again ?

The things, oh LIFE ! thou quickenest, all Strive upward towards the broad bright sky,

Upward and outward, and they fall Back to earth's bosom when they die.

424: LATER POEMS.

All that have borne the touch of death, All that shall live, lie mingled there,

Beneath that veil of bloom and breath, That living zone 'twixt earth and air

There lies my chamber dark and still, The atoms trampled by my feet,

There wait, to take the place I fill In the sweet air and sunshine sweet.

Well, I have had my turn, have been Kaised from the darkness of the clcd,

And for a glorious moment seen

The brightness of the skirts of God ;

And knew the light within my breast, Though wavering oftentimes and dim,

The power, the will, that never rest, And cannot die, were all from him.

LIFE. 425

Dear child ! I know that thou wilt grieve

To see me taken from thy love, Wilt seek my grave at Sabbath eve,

And weep, and scatter flowers above.

Thy little heart will soon be healed,

And being shall be bliss, till thou To younger forms of life must yield

The place thou fill'st with beauty now,

When we descend to dust again,

Where will the final dwelling be Of Thought and all its memories then,

My love for thee, and thine for me?

28

" EAKTH'S CHILDREN CLEAVE TO EARTH."

EARTH'S children cleave to Earth — her frail

Decaying children dread decay. Yon wreath of mist that leaves the vale

And lessens in the morning ray ; Look, how, by mountain rivulet,

It lingers as it upward creeps, And clings to fern and copserrood set

Along the green and dewy steeps : Clings to the flowery kalmia, clings

To precipices fringed with grass,

" EARTH S CHILDREN CLEAVE TO EARTH." 427

Dark maples where the wood-thrush sings,

And bowers of fragrant sassafras. Yet all in vain — it passes still

From hold to hold ; it cannot stay, And in the very beams that fill

The world with glory, wastes away, Till, parting from the mountain's brow,

It vanishes from human eye, And that which sprung of earth is now

A portion of the glorious sky.

THE HUNTER'S VISION.

UPON a rock that, high and sheer, Rose from the mountain's breast,

A weary hunter of the deer Had set him down to rest,

And bared to the soft summer air

His hot red brow and sweaty hair.

All dim in haze the mountains lay, With dimmer vales between ;

429

And rivers glimmered on their way,

By forests faintly seen ; While ever rose a murmuring scund, From brooks below and bees around.

He listened, till he seemed to hear A strain, so soft and low,

That whether in the mind or ear The listener scarce might know.

With such a tone, so sweet, so mild,

The watching mother lulls her child.

" Thou weary huntsman," thus it said, " Thou faint with toil and heat,

The pleasant land of rest is spread Before thy very feet,

And those whom thou wouldst gladly see

Are waiting there to welcome thee."

430 LATER POEMS.

He looked, and 'twixi the earth and sky,

Amid the noontide haze, A shadowy region met his eye,

And grew beneath his gaze, As if the vapors of the air Had gathered into shapes so fair.

Groves freshened as he looked, and flowers Showed bright on rocky bank,

And fountains welled beneath the bowers, Where deer and pheasant drank.

He saw the glittering streams, he heard

The rustling bough and twittering bird.

And friends, the dead, in boyhood dear, There lived and walked again,

And there was one who many a year Within her grave had lain,

THE HUNTER'S VISION. 431

A fair young girl, the* hamlet's prid His heart was breaking when she died :

Bounding, as was her wont; she came

Right toward his resting-place, And stretched her hand and called his name

With that sweet smiling face. Forward with fixed and eager eyes, The hunter leaned, in act to rise.

Forward he leaned, and headlong down Plunged from that craggy wall ;

He saw the rocks, steep, stern, and brown, An instant, in his fall ;

A frightful instant — and no more,

The dream and life at once were o'er.

THE GKEEN MOUNTAIN BOYS.

HERE halt we our march, and pitch our tent,

On the rugged forest ground, And light our fire with the branches rent

By winds from the beeches round. Wild storms have torn this ancient wood,

But a wilder is at hand, With hail of iron and rain of blood,

To sweep and waste the land.

THE GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS. 433 II.

How the dark wood rings with voices shrill,

That startle the sleeping bird ; To-morrow eve must the voice be still,

And the step must fall unheard. The Briton lies by the blue Champlain,

In Ticonderoga's towers, And ere the sun rise twice again,

Must they and the lake be ours.

in.

Fill up the bowl from the brook that glides

Where the fireflies light the brake ; A ruddier juice the Briton hides

In his fortress by the lake. Build high the fire, till the panther leap

From his lofty perch inflight, And we'll strengthen our weary arms with sleep

For the deeds of to-morrow night.

A PEESENTIMENT.

"OH father, let us hence— for hark, A fearful murmur shakes the air ;

The clouds are coming swift and dark ;- What horrid shapes they wear !

A winged giant sails the sky ;

Oh father, father, let us fly ! "

' Hush, child ; it is a grateful sound, That beating of the summer shower ;

A PRESENTIMENT. 435

Here, where the boughs hang close around,

We'll pass a pleasant hour, Till the fresh wind, that brings the rain, Has swept the broad heaven clear again/'

"Kay, father, let us haste — for see, That horrid thing with horned brow, —

His wings o'erhang this very tree, He scowls upon us now ;

His huge black arm is lifted high ;

Oh father, father, let us fly ! "

" Hush, child ; " but, as the father spoke, Downward the livid firebolt came,

Close to his ear the thunder broke, And, blasted by the flame,

The child lay dead ; while dark and still,

Swept the grim cloud along the hill.

THE CHILD'S FUNERAL.

FAIR is thy site, Sorrento, green thy shore, Black crags behind thee pierce the clear blue skies ;

The sea, whose borderers ruled the world of yore, As clear and bluer still before thee lies

Vesuvius smokes in sight, whose fount of fire, Outgushing, drowned the cities on his steeps ;

And murmuring Naples, spire overtopping spire ; Sits on the slope beyond where Virgil sleeps.

437

Here doth the earth, with flowers of every hue, Heap her green breast when April suns are bright,

Flowers of the morning-red, or ocean-blue, Or like the mountain frost of silvery white.

Currents of fragrance, from the orange tree, And sward of violets, breathing to and fro,

Mingle, and, wandering out upon the sea, Refresh the idle boatman where they blow.

Yet even here, as under harsher climes, Tears for the loved and early lost are shed ;

That soft air saddens with the funeral chimes ; Those shining flowers are gathered for the dead.

Here once a child, a smiling playful one, All the day long caressing and caressed,

438 LATER POEMS.

Died when its little tongue had just begun To lisp the names of those it loved the best

The father strove his struggling grief to quell, The mother wept as mothers use to weep,

Two little sisters wearied them to tell

When their dear Carlo would awake from sleep.

Within an inner room his couch they spread, His funeral couch ; with mingled grief and love,

They laid a crown of roses on his head,

And murmured," Brighter is his crown above."

They scattered round him, on the snowy sheet, Laburnum's strings of sunny-colored gems,

Sad hyacinths, and violets dim and sweet, And orange blossoms on their dark green stems.

THE CHILD'S FUNERAL. 439

And now the hour is come ; the priest is there ;

Torches are lit and bells are tolled ; they go, With solemn rites of blessing and of prayer,

To lay the little one in earth below.

The door is opened ; hark ! that quick glad cry ;

Carlo has waked, has waked, and is at play ! The little sisters laugh and leap, and try

To climb the bed on which the infant lay.

And there he sits alive, and gayly shakes

In his full hands, the blossoms red and white, And smiles with winking eyes, like one who

wakes

From long deep slumbers at the morning light.

THE BATTLE-FIELD.

ONCE this soft turf, this rivulet's sands, Were trampled by a hurrying crowd,

And fiery hearts and armed hands Encountered in the battle cloud

Ah ! never shall the land forget

How gushed the life-blood of her brave — Gushed, warm with hope and courage yet,

Upon the soil they fought to save.

THE BATTLE-FIELD. 441

Now all is calm, and fresh, and still,

Alone the chirp of flitting bird, And talk of children on the hill,

And bell of wandering kine are heard.

No solemn host goes trailing by

The black-mouthed gun and staggering wain; Men start not at the battle-cry ;

Oh, be it never heard again !

Soon rested those who fought ; but thou, Who minglest in the harder strife

For truths which men receive not now, Thy warfare only ends with life.

A friendless warfare ! lingering long

Through weary day and weary year. A wild and many-weaponed throng

Hang on thy front, and flank, and rear. 29

4:4:2 LATER POEMS.

Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof, And blench not at thy chosen lot

The timid good may stand aloof,

The sage may frown — yet faint thou not

Nor heed the shaft too surely cast, The foul and hissing bolt of scorn ;

For with thy side shall dwell, at last, The victory of endurance born.

Truth crushed to earth shall rise again ;

The eternal years of God are hers ; But Error wounded, writhes in pain,

And dies among his worshippers.

Y"ea, though thou lie upon the dust, When they who helped thee flee in fear,

Die full of hope and manly trust, Like those who fell in battle here.

THE BATTLE-FIELD. 443

Another hand the sword shall wield, Another hand the standard wave,

Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed The blast of triumph o'er thy grave.

THE FUTURE LIFE.

How shall I know thee in the sphere which keeps The disembodied spirits of the dead,

When all of thee that time could wither sleeps And perishes among the dust we tread?

For I shall feel the sting of ceaseless pain If there I meet thy gentle presence not ;

Nor hear the voice I love, nor read again In thy serenest eyes the tender thought.

THE FUTURE LIFE. 445

Will not thy own meek heart demand me there?

That heart whose fondest throbs to me were

given? My name on earth was ever in thy prayer,

And must thou never utter it in heaven ?

In meadows fanned by heaven's life-breathing wind,

In the resplendence of that glorious sphere, And larger movements of the unfettered mind,

Wilt thou forget the love that joined us here ?

The love that lived through all the stormy past, And meekly with my harsher nature bore,

And deeper grew, and tenderer to the last, Shall it expire with life, and be no more ?

A happier lot than mine, and larger light, Await thee there ; for thou hast bowed thy will

44:6 LATER POEMS.

ID cheerful homage to the rule of right, And lovest all, and renderest good for ill.

For me, the sordid cares in which I dwell, Shrink and consume my heart, as heat the scroll ;

And wrath has left its scar — that fire of hell Has left its frightful scar upon my soul.

Yet though thou wear'st the glory of the sky, Wilt thou not keep the same beloved name,

The same fair thoughtful brow, and gentle eye, Lovelier in heaven's sweet climate, yet the same?

Shalt thou not teach me, in that calmer home, The wisdom that I learned so ill in this —

The wisdom which is love — till I become Thy fit companion in that land of bliss ?

THE DEATH OF SCHILLER.

'Tis said, when Schiller's death drew nigh, The wish possessed his mighty mind,

To wander forth wherever lie

The homes and haunts of human-kind.

Then strayed the poet, in his dreams, By Kome and Egypt's ancient graves ;

Went up the New World's forest-streams, Stood in the Hindoo's temple-caves ;

448 LATER POEMS.

Walked with the Pawnee, fierce and stark, The sallow Tartar, midst his herds,

The peering Chinese, and the dark False Malay uttering gentle words.

How could he rest ? even then he trod The threshold of the world unknown ;

Already, from the seat of God,

A ray upon his garments shone ; —

Shone and awoke the strong desire

For love and knowledge reached not hero,

Till, freed by death, his soul of fire Sprang to a fairer, ampler sphere.

THE FOUNTAIN.

FOUNTAIN, that springest on this grassy slope. Thy quick cool murmur mingles pleasantly. With the cool sound of breezes in the "beech, Above me in the noontide. Thou dost wear No stain of thy dark birthplace ; gushing up From the red mould and slimy roots of earth, Thou flashest in the sun. The mountain air, In winter, is not clearer, -nor the dew

450 LATER POEMS.

That shines on mountain blossom. Thus doth

God Bring, from the dark and foul, the pure and

bright.

This tangled thicket on the bank above Thy basin, how thy waters keep it green ! For thou dost feed the roots of the wild vine That trails all over it, and to the twigs Ties fast her clusters. There the spice-bush

lifts

Her leafy lances ; the viburnum there, Paler of foliage, to the sun holds up Her circlet of green berries. In and out The chipping sparrow, in her coat of brown, Steals silently, lest I should mark her nest

Not such thou wert of yore, ere yet the axe Had smitten the old woods. Then hoary trunks

THE FOUNTAIN. 451

Of oak, and plane, and hickory, o'er thee held A mighty canopy. When April winds Grew soft, the maple burst into a flush Of scarlet flowers. The tulip-tree, high up, Opened, in airs of June, her multitude Of golden chalices to humming-birds And silken-winged insects of the sky.

Frail wood-plants clustered round thy edge in

Spring.

The liverleaf put forth her sister blooms Of faintest blue. Here the quick-footed wolf, Pausing to lap thy waters, crushed the flower Of sanguinaria, from whose brittle stem The red drops fell like blood. The deer, too, left Her delicate foot-print in the soft moist mould, And on the fallen leaves. The slow-paced bear, In such a sultry summer noon as this, Stopped at thy stream, and drank, and leaped

across.

452 LATER POEMS.

But thou hast histories that stir the heart With deeper feeling ; while I look on thee They rise before me. I behold the scene Hoary again with forests ; I behold The Indian warrior, whom a hand unseen Has smitten with his death-wound in the woods, Creep slowly to thy well-known rivulet, And slake his death-thirst. Hark, that quick

fierce cry

That rends the utter silence ; 'tis the whoop Of battle, and a throng of savage men With naked arms and faces stained like blood, Fill the green wilderness ; the long bare arms Are heaved aloft, bows twang and arrows stream ; Each makes a tree his shield, and every tree Sends forth its arrow. Fierce the fight and short, As is the whirlwind. Soon the conquerors And conquered vanish, and the dead remain Mangled by tomahawks. The mighty woods Are still again, the frighted bird comes back

THE FOUNTAIN. 453

And plumes her wings ; but thy sweet waters

run Crimson with blood. Then, as the sun goes

down,

Amid the deepening twilight I descry Figures of men that crouch and creep unheard, And bear away the dead. The next day's shower Shall wash the tokens of the fight away.

I look again — a hunter's lodge is built, With poles and boughs, beside thy crystal well, While the meek autumn stains the woods with

gold,

And sheds his golden sunshine. To the door The red man slowly drags the enormous bear Slain in the chestnut thicket, or flings down The deer from his strong shoulders. Shaggy fells Of wolf and cougar hang upon the walls, And loud the black-eyed Indian maidens laugh, That gather, from the rustling heaps of leaves,

454: LATER POEMS.

The hickory's white nuts, and the dark fruit That falls from the gray butternut's longboughs

So centuries passed by, and still the woods Blossomed in spring, and reddened when the

year

Grew chill, and glistened in the frozen rains Of winter, till the white man swung the axe Beside thee — signal of a mighty change. Then all around was heard the crash of trees, Trembling awhile and rushing to the ground, The low of ox, and shouts of men who fired The brushwood, or who tore the earth with

ploughs.

The grain sprang thick and tall, and hid in green The blackened hill-side ; ranks of spiky maize Kose like a host embattled ; the buckwheat Whitened broad acres, sweetening with its

flowers The August wind. White cottages were seen

THE FOUNTAIN. 455

With rose-trees at the windows ; harns from

which

Came loud and shrill the crowing of the cock ; Pastures where rolled and neighed the lordly

horse, And white flocks browsed and bleated. A rich

turf

Of grasses brought from far o'ercrept thy bank, Spotted with the white clover. Blue-eyed girls Brought pails, and dipped them in thy crystal

pool ;

And children, ruddy-cheeked and flaxen-haired, Gathered the glistening cowslip from thy edge.

Since then, what steps have trod thy border I

Here

On thy green bank, the woodman of the swamp Has laid his axe, the reaper of the hill His sickle, as they stooped to taste thy stream. The sportsman, tired with wandering in the still

456 LATER POEMS.

September noon, has bathed his heated brow In thy cool current. Shouting boys, let loose For a wild holiday, have quaintly shaped Into a cup the folded linden leaf, And dipped thy sliding crystal. From the

wars

Returning, the plumed soldier by thy side Has sat, and mused how pleasant 'twere to

dwell

In such a spot, and be as free as thou, And move for no man's bidding more. At eve, When thou wert crimson with the crimson sky, Lovers have gazed upon thee, and have thought Their mingled lives should flow as peacefully And brightly as thy waters. Here the sage, Gazing into thy self-replenished depth, Has seen eternal order circumscribe And bind the motions of eternal change, And from the gushing of thy simple fount Has reasoned to the mighty universe.

THE FOUNTAIN. 45 7

Is there no other change for thee, that lurks Among the future ages ? Will not man Seek out strange arts to wither and deform The pleasant landscape which thou makest

green?

Or shall the veins that feed thy constant stream Be choked in middle earth, and flow no more For ever, that the water-plants along Thy channel perish, and the bird in vain Alight to drink ? Haply shall these green hilla Sink, with the lapse of years, into the gulf Of ocean waters, and thy source be lost Amidst the bitter brine ? Or shall they rise, Upheaved in broken cliffs and airy peaks, Haunts of the eagle and the snake, and thou Gush midway from the bare and barren steep 1

30

THE WINDS.

YE winds, ye unseen currents of the air,

Softly ye played a few brief hours ago ; Ye bore the murmuring bee ; ye tossed the hair O'er maiden cheeks, that took a fresher glow ; Ye rolled the round white cloud through depths

of blue ; Ye shook from shaded flowers the lingering

dew ;

Before you the catalpa's blossoms flew, Light blossoms, dropping on the grass like

snow.

THE WINDS. 459

II.

ilow are ye changed ! Ye take the cataract's sound ;

Ye take the whirlpool's fury and its might ; The mountain shudders as ye sweep the ground ;

The valley woods lie prone beneath your flight The clouds before you shoot like eagles past ; The homes of men are rocking in your blast ; Ye lift the roofs like autumn leaves, and cast

Skyward, the whirling fragments out of sight.

in.

The weary fowls of heaven make wing in vain, To escape your wrath ; ye seize and dash them dead.

Against the earth ye drive the roaring rain ; The harvest field becomes a river's bed ;

And torrents tumble from the hills around,

Plains turn to lakes, and villages are drowned,

460 LATER POEMS.

And wailing voices, midst the tempest's sound, Bise, as the rushing waters swell and spread.

IV.

Ye dart upon the deep, and straight is heard A wilder roar, and men grow pale, and pray;

Ye fling its surges round you, as a bird Flings o'er his shivering plumes the fountain's spray.

See ! to the breaking mast the sailor clings ;

Ye scoop the ocean to its briny springs,

And take the mountain billow on your wings, And pile the wreck of navies round the bay.

v.

Why rage ye thus ? — no strife for liberty Has made you mad ; no tyrant, strong through fear,

THE WINDS. 461

Has chained your pinions till ye wrenched them

free,

And rushed into the unmeasured atmosphere; For ye were born in freedom where ye blow ; Free o'er the mighty deep to come and go ; Earth's solemn woods were yours, her wastes of

snow, Her isles where summer blossoms all the year.

VI.

0 ye wild winds ! a mightier Power than yours

In chains upon the shore of Europe lies ; The sceptred throng, whose fetters he endures, Watch his mute throes with terror in their

eyes :

And armed warriors all around him stand, And, as he struggles, tighten every band, And lift the heavy spear, with threatening hand, To pierce the victim, should he strive to rise.

462 LATER POEMS.

VII.

Yet oh, when that wronged Spirit of our race, Shall break, as soon he must, his long-worn

chains, And leap in freedom from his prison place,

Lord of his ancient hills and fruitful plains, Let him not rise, like these mad winds of air, To waste the loveliness that time could spare, To fill the earth with wo, and blot her fair Unconscious breast with blood from human veins.

VIII.

But may he like the spring-time come abroad, Who crumbles winter's gyves with gentle

might,

When in the genial breeze, the breath of God, Come spouting up the unsealed springs tc light ;

THE WINDS. 463

Flowers start from their dark prisons at his feet ; The woods, long dumb, awake to hymnings

sweet, And morn and eve, whose glimmerings almost

meet, Crowd back to narrow bounds the ancient

night,

THE OLD MAN'S COUNSEL.

AMONG our hills and valleys, I have known Wise and grave men, who, while their diligent

hands

Tended or gathered in the fruits of earth, Were reverent learners in the solemn school Of nature. Not in vain to them were sent Seed-time and harvest, or the vernal shower, That darkened the brown tilth, or snow that beat

THE OLD MAN'S COUNSEL. 465

On the white winter hills. Each brought, in

turn,

Some truth, some lesson on the life of man, Or recognition of the Eternal mind Who veils his glory with the elements.

One such I knew long since, a white-haired

man,

Pithy of speech, and merry when he would ; A genial optimist, who daily dre.w From what he saw, his quaint moralities. Kindly he held communion, though so old, With me a dreaming boy, and taught me much That books tell not, and I shall ne'er forget.

The sun of May was bright in middle heaven, And steeped the sprouting forests, the green

hills, And emerald wheat-fields, in his yellow light.

466 LATER POEMS.

Upon the apple-tree, where rosy buds Stood clustered, ready to burst forth in bloom, The robin warbled forth his fall clear note For hours, and wearied not. Within the woods, Whose young and half transparent leaves scarce

cast

A shade, gay circles of anemones Danced on their stalks ; the shadbush, white

with flowers,

Brightened the glens ; the new-leaved butter nut

And quivering poplar to the roving breeze Grave a balsamic fragrance. In the fields I saw the pulses of the gentle wind On the young grass. My heart was touched

with joy

At so much beauty, flushing every hour Into a fuller beauty ; but my friend, The thoughtful ancient, standing at my side, Gazed on it mildly sad. I asked him why.

THE OLD MAN'S COUNSEL. 467

"Well mayst thou join in gladness," he

replied, 1 With the glad earth, her springing plants and

flowers,

And this soft wind, the herald of the green Luxuriant summer. Thou art young like them, And well mayest thou rejoice. But while the

flight

Of seasons fills and knits thy spreading frame It withers mine, and thins my hair, and dims These eyes, whose fading light shall soon be

quenched In utter darkness. Hearest thou that bird ? "

I listened, and from midst the depth of woods Heard the love-signal of the grouse, that wears A sable ruff around his mottled neck ; Partridge they call him by our northern streams, And pheasant by the Delaware. He beat

468 LATER POEMS.

His barred sides with his speckled wings, and

made

A sound like distant thunder ; slow the strokes At first, then fast and faster, till at length They passed into a murmur and were still.

{e There hast thou," said my friend, " a fitting

type

Of human life. 'Tis an old truth, I know, But images like these revive the power Of long familiar truths. Slow pass our days In childhood, and the hours of light are long Betwixt the morn and eve ; with swifter lapse They glide in manhood, and in age they fly ; Till days and seasons flit before the mind As flit the snow-flakes in a winter storm, Seen rather than distinguished. Ah ! I seem As if I sat within a helpless bark, By swiftly running waters hurried on

THE OLD MAN'S COUNSEL. 469

To shoot some mighty cliff. Along the banks Grove after grove, rock after frowning rock, Bare sands and pleasant homes, and flowery

nooks,

And isles and whirlpools in the stream, appear Each after each, but the devoted skiff Darts by so swiftly that their images Dwell not upon the mind, or only dwell In dim confusion ; faster yet I sweep By other banks, and the great gulf is near.

" Wisely, my son, while yet thy days are long, And this fair change of seasons passes slow, Gather and treasure up the good they yield — All that they teach of virtue, of pure thoughts And kind affections, reverence for thy God And for thy brethren ; so when thou shalt come Into these barren years, thou mayst not bring A mind unfurnished and a withered heart."

470 LATER POEMS.

Long since that white-haired ancient slept —

but still When the red flower-buds crowd the orchard

bough,

And the ruffed grouse is drumming far within The woods, his venerable form again Is at my side, his voice is in my ear.

IK MEMORY OF WILLIAM LEGGETT

THE earth may ring, from shore to shore, With echoes of a glorious name,

But he, whose loss our tears deplore, Has left behind him more than fame.

For when the death-frost came to lie On Leggett's warm and mighty heart

And quench his bold and friendly eye, His spirit did not all depart.

472 LATER POEMS.

The words of fire that from his pen Were flung upon the fervid page,

Still move, still shake the hearts of men. Amid a cold and coward age.

His love of truth, too warm, too strong For Hope or Fear to chain or chill,

His hate of tyranny and wrong, Burn in the breasts he kindled still.

AN EVENING KEYERY.

FROM AN UNFINISHED POEM.

THE summer day is closed — the sun is set : Well they have done their office, those bright

hours,

The latest of whose train goes softly out In the red West. The green blade of the ground Has risen, and herds have cropped it ; the

young twig

Has spread its plaited tissues to the sun ; Flowers of the garden and the waste have blown

31

474 LATER POEMS.

And withered ; seeds have fallen upon the soil, From bursting cells, and in their graves await Their resurrection. Insects from the pools Have rilled the air awhile with humming wings, That now are still for ever ; painted moths Have wandered the blue sky, and died again ; The mother-bird hath broken for her brood Their prison shell, or shoved them from the

nest. Plumed for their earliest flight. In bright

alcoves,

In woodland cottages with barky walls, In noisome cells of the tumultuous town, Mothers have clasped with joy the new-born

babe.

Graves by the lonely forest, by the shore Of rivers and of ocean, by the ways Of the thronged city, have been hollowed out And filled, and closed. This day hath parted

friends

AN EVENING REVERT. 475

That ne'er before were parted ; it hath knit New friendships ; it hath seen the maiden plight Her faith, and trust her peace to him who

long Had wooed ; and it hath heard, from lips which

late

Were eloquent of love, the first harsh word, That told the wedded one her peace was flown. Farewell to the sweet sunshine ! One glad

day

Is added now to Childhood's merry days, And one calm day to those of quiet Age. Still the fleet hours run on ; and as I lean, Amid the thickening darkness, lamps are lit, By those who watch the dead, and those who

twine Flowers for the bride. The mother from the

eyes

Of her sick infant shades the painful light, And sadly listens to his quick-drawn breath.

476 LATER POEMS.

OL thou great Movement of the Universe, Or Change , or Flight of Time— for ye are one ! That bearest, silently, this visible scene Into night's shadow and the streaming rays Of starlight, whither art thou bearing me ? I feel the mighty current sweep me on, Yet know not whither. Man foretells afar The courses of the stars ; the very hour He knows,when they shall darken or grow bright , Yet doth the eclipse of Sorrow and of Death Come unforewarned. Who next, of those I love, Shall pass from life, or sadder yet, shall fall From virtue ? Strife with foes, or bitterer strife With friends, or shame and general scorn of

men — Which who can bear? — or the fierce rack of

pain,

Lie they within my path? Or shall the years Push me, with soft and inoffensive pace, Into the stilly twilight of my age ?

AN EVENING REVERT. 477

Or do the portals of another life

Even now, while I am glorying in my strength,

Impend around me ? Oh ! beyond that bourne,

In the vast cycle of being which begins

At that dread threshold, with what fairer forms

Shall the great law of change and progress

clothe Its workings ? Gently — so have good men

taught —

Gently, and without grief, the old shall glide Into the new ; the eternal flow of things, Like a bright river of the fields of heaven, Shall journey onward in perpetual peace.

THE PAINTED CUP.

THE fresh savannas of the Sangamon Here rise in gentle swells, and the long grass Is mixed with rustling hazels. Scarlet tufts Are glowing in the green, like flakes of fire ; The wanderers of prairie know them well, And call that brilliant flower the Painted Cup

Now, if thou art a poet, tell me not That these bright chalices were tinted thus

THE PAINTED CUP. 479

0

Tc hold the dew for fairies, when they meet On moonlight evenings in the hazel bowers, And dance till they are thirsty. Call not up, Amid this fresh and virgin solitude, The faded fancies of an elder world ; But leave these scarlet cups to spotted moths Of June, and glistening flies, and humming birds, To drink from, when on all these boundless

lawns

The morning sun looks hot. Or let the wind Overturn in sport their ruddy brims, and pour A sudden shower upon the strawberry plant, To swell the reddening fruit that even now Breathes a slight fragrance from the sunny slope.

But thou art of a gayer fancy. Well- Let then the gentle Manitou of flowers, Lingering amid the bloomy waste he loves,

480 LATEK POEMS.

Though all his swarthy worshippers are gone — Slender and small, his rounded cheek all brown And ruddy with the sunshine ; let him come On summer mornings, when the blossoms wake, And part with little hands the spiky grass ; And touching, with his cherry lips, the edge Of these bright beakers, drain the gathered dew,

A DKEAM.

I HAD a dream — a strange, wild dream — Said a dear voice at early light ;

And even yet its shadows seem To linger in my waking sight.

Earth, green with spring, and fresh with dew, And bright with morn, before me stood ;

And airs just wakened softly blew On the young blossoms of the wood.

482 LATER POEMS,

Birds sang within the sprouting shade, Bees hummed amid the whispering grass

And children prattled as they played Beside the rivulet's dimpling grass.

Fast climbed the sun ; the flowers were flown ;

There played no children in the glen ; For some were gone, and some were grown

To blooming dames and bearded men.

'Twas noon, 'twas summer ; I beheld Woods darkening in the flush of day,

And that bright rivulet spread and swelled, A mighty stream, with creek and bay.

And here was love, and there was strife, And mirthful shouts, and wrathful cries,

And strong men, struggling as for life, With knotted limbs and angry eyes

A DREAM, 483

Now stooped the sun ; the shades grew thin ;

The rustling paths were piled with leaves ; And sunburnt groups were gathering in,

From the shorn field, its fruits and sheaves.

The river heaved with sullen sounds ;

The chilly wind was sad with moans ; Black hearses passed, and burial-grounds

Grew thick with monumental stones.

Still waned the day ; the wind that chased The jagged clouds blew chiller yet ;

The woods were stripped, the fields were waste ; The wintry sun was near its set.

And of the young, and strong, and fair, A lonely remnant, gray and weak,

Lingered, and shivered to the air Of that bleak shore and water bleak.

484: LATER POEMS.

All ! age is drear, and death is cold !

I turned to thee, for thou wert near, And saw thee withered, bowed, and old,

And woke all faint with sudden fear.

'Twas thus I heard the dreamer say, And bade her clear her clouded brow ;

" For thou and I, since childhood's day, Have walked in such a dream till now.

" Watch we in calmness, as they rise, The changes of that rapid dream,

And note its lessons, till our eyes Shall open in the morning beam."

THE ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM.

HEBE are old trees, tall oaks and gnarled

pines, That stream with gray-green mosses ; here the

ground Was never trenched by spade, and flowers spring

up

Unsown, and die ungathered. It is sweet To linger here, among the flitting birds And leaping squirrels, wandering brooks, and

winds That shake the leaves, and scatter as they pass,

4:86 LATER POEMS.

A fragrance from the cedars, thickly set With pale blue berries. In these peaceful

shades —

Peaceful, unpruned, immeasurably old — My thoughts go up the long dim path of years, Back to the earliest days of liberty.

Oh FREEDOM ! thou art not, as poets dream, A fair young girl, with light and delicate limbs, And wavy tresses gushing from the cap With which the Eoman master crowned his

slave

When he took off the gyves. A bearded man, Armed to the teeth, art thou ; one mailed hand Grasps the broad shield, and one the sword ; thy

brow,

Glorious in beauty though it be, is scarred With tokens of old wars ; thy massive limbs Are strong with struggling. Power at thee has

launched

THE ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM. 487

His bolts, and with his lightnings smitten thee • They could not quench the life thou hast from

heaven.

Merciless power has dug thy dungeon deep, And his swart armorers, by a thousand fires, Have forged thy chain; yet, while he deems thee

bound,

The links are shivered, and the prison walls Fall outward ; terribly thou springest forth, As springs the flame above a burning pile, And shoutest to the nations, who return, Thy shoutings, while the pale oppressor flies.

Thy birthright was not given by human

hands : Thou wert twin-born with man. In pleasant

fields, While yet our race was few, thou satt'st with

him,

488 LATER POEMS.

To tend the quiet flock and watch the stars, And teach the reed to utter simple airs. Thou by his side, amid the tangled wood, Didst war upon the panther and the wolf, His only foes ; and thou with him didst draw The earliest furrow on the mountain side, Soft with the deluge. Tyranny himself, Thy enemy, although of reverend look, Hoary with many years, and far obeyed, Is later born than thou ; and as he meets The grave defiance of thine elder eye, The usurper trembles in his fastnesses.

Thou shalt wax stronger with the lapse of

years,

13 ut he shall fade into a feebler age ; Feebler, yet subtler. He shall weave his snares, And spring them on thy careless steps, and clap

THE ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM. 489

£Jis withered hands; and from their ambush call His hordes to fall upon thee. He shall send Quaint maskers, wearing fair and gallant forms To catch thy gaze, and uttering graceful words To charm thy ear ; while his sly imps, by

stealth, Twine round thee threads of steel, light thread

on thread

That grow to fetters ; or bind down thy arms With chains concealed in chaplets. Oh ! not

yet

Mayst thou unbrace thy corslet, nor lay by Thy sword, nor yet, 0 Freedom ! close thy

lids

In slumber ; for thine enemy never sleeps, And thou must watch and combat till the day Of the new earth and heaven. But wouldst

thou rest Awhile from tumult and the frauds of men,

These old and friendly solitudes invite 32

490 LATER POEMS.

Thy visit. They, while yet the forest trees Were young upon the unviolated earth, And yet the moss stains on the rock were new. Beheld thj glorious childhood, and rejoiced.

THE MAIDEN'S SORROW.

SEVEN long years has the desert rain Dropped on the clods that hide thy face;

Seven long years of sorrow and pain I have thought of thy burial-place,

Thought of thy fate in the distant west, Dying with none that loved thee near;

They who flung the earth on thy breast Turned from the spot without a tear.

492 LATER POEMS.

There, I think, on that lonely grave, Violets spring in the soft May shower,

There, in the summer breezes, wave Crimson phlox and moccasin flower.

There the turtles alight, and there Feeds with her fawn the timid doe ;

There, when the winter woods are bare, Walks the wolf on the crackling snow.

Soon wilt thou wipe my tears away ;

All my task upon earth is done ; My poor father, old and gray,

Slumbers beneath the churchyard stone

In the dreams of my lonely bed, Ever thy form before me seems ;

All night long I talk with the dead, All day long I think of my dreams

THE MAIDEN'S SORROW. 4.93

This deep wound that bleeds and aches, This long pain, a sleepless pain —

When the Father my spirit takes, I shall feel it no more again.

THE KETUKN OF YOUTH.

MY friend, thou sorrowest for thy golden prime, For thy fair youthful years too swift of flight; Thou musest, with wet eyes, upon the time Of cheerful hopes that filled the world with

light,- Y"ears when thy heart was bold, thy hand was

strong, And quick the thought that moved thy

tongue to speak,

And willing faith was thine, and scorn of wrong Summoned the sudden crimson to thy cheek.

THE RETURN OF YOUTH. 495

Tliou lookest forward on the coming days, Shuddering to feel their shadow o'er thee

creep ;

A path, thick-set with changes and decays, Slopes downward to the place of common

sleep ; And they who walked with thee in life's first

stage, Leave one by one thy side, and, waiting

Thou seest the sad companions of thy ag Dull love of rest, and weariness and fear.

Yet grieve thou not, nor think thy youth is

gone, Nor deem that glorious season e'er could

die.

Thy pleasant youth, a little while withdrawn, Waits on the horizon of a brighter sky ;

496 LATER POEMS.

Waits, like the morn; that folds her wing and

hides, Till the slow stars bring back her dawning

hour ;

Waits, like the vanished spring, that slumber ing bides Her own sweet time to waken bud and flower,

There shall he welcome thee, when thou shalt

stand On his bright morning hills, with smiles more

sweet

Than when at first he took thee by the hand, Through the fair earth to lead thy tendei

feet. He shall bring back, but brighter, broader still,

Life's early glory to thine eyes again, Shall clothe thy spirit with new strength, and fill Thy leaping heart with warmer love than then.

THE RETURN OF YOUTH. 497

Hast thou not glimpses, in the twilight here,

Of mountains where immortal morn prevails? Comes there not, through the silence, to thine ear

A gentle rustling of the morning gales ; A murmur, wafted from that glorious shore,

Of streams, that water banks for ever fair, And voices of the loved ones gone before,

More musical in that celestial air 'I

A HYMN OF THE SEA.

THE sea is mighty, but a mightier sways His restless billows. Thou, whose hands have

scooped His boundless gulfs and built his shore, thy

breath,

That moved in the beginning o'er his face, Moves o'er it evermore. The obedient waves To its strong motion roll, and rise and fall. Still from that realm of rain thy cloud goes up, A.S at the first, to water the great earth,

A HYMN OF THE SEA. 499

And keep her valleys green. A hundred realms Watch its broad shadow warping on the wind And in the dropping shower, with gladness hear Thy promise of the harvest. I look forth Over the boundless blue, where joyously The bright crests of innumerable waves Grlance to the sun at once, as when the hands Of a great multitude are upward flung In acclamation. I behold the ships Gliding from cape to cape, from isle to isle, Or stemming toward far lands, or hastening

home

From the old world. It is thy friendly breeze That bears them, with the riches of the land, And treasure of dear lives, till, in the port, The shouting seaman climbs and furls the sail.

But who shall bide thy tempest, who shall face The blast that wakes the fury of the sea ?

500 LATEE POEMS.

Oh God ! thy justice makes the world turn pale, When, on the armed fleet, that royally Bears down the surges, carrying war, to smite Some city, or invade some thoughtless realm, Descends the fierce tornado. The vast hulks Are whirled like chaff upon the waves ; the sails Fly, rent like webs of gossamer ; the masts Are snapped asunder j downward from the

decks,

Downward are slung, into the fathomless gulf, Their cruel engines ; and their hosts, arrayed In trappings of the battle-field, are whelmed By whirlpools, or dashed dead upon the rocks. Then stand the nations still with awe, and

pause, A moment, from the bloody work of war.

These restless surges eat away the shores Of earth's old continents ; the fertile plain

A HYNN OF THE SEA. 501

Welters in shallows, headlands crumble down, And the tide drifts the sea-sand in the streets Of the drowned city. Thou, meanwhile, afar In the green chambers of the middle sea, Where broadest spread the waters and the line Sinks deepest, while no eye beholds thy work, Creator ! thou dost teach the coral worm To lay his mighty reefs. From age to age, He builds beneath the waters, till, at last, His bulwarks overtop the brine, and check The long wave rolling from the southern pole To break upon Japan. Thou bidd'st the fires, That smoulder under ocean, heave on high The new-made mountains, and uplift their

peaks,

A place of refuge for the storm-driven bird. The birds and wafting billows plant the rifts With herb and tree ; sweet fountains gush ;

sweet airs Ripple the living lakes that, fringed with flowers,

502 LATER POEMS.

Are gathered in the hollows. Thou dost look On thy creation and pronounce it good. Its valleys, glorious with their summer green, Praise thee in silent beauty, and its woods, Swept by the murmuring winds of ocean, join The murmuring shores in a perpetual hymn.

NOON.

FROM AN UNFINISHED POEM.

;Tis noon. At noon the Hebrew bowed the

knee

And worshipped, while the husbandman with drew

From the scorched field, and the wayfaring man Grew faint, and turned aside by bubbling fount, Or rested in the shadow of the palm.

504

LATER POEMS.

I, too, ainid the overflow of day, Behold the power which wields and cherishes The frame of Nature. From this brow of rock That overlooks the Hudson's western marge, I gaze upon the long array of groves, The piles and gulfs of verdure drinking in The grateful heats. They love the fiery sun ; Their broadening leaves grow glossier, and their

sprays

Climb as he looks upon them. In the midst, The swelling river, into his green gulfs, Unshadowed save by passing sails above, Takes the redundant glory, and enjoys The summer in his chilly bed. Coy flowers, That. would not open in the early light, Push back their plaited sheaths. The rivulet's

pool,

That darkly quivered all the morning long In the cool shade, now glimmers in the sun ; And o'er its surface shoots, and shoots again,

NOON. 505

The glittering dragon-fly, and deep within Run the "brown water-beetles to and fro.

A silence, the brief sabbath of an hour, Reigns o'er the fields ; the laborer sits within His dwelling ; he has left his steers awhile, Unyoked, to bite the herbage, and his dog Sleeps stretched beside the door-stone in the

shade.

Now the gray marmot, with uplifted paws, No more sits listening by his den, but steals Abroad, in safety, to the clover-field, And crops its juicy blossoms. All the while A ceaseless murmur from the populous town Swells o'er these solitudes : a mingled sound Of jarring wheels, and iron hoofs that clash Upon the stony ways, and hammer-clang, And creak of engines lifting ponderous bulks, And calls and cries, and tread of eager feet,

Innumerable, hurrying to and fro. 33

506 LATER POEMS.

Noon, in that mighty mart of nations, brings No pause to toil and care. With early day Began the tumult, and shall only cease When midnight, hushing one by one the sounds Of bustle, gathers the tired brood to rest.

Thus, in this feverish time, when love of gain And luxury possess the hearts of men, Thus is it with the noon of human life. We, in our fervid manhood, in our strength Of reason, we, with hurry, noise, and care, Plan, toil, and strive, and pause not to refresh Our spirits with the calm and beautiful Of God's harmonious universe, that won Our youthful wonder ;* pause not to inquire Why we are here ; and what the reverence Man owes to man, and what the mystery That links us to the greater world, beside Whose borders we but hover for a space.

THE CROWDED STREET.

LET me move slowly through the street, Filled with an ever-shifting train,

Amid the sound of steps that beat

The murmuring walks like autumn rain.

How fast the flitting figures come !

The mild, the fierce, the stony face ; Some bright with thoughtless smiles, and some

Where secret tears have left their trace

508 LATER POEMS.

They pass — to toil, to strife, to rest ;

To halls in which the feast is spread ; To chambers where the funeral guest

In silence sits beside the dead.

And some to happy homes repair,

Where children, pressing cheek to cheek,

With mute caresses shall declare The tenderness they cannot speak.

And some, who walk in calmness here, Shall shudder as they reach the door

Where one who made their dwelling dear, Its flower, its light, is seen no more.

Youth, with pale cheek and slender frame, And dreams of greatness in thine eye 1

Go'st thou to build an early name, Or early in the task to die ?

THE CROWDED STREET. 509

Keen son of trade, with eager brow I Who is now fluttering in thy snare ?

Thy golden fortunes, tower they now, Or melt the glittering spires in air 1

Who of this crowd to-night shall tread The dance till daylight gleams again ?

Who sorrow o'er the untimely dead ? Who writhe in throes of mortal pain ?

Some, famine-struck, shall think how long The cold dark hours, how slow the light !

And some, who flaunt amid the throng, Shall hide in dens of shame to-night.

Each, where his tasks or pleasures call, They pass, and heed each other not ;

There is who heeds, who holds them all, In his large love and boundless thought.

510 LATER POEMS.

These struggling tides of life that seein In wayward, aimless course to tend,

Are eddies of the mighty stream That rolls to its appointed end.

NOTES.

i.

POEM OF THE AGES.

IN tins poem, written and first printed in the year 1821, the author has endeavored, 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.

Page 57.

THE BUEIAL-PLAOE.

The first half of this fragment may seem to the Deader borrowed from the essay on Rural Funerals in the

512 NOTES.

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 hava been admitted into this collection, had not the author been unwilling to lose what had the honor of resembling so beautiful a composition.

Page 82.

THE MASSAOEE AT 8CIO.

This poem, written about the time of the horrible butchery of the Sciotes by the Turks, in 1 824, has been more fortunate than most poetical predictions. The in dependence of the Greek nation, which it foretold, has come to pass, and the massacre, by inspiring a deeper de testation of their oppressors, did much to promote that event.

Page 84. Her maiden veil, her own black hair, &c.

" The unmarried females have a modest falling down of the hair over the eyes." — ELIOT.

NOTES. 513

Page 129.

MONUMENT MOUNTAIN.

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 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 resi dence. 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 hnd formed an attachment for her cousin, which, according to the customs of the tribe, was un lawful. She was, in consequence, seized with a deep melancholy, and resolved to destroy herself. In com pany with a female friend, she repaired to the mountain,

514 NOTES.

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.

Page 156.

THE MUEDEEED TEAVELLEE.

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 be tween 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 mur derers. 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 Stockbridge ; and that, in paying the innkeeper for something he had ordered, it appeared that he had a considerable sum of money in his posses sion. Two ill-looking men were present, and went out about the same time that the traveller proceeded on his

NOTES. 515

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.

Page 232. Chained in the market-place he stood, &c.

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 re fusal of his captor to listen to his offers of ransom drove him mad, and he died a maniac.

516 NOTES.

Page 256.

THE CONJUNCTION OF JTJPITEB AND YEN 78.

This conjunction was said in the common calendars tc 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.

Page 270.

THE HTTKEIOANE.

This poem is nearly a translation from one by Jose Maria de Heredia, a native of the Island of Cuba, who published at New York, about the year 1824, a volume of poems in the Spanish language.

Page 274.

WILLIAM TELL.

Neither this, nor any of the other sonnets in the collection, with the exception of the one from the Portu

NOTES. 517"

guese, 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.

Page 277. The slim papaya ripens, &c.

Papaya — papaw, custard-apple. Flint, in his excel lent work on the Geography and History of the Western States, thus describes this tree and its fruit :

" 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 con tains from two to six seeds like those of the tamarind, ex cept 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

518 NOTES.

taste of eggs, cream, sugar, and spice. It is a natural custard, too luscious for the relish of most people."

Chateaubriand, in his Travels, speaks disparagingly ol the fruit of the papaw; but on the authority of Mr. Flint, who must know more of the matter, I have ven tured to make my western lover enumerate it among the lelicacies of the wilderness.

Page 310. The surface rolls and fluctuates to the eye.

THE prairies of the West, with an undulating surface, rolling prairies, as they are called, present to the unac customed 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 billows of the sea.

Page 310.

The prairie-haw^ that, poised on high, Flaps his broad wings, yet moves not.

I have seen the prairie-hawk balancing himself in the air for hours together, apparently over the same spot ; probably watching his prey.

NOTES. 519

Page 312.

These ample fields Nourished their harvests.

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.

Page 31 4.

The rude conquerors Seated the captive with their chiefs.

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. .

Page 317.

The exploits of General Francis Marion, the famous partisan warrior of South Carolina, form an interesting

520 NOTES.

chapter in the annals of the American revolution. The 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."

Page 331.

MARY MAGDALEN.

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 Oalmet's Dictionary of the Bible, takes the same view of the subject.

The verses of the Spanish poet here translated refei to the " woman who had been a sinner," mentioned in the seventh chapter of St. Luke's Gospel, and who ia 3ommonly confounded with Mary Magdalen.

NOTES. 521

Page 336.

FATIMA AND KADUAN.

This and the following poems belong to that class 01 ancient Spanish ballads, by unknown authors, called Ro mances Moriscos — Moriscan romances or ballads. They were composed in the 14th century, some of them, pro bably, by the Moors, who then lived intermingled with the Christians ; and they relate the loves and achieve ments of the knights of Grenada.

Page 341.

LOVE AND FOLLY. — (FEOM LA FONTAINE.)

This is rather an imitation than a translation of the poem of the graceful French fabulist.

Page 349. These eyes shall not recall thee, &c.

This is the very expression of the original — No te

Uamardn mis ojos, &c. The Spanish poets early adopted 34

522 NOTES.

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;" suppli cating that he may remain in her remembrance.

i Ay ojuelos verdes ! Ay los mis ojuelos ! Ay, hagan los cielos

Que de mi te acuerdes !

Page 353. Say, Love — for tliou didst see Tier tears, &c.

The stanza beginning with this line stands thus in the original : —

Dilo tu, amor, si lo viste ;

j Mas ay ! que de lastimado Diste otro nudo d, la venda,

Para no ver lo que ha pasado. I am sorry to find so poor a conceit deforming so

IWTES. 523

spirited a composition as this old ballad, but I have pre served it in the version. It is one of those extravagances which afterward became so common in Spanish poetry, when Gongora introduced the estilo culto, as it was called.

Page 355.

LOVE IX THE AGE OF CHIVALBY.

This personification of the passion of Love, by Peyre Vidal, has been referred to as a proof of how little the Proven§al poets were indebted to the authors of Greece and Rome for the imagery of their poems.

Page 357.

THE LOVE OF GOD. — (FEOM THE PROVENCAL OF BERNARD

BASOA8.)

The original of these lines is thus given by John o Nostradamus, in his lives of the Troubadours, in a bar barons Frenchified orthography : — Touta kausa mortala nna fes perir£, Fors qne I'amonr de Dieu, que tonsiours durara.

524: NOTES.

Tons nostres cors vendran essuchs, coine fa 1'eska, Lous Aubres leyssaran lour verdour tendra e fresca, Lous Ausselets del bosc perdran lour kant subtyeu, E non s'auzira plus lou Rossignol gentyeu. Lous Buols al Pastourgage, e las blankas fedettas Sent'ran lous agulhous de las mortals Sagettas, Lous crestas d' Aries fiers, Renards, e Loups espars, Kabrols, Gervys, Ohamous, Senglars de toutes pars, Lous Ours hardys e forts, seran poudra, e Arena, Lou Daulphin en la Mar, lou Ton, e la Balena, Monstres impetuous, Ryaumes, e Cointas, Lous Princes, e lous Keys, seran per mort domtas. E nota ben eysso kuscun : la Terra granda, (Ou 1'Escritura ment) lou fermament que branda, Prendra autra figura. Enfin tout perira", - Fors que 1'Amour de Dieu, que touiours durara.

860.

FROM THE SPANISH OF PEDEO DE 0 ASTRO T AN AT A.

Las Auroras de Diana, in which the original of these 'ines is contained, is, notwithstanding it was praised by

NOTES. 525

Lope de Vega, one of the worst of the old Spanish Ro mances, being a tissue of riddles and affectations, with now and then a little poem of considerable beauty.

Page 388.

EARTH.

The author began this poem in rhyme. The follow ing is the first draught of it as far as he proceeded, in a stanza which he found it convenient to abandon.

A midnight black with clouds is on the sky ;

A shadow like the first original night Folds in, and seems to press me as I lie ;

No image meets the vainly wandering sight, And shot through rolling mists no starlight gleam Glances on glassy pool or rippling stream.

No ruddy blaze, from dwellings bright within, Tinges the flowering summits of the grass ;

No sound of life is heard, no village din, Wings rustling overhead or steps that pass,

526 NOTES.

While, on the breast of earth at random thrown, I listen to her mighty voice alone.

A voice of many tones ; deep murmurs sent From waters that in darkness glide away,

From woods unseen by sweeping breezes bent, From rocky chasms where darkness dwells all day,

And hollows of the invisible hills around,

Blent in one ceaseless, melancholy sound.

Oh Earth ! dost thou, too, sorrow for the past ?

Mourn'st thou thy childhood's unreturning hours, Thy springs, that briefly bloomed and faded fast,

The gentle generations of thy flowers, Thy forests of the elder time, decayed And gone with all the tribes that loved their shade ?

Mourn'st thou that first fair time so early lost, The golden age that lives in poets' strains,

Ere hail or lightning, whirlwind, flood or frost Scathed thy green breast, or earthquakes whelmed thy plains ?

NOTES. 527

Ere blood upon the snuadenng ground was spilt, Or night was haunted by disease and guilt ?

Or haply dost thou grieve for those who die?

For living things that trod awhile thy face, The love of thee and heaven, and now they lie

Mixed with the shapeless dust the wild winds chase \ I, too, must grieve, for never on thy sphere Shall those bright forms and faces reappear.

Ha ! with a deeper and more thrilling tone, Eises that voice around me, 'tis the cry

Of Earth for guilt and wrong, the eternal moan Sent to the listening and long-suffering sky.

I hear and tremble, and my heart grows faint,

As midst the night goes up that great complaint.

Page 423.

Where Isar's day-white rivulets run Through the dark woods, like frighted deer.

Close to the city ot Munich, in Bavaria, lies the spacious and beautiful pleasure-ground, called the English

528 NOTES,

Garden, in which these lines were written, originally pro jected and laid out by our countryman, Count Kumford, under the auspices of one of the sovereigns of the coun try. 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 color.

Page 432.

THE GKEEN MOUNTAIN BOYS.

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.

Page 436. THE CHILD'S FUNERAL.

The incident on which this poem is founded was re lated to the author while in Europe, in a letter from an

NOTES. 529

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.

Page 447.

' Tis said) when Schiller's death drew nigh, The wish possessed his mighty mind

To wander forth wherever lie

The homes and haunts of human kind.

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 enlarge ment, and already longed to expatiate in a wider and more varied sphere of existence.

Page 451.

The flower

Of Sanguinaria, from whose brittle stem The red drops fell like Hood.

The Sanguinaria Canadensis, or blood-root, as it is

530 NOTES.

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 color.

Page 466.

The shad-bush, white with flowers^ Brightened the glens.

The small tree, named by the botanists Aronia Boty- rapium, 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 appear ance in the woods.

Page 468.

" There hast thou" said my friend, " a fitting type Of human life."

I remember hearing an aged man, in the country, compare the slow movement of time in early life and its

NOTES. 531

swift flight as it approaches old age, to the drumming of a partridge or ruffed grouse in the woods — the strokes tailing slow and distinct at first, and following each other more and more rapidly, till they end at last in a whirring sound.

Page 473.

AN EVENING E EVERY. FEOM AN UNFINISHED POEM.

This poem and that entitled the Fountain, with one or two others in hlank verse, were intended hy the author as portions of a larger poem, in which they may hereafter take their place.

Page 478.

The fresh savannas of the Sangamon Here rise in gentle swells, and the long grass Is mixed with rustling hazels. Scarlet tufts Are glowing in the green, like flakes of flre.

The Painted Cup, Euchroma Coccinea, or Bartsia Voccinea, grows in great abundance in the hazel prairies

532 NOTES.

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.

Page 501.

The long wave rolling from the southern pole To break upon Japan.

"Breaks the long wave that at the pole began."- TEXNENT'S ANSTER FAIE.

Page 503.

At noon the Hebrew bowed the knee And worshipped

" Evening and morning, and at noon, will I pray and cry aloud, and he shall hear my voice." -PSALM Iv. 17

THE END.

I

«v