ili tuauiwui! Digitized by tine Internet Arcinive in 2008 witii funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation http://www.arcliive.org/details/bywilliamGuOOpoemsbryaricli /kcuccC .. .i^^^^Kih^ IduAu^ I c((^l. / Mi % TlKll. ©[RiEtEG^ ftR«^2®W ' ^ m Y wi '/i ^wiiaEif Biixnirm t i : "4iiiii./aBEiiri?ii A .MA;«.Ci:i^ >r,Aw.« cj.jvji)!j!;'if ^ )■8iC!^::ii^,^:|^ t . p hi ¥. BY s ^y I L L I A M C U L L E N WITH BRYANT. ILLUSTRATIONS BY E. L E U T Z E, ENGRAVED BV AMERICAN ARTISTS. SEVENTH EDITION. PHIL ADl'.IJMI lA: A. TTAiri , LATK CAllKV .»^ M L»C(J<; 1, 1 I 1. RART. 'Entered according to Act of Cottgress, in the year 1847, by AV. C. BRYANT, In the Cleric's cjfiJ-'' of the. District Court of the .Southern District of New York GIFT Printed by T. K. & P. G. Collins. TO THE READER. Perhaps it would have been well if the aullior had followed his original intention, which was to leave out of this volume, as unwortliy of republication, several of the poems which made a part of his previous collections. He asks leave to plead the judgment of a literary friend, whose opinion in such matters he highly values, as his apology for having retained them. Widi the exception of the first and longest poem in the collection, "The Ages," they are all arranged according to the order of time in which they were written, as far as it can be ascertained. New York, 1846. 302 CONTENTS. Poems. p^^,^ The Ages 17 Thanatopsis l)'Z The Yellow Violet 3() Inscription for the Entrance to a Wood 88 Song. — " Soon as the glazed and gleaming snow" . . 40 To a Waterfowl 41 Green River 4-) A Winter Piece id The West Wind 51 The Burial-place. A Fragment b.i Blessed are they that Mourn .50 No Man knoweth his Sepulchre 58 A Walk at Sunset 50 Hymn to Death (i--^ The [Massacre at Scio Sonnet. — October 105 The Damsel of Peru 166 The African Chief 168 Spring in Town 171 CONTENTS. Poems. Pacre The Gladness of Nature 17-4 The Disinterred Warrior IT.'i Sonnet. — Midsummer 177 The Greek Partisan 17^ The Two Graves IM) The Conjunction of Jupiter and Venus 184 A Summer Ramble 188 Scene on the Banks of the Hudson 191 The Hurricane 1!>:J Sonnet.— Wilh'am Tell IDO The Hunter's Serenade 11)7 The Greek Boy 200 The Past 202 "Upon the mountain's distant head" 205 The Evening Wind 20. 51 THE WEST WIND. Bknkath the forest's skirts I rest, Whose branching pines rise dark and high, And liear the breezes of the West Among the threaded foliage sigh. Sweet Zephyr! 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? 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 fcnint wells fresh and sweet, To cool thee when the mid-day suns Have ma(h' ihce laiiit bnicath tlirir heat. Thou wind of joy, and youth, and love; Spirit of the new-wakened year! The sun in his blue reahn 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. Ah ! thou art like our wayward race ; — When not a shade of pain or ill Dims the bright smile of Nature's face. Thou lovest to sio:h and murmur still. T H E B U R I A L - P L A C E. 53 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 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 otf, was laid with streaming eyes, and liantls That trrmbled as they placed her there, the rose Sprung modest, on bowed stalk, and better s])oke Her graces, than the proudest monument. 54 POEMS. There cliildren 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- 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 ofien, 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 w^anting, which the pious hand Might plant or scatter there, these gentle rites 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 T II V: U C R I A L-l' L A C K. The gleaming marble. Naked rows of graves And melancholy ranks of monuments Are seen instead, where the coarse grass, between, Shoots uu its dull green spikes, and in the wind Hisses, and the neglected bramble nigh, Offers its berries to the schoolboy's haiid, In vain — they grow too near the dead. Yet here, Nature, rebuking the neglect of man, Plants of; en, by the ancient mossy stone, The brier rose, and upon the broken turf That clothes the fresher grave, the strawberry vi/ie Sjjrinkles its swell with blossoms, and lays forth Her ruddy, pouting fruit. ***** 56 P E M S. "BLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN." Oh, deem not they are blest alone WTiose 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 wath tears ; And weary hours of woe and pain Are promises of happier years. 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, Sheddest the bitter drops like rain, Hope that a brighter, happier sphere Will give him to thy arms again. " B L F: S S E D ARE THEY Til AT M U II N." Nor let the good man's trust depart, Though life its common gifts deny, — Though wiih a pierced and broken heart, And spurned of men, he goes to die. For God has marked each sorrowing day And numbered every secret tear, And heaven's long age of bliss shall pay For ah his children suffer here. 58 P O E M S. "NO MAN KNOWETH HIS SEPULCHRE." When he, who, from the scourge of wrorg, 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. Thus still, whene'er the good and just Close the dim eye on life and pain, Heaven w^atches o'er their sleeping dust Till the pure 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 W A L K A T S U N S E T. 5y 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 litrht : 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 Goest down in glory ! ever beautiful And blessed is thy radiance, whether thou Colourest the eastern heaven and night-mist cool, Till the bright day-star vanish, or on high Climbest and streamest thy white splendours 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 Hush the air. Lingering and deepening at the hour of di-ws. Then softest gales are breathed, and softest heard The plaining voice of streams, and jiensive note of bird. 60 POEMS. 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 ; 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. Nor tree was felled, in all that world of woods, Save by the beaver's tooth, or winds, or rush of 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 Goes down the west, while night is pressing on, And with them the old tale of better days, And trophies of remembered power, are gone. Yon field that gives the harvest, where the plough Strikes the white bone, is all that tells their story now I stand upon their ashes in tliy beam. The offspring of another race, I stand. Beside a stream they loved, this valley stream ; And where the night-fire of the quivered band Showed the gray oak by fits, and war-song rung, I teach the quiet shades the strains of this new tongue. Farewell ! but thou shalt come again — thy light Must shine on other changes, and behold 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 63 P E M S- 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 +hee 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 dowm the fair, The loved, the good — that breathest on the lights Of virtue set along the vale of life, And they go out in darkness. I am come, Not witn 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? — \Mio? 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, Are writ among thy praises. But the good — Does he whom thy kind hand dismissed to peace, Upbraid the gentle violence that took off His fetters, and unbarred his prison cell .'' Raise then the hymn to Death. Deliverer! God hath anointed thee to free the oppressed And crush the oppressor. When the armed cliief. The conqueror of nations, walks the world, And it is changed beneath his feet, and all Its kingdoms melt into one mighty reahn — 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 That bound mankind are crumbled ; tlmu dost break Sceptre and crown, and beat his throne to dust. Then the earth shouts with gladness, and lur tribes Gather within their ancient bounds atrain. G4 P E I\I S. 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 Their 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, WTiere he who made him wTetched 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 Is left to teach their worship ; then the fires Of sacrifice are chilled, and the green moss O'ercreeps their altars; the fallen images Cumber 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,- Lifis 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 H Y M X TO D E A T II. 65 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, e'en now, and voluble Against his neighbour's life, and he who laughed And leaped for joy to see a spotless fame Blasted before his own foul calumnies, Are srnit with deadly silence. lie, 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 unclencii 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 w^arned, and fears to step aside. Thou sett'st between the ruflian and his crime Thy ghastly countenance, and his slack hand Drops the drawn knife. But, oh, most fearfully Dost thou show forth Heaven's juslice, when thy sIimTis Drink up the ebbing spirit — then the hard 06 POEMS. 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. 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 : But thou, the great reformer of the world, IIY.MN TO DEATH. 67 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 His image. Thou dost mark them (lushed with hope, As on the threshold of their vast designs Doubtful and loose they stand, and strik'st them do^vn. 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 Offeretl 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 Received thee, tears were in unyielding eyes And on hard cheeks, and they who deemed thy skill Delayed their death-hour, shuddered and turned pale Wlien thou wert gone. This faltering verse, which thoi Shalt not, as wont, o'eriook, is all I have To offer at thy grave — this — and tlie hope C8 POEMS. 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. Rest, 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 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 of 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 reveiy. T H E :\I A S S A C R E A T S C I 0. Gl> 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. Thoujrh hijrh the ^varm 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. And for each corpse, that in the sea Was thrown, to feast the scaly herds, A hundred of (he foe shall be A banquet for the mountain birtls. Stern rites and sad, shall Greece ordain To keep that d.y, along her shore, Tin the last link of slavery's chain Is shivered, to be worn no more. 70 POEMS. THE INDIAN GIRL'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. " 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. THE INDIAN G I R L' S LAMENT. 71 " '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 besi, In plenty, by thy side, And decked thee bravely, as became A warrior of illustrious name. « 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 wiiere thou wcrt laid, And weeps the hours away. Yet almost can her grief forget. To think that thou dost love her yet. 72 POEMS. " 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-coloured shade. " And thou dost wait and watch to meet My spirit sent to join the blessed, 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. 73 ODE 1011 AN AGRICULTURAL CELEBRATION. Far back in the ages, The plough with wreaths was crowned j 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 creen 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. 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 ])ornp nway ; — The fame that heroes cherish, 74 pot: M s. The glory earned in deadly fray Shall fade, decay, and perish. Honour waits, o'er all the Earth, Through endless generations, The art that calls her harvests forth, And feeds the expectant nations. ill z p A H. rs mZPAIL And he delivered them into the hands of the Gibeonites, and they hanged them in the hill before the Lord ; and they fell all seven to- gether, and were put to death in the days of the harvest, in the first days, in the beginning' 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 w;iter dropped upon them out of heaven, and suffered neither the birds of the air to rest upon them by day, nor the beasts of the field by night. 2 Samuel, xxi. 10. Hear ^vhat the desolate Rizpah said, As on Gibeah's rocks she watched the dead. The sons of Michal before her lay, And her own fair children, dearer than they : By a death of shame they all had died. And were stretched on the bare rock, side by side. And Rizpah, once the loveliest of all That bloomed and smiled in the court of Saul, All wasted with watching- and famine now, And scorched by tlie sun her haggard brow, Sat mouriilully guarding their corpses there, And niuiinured a strange and solemn air; 76 POEM S. The low, heart-broken, and wailing strain Of a mother that mourns her children slain: «1) There, at morn's rosy birth, Thou L)okt'st 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. Alike, beneath thine eye, The deeds of darkness and of light are done ; High towards the s1ar-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 thy 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 A beauteous type of that unchanging good, That bright eternal beacon, by whose ray The voyager of time should shaj)e his heedful way. 124 POEMS. 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 by. 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. Wiat ! 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, Whh all her promises and smiles ? THE LAPSE OF TIME. 125 Tho future ! — cruel were the power Whose doom would tear thee from my heart. ' Thou sweetener of the present hour ! We cannot — no — we will not part. Oh, leave me, still, the rapid flight Tliat makes the changing seasons gay, The grateful speed that brings the night, The swift and glad return of day ; The months that touch, with added jrrace. 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 Tlie 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 sli;ill sit witli aged men. And my good glass will tell me how A grizzly beard beconu'S me then. And then should no dishonour lie Upon my head, when I am 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 wnnged 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. 12^ SONG OF THE STARS. WuRN the radiant morn of creation broke, And the world in the smile of God awoke, And the empty realms of darkness and death Wt-re 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 sons the britrht ones sansr: "Away, away, through the wide, wide sky. The fair blue fields that before us lie, — Fach sun with the worlds that round him roll, Facli planet, poised on her turning pole; WiJi her isles of green, and her clouds of white. Anil iier waters that lie like fluid light. I2y POEMS, "For the source of glory uncovers his face, And the brightness o'erflows unbounded space ; And we drink as we go the luminous tides In our ruddy air and our blooming sides : Lo, yonder the living splendours 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 ! How the verdure runs o'er each rollin": mass ! 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 ]:)omp 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. SONGOFTTTESTARS. ]29 "Glide on in your beauty, ye youthful spheres, To weave the dance that measures the years ; Glide on, in the glory and gladness sent, To the farthest wall of the firmament, — The boundless visible smile of Him, To the veil of whose brow your lamps are dim." i:iO POEM s. A FOREST 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, Amidst 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 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 A FOREST IT Y M N. I'M 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 l^idst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose All these tair ranks of trees. They, in thy sun. Budded, and shook their green leaves in thy breeze. And shot towards heaven. The cen+ury-livin''- crow. Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died Among their branches, till, at last, tliey stood, As now they stand, massy, and tall, and dark. Fit shrine for humble worshipper to hold Communion witli his Maker. These dim vaults. These winding aisles, of human pomp or pride Report not. No fantastic carvings show TliL' boast of our vain race to change the form Of thy fair works. But thou art here — thou fiU'st The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds That run along the summit of tliese trees In music ; — thou art in the cooler breath That fi'om the inmost darkness of the place Comes, scarcely f 'It ; lh<' barky trunks, the LiTound, The fresh moist ground, are all instinct willi lliee. 1?2 POEMS Here is continual worship ; — nature, here, In the tranquillity that thou dost love, Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly, around, Fiona perch to perch, the solitary bird Passes ; and yon clear spring, that, midst its herbs, Wells softly forth and visits the strong 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, Ere wore his crown as loftily as he Wears the green coronal of leaves with which Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his root Is beaury, 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, A F I{ K ST HYMN. V.V.I 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 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 Tlieir lives to thougiit and prayer, till they outlived The generation born with them, nor seemed Less aged than the hoary trees and rocks Around tiiem ; — and there have been 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 shrink And tremble and are still. Oh, God! when thou Dost scare the world with tempests, set on fire The heavens whh 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 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 beautiful order of thy works Learn to conform the order of our lives. "OH FAIREST OF THE RURAL MAIDS." ]:Vo "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 thy infant eye. Thy sports, thy wanderings, when a child, < Were ever in the sylvan wild ; And all the beauty of the place Is i-n thy heart and on thy face. The twilight of the trees and rocks Is in the light shade of thy locks ; Thy step is as the wind, that w^eaves 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. 136 POEMS. "I BROKE THE SPELL THAT HELD ME LONG." I BROKE the spell that held me long, The dear, dear witchery of song. I saiJ, 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 ? For wheresoe'er 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 sonof. J U N E. l:n JUNE. . I GAZED upon the glorious sky And the green mountains round , And thought that when I came to lie Within the silent 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, 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 gentl) pressed Into my narrow place of rest. 13S P O E M S. 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, Or songs of maids, beneath the moon With fairy laughter blent ? And what if, in the evening light, Betrothed lovers walk in siofht Of my low monument ? I would the lovely scene around Might know no sadder sight nor 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 ; But if, around my place of sleep, The friends I love should come to weep, They might not haste to go. . JUNE. 139 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, 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 hills, Is — that his grave is green; And deeply would their hearts rejoice To hear again his living voice. 140 P O E M S. 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 shalt teach ; 'Tis not so 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 ; A S0\(; OF PITCAIRN'S ISLAND 141 Ah ! \vell 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, xA.nd 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, 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 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 tliee and me, This sweet lone ish; amid the sea. 142 POEMS. THE SKIES. 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 old trees Arise, and piles built up of old. 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 blue curtain lie His stores of hail and sleet. Thence the consuming lightnings break, There the strongf 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 thy return. The glory that comes down from thee, Bathes, in deep joy, the land and sea. 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 ow^n 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 jiure sphere, And read of Heaven's eternal year. 144 POEMS. 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 FORGE T." 145 "I CANNOT FORGET WITH WHAT FERVID DEVOTION." I CAXNOT 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 blossom, Mid the twilitrht of mountain jrroves wanderin