When yellow-lock'd and crystal ey'dI dream'd green woods among;Where tall trees wav'd from side to side,And in their green breasts deep and wide,I saw the building blue jay hide,O, then the earth was young!
The winds were fresh and brave and bold,The red sun round and strong;No prophet voice chill, loud and cold,Across my woodland dreamings roll'd,"The green earth waxeth sere and old,That once was fair and young!"
I saw in scarr'd and knotty bole,The fresh'ning of the sap;When timid spring gave first small dole,Of sunbeams thro' bare boughs that stole,I saw the bright'ning blossoms roll,From summer's high pil'd lap.
And where an ancient oak tree layThe forest stream across,I mus'd above the sweet shrill spray,I watch'd the speckl'd trout at play,I saw the shadows dance and swayOn ripple and on moss.
I pull'd the chestnut branches low,As o'er the stream they hung,To see their bursting buds of snow—I heard the sweet spring waters flow—My heart and I we did not knowBut that the earth was young!
I joy'd in solemn woods to see,Where sudden sunbeams clung,On open space of mossy lea,The violet and anemone,Wave their frail heads and beckon me—Sure then the earth was young!
I heard the fresh wild breezes birr,New budded boughs among,I saw the deeper tinting stirIn the green tassels of the fir,I heard the pheasant rise and whirr,Above her callow young.
I saw the tall fresh ferns prest,By scudding doe and fawn;I say the grey dove's swelling breast,Above the margin of her nest;When north and south and east and westRoll'd all the red of dawn.
At eventide at length I lay,On grassy pillow flung;I saw the parting bark of day,With crimson sails and shrouds all gay,With golden fires drift away,The billowy clouds among.
I saw the stately planets sailOn that blue ocean wide;I saw blown by some mystic gale,Like silver ship in elfin tale,That bore some damsel rare and pale,The moon's slim crescent glide.
And ev'ry throb of springThe rust'ling boughs among,That filled the silver vein of brook,That lit with bloom the mossy nook,Cried to my boyish bosom: "Look!How fresh the earth and young!"
The winds were fresh, the days as clearAs crystals set in gold.No shape, with prophet-mantle drear,Thro' those old woods came drifting near,To whisper in my wond'ring ear,"The green earth waxeth old."
Day floated down the sky; a perfect day,Leaving a footprint of pale primrose goldAlong the west, that when her lover, Night,Fled with his starry lances in pursuit,Across the sky, the way she went might shew.From the faint ting'd ridges of the sea, the MoonSprang up like Aphrodite from the wave,Which as she climb'd the sky still heldHer golden tresses to its swelling breast,Where wide dispread their quiv'ring glories lay,(Or as the shield of night, full disk'd and red,As flowers that look forever towards the Sun),A terrace with a fountain and an oakLook'd out upon the sea: The fountain dancedBeside the huge old tree as some slim nymph,Rob'd in light silver might her frolics shewBefore some hoary king, while high above,He shook his wild, long locks upon the breeze—And sigh'd deep sighs of "All is vanity!"Behind, a wall of Norman William's timeRose mellow, hung with ivy, here and thereTorn wide apart to let a casement peerUpon the terrace. On a carv'd sill I leant(A fleur-de-lis bound with an English rose)And look'd above me into two such eyesAs would have dazzl'd from that ancient pageThat new old cry that hearts so often writeIn their own ashes, "All is vanity!""Know'st thou—" she said, with tender eyes far-fix'd,On the wide arch that domes our little earth,"That when a star hurls on with shining wings,"On some swift message from his throne of light,"The ready heart may wish, and the ripe fruit—"Fulfilment—drop into the eager palm?""Then let us watch for such a star," quoth I."Nay, love," she said, "'Tis but an idle tale."But some swift feeling smote upon her browA rosy shadow. I turn'd and watch'd the sky—Calmly the cohorts of the night swept on,Led by the wide-wing'd vesper; and against the moonWhere low her globe trembl'd upon the edgeOf the wide amethyst that clearly pavedThe dreamy sapphire of the night, there layThe jetty spars of some tall ship, that look'dThe night's device upon his ripe-red shield.And suddenly down towards the moon there ran—From some high space deep-veil'd in solemn blue,A little star, a point of trembling gold,Gone swift as seen. "My wishing-star," quoth I,"Shall tell my wish? Did'st note that little star?"Its brightness died not, it but disappeared,"To whirl undim'd thro' space. I wish'd our love"Might blot the 'All is vanity' from this brief life,"Burning brightly as that star and winging on"Thro' unseen space of veil'd Eternity,"Brightened by Immortality—not lost.""Awful and sweet the wish!" she said, and so—We rested in the silence of content.
It sorter skeer'd the neighbours round,For of all the 'tarnal set thet clutchesTheir dollars firm, he wus the boss;An' yet he went and byed a "Duchess."I never will forget the dayHe druv her from the city market;I guess thar warn't more'n twoThet stayed to hum thet day in Clarket.
And one of them wus Gran'pa Finch,Who's bed-rid up to Spense's attic:The other Aunt Mehitabel,Whose jints and temper is rheumatic.She said she "guessed that Deacon FryWould some day see he'd done more fitterTo send his dollars savin' soulsThan waste 'em on a horn'd critter!"
We all turn'd out at Pewse's store,The last one jest inside the village;The Jedge he even chanc'd along,And so did good old Elder Millage.We sot around on kegs and planks,And on the fence we loung'd precarious;The Elder felt to speak a word,And sed his thoughts wus very various.
He sed the Deacon call'd to mindThe blessed patriarchs and their cattle;"To whose herds cum a great increaseWhen they in furrin parts did settle."We nodded all our skulls at this,But Argue Bill he rapped his crutches;Sed he, "I guess they never paidFive hundred dollars for a 'Duchess.'"
Bill and the Elder allers frozeTo subjects sorter disputatious,So on the 'lasses keg they sot,And had an argue fair and spacious.Good land! when Solon cum in sight,By lawyer Smithett's row o' beeches;His black span seemed to crawl alongEz slow ez Dr. Jones's leeches.
Sez Sister Fry, who was along,"I sorter think my specs is muggy;"But Solon started out from hum"This mornin' in the new top buggy."Jeddiah rid old chestnut Jim,"An' Sammy rid the roan filly;"I told 'em when they started off"It looked redikless, soft and silly,
"To see three able-bodied men"An' four stout horses drive one critter;"O land o' song! will some one look?"From hed to foot I'm in a twitter."Wal, up we swarm'd on Pewse's fence,And Bill he histed on his crutches;We all was curus to beholdThe Deac's five hundred dollar "Duchess."
I've heerd filosofurs declar,This life be's kind o' snarly jinted;And every human standin' tharFelt sorter gin'ral disappointed.What sort o' crazy animileHed got the Deacon in its clutches?They cum along in spankin' style—Old Solon and his sons and "Duchess."
Her heels wus up, her hed wus down,An or'nary cross-gritted critterAs ever browsed around the town,And kept the women folks a-twitter,A-boostin' up the garding rails,And browsin' on the factory bleachin',And kickin' up the milkin' pails:Bill he riz up, ez true ez preachin'.
Sez he, excited like, "I'll 'low,To swaller both these here old crutches-Ef thet ain't Farmer Slyby's cow,Old Bossie turn'd inter a "Duchess!"Wal,'twus k'rect! The Deacon sworeSome hefty swars and sot the clutchesOf law to work; but seed no moreThe chap thet sold him thet thar "Duchess."
Beside the saffron of a curtain, litWith broidered flowers, below a golden fringeThat on her silver shoulder made a glow,Like the sun kissing lilies in the dawn;She sat—my Irish love—slim, light and tall.Between his mighty paws her stag-hound held,(Love-jealous he) the foam of her pale robes,Rare laces of her land, and his red eyes,Half lov'd me, grown familiar at her side,Half pierc'd me, doubting my soul's right to standHis lady's wooer in the courts of Love.Above her, knitted silver, fell a webOf light from waxen tapers slipping down,First to the wide-winged star of em'ralds setOn the black crown with its blue burnish'd pointsOf raven light; thence, fonder, to the cheekO'er which flew drifts of rose-leaves wild and rich,With lilied pauses in the wine-red flight;For when I whispered, like a wind in June,My whisper toss'd the roses to and froIn her dear face, and when I paus'd they layStill in her heart. Then lower fell the light.A silver chisel cutting the round armClear from the gloom; and dropped like dewOn the crisp lily, di'mond clasp'd, that layIn happy kinship on her pure, proud breast,And thence it sprang like Cupid, nimble-wing'd,To the quaint love-ring on her finger boundAnd set it blazing like a watch-fire, litTo guard a treasure. Then up sprang the flameMad for her eyes, but those grey worlds were deepIn seas of native light: and when I spokeThey wander'd shining to the shining moonThat gaz'd at us between the parted foldsOf yellow, rich with gold and daffodils,Dropping her silver cloak on Innisfail.O worlds, those eyes! there Laughter lightly toss'dHis gleaming cymbals; Large and most divinePity stood in their crystal doors with handsAll generous outspread; in their pure depthsMov'd Modesty, chaste goddess, snow-white of brow,And shining, vestal limbs; rose-fronted stoodBlushing, yet strong; young Courage, knightly inHis virgin arms, and simple, russet TruthPlay'd like a child amongst her tender thoughts—Thoughts white as daisies snow'd upon the lawn.
Unheeded, Dante on the cushion lay,His golden clasps yet lock'd—no poet tellsThe tale of Love with such a wizard tongueThat lovers slight dear Love himself to list.
Our wedding eve, and I had brought to herThe jewels of my house new set for her(As I did set the immemorial pearlOf our old honour in the virgin goldOf her high soul) with grave and well pleased eyes,And critic lips, and kissing finger tips,She prais'd the bright tiara and its trainOf lesser splendours—nor blush'd nor smil'd:They were but fitting pages to her state,And had no tongues to speak between our souls.
But I would have her smile ripe for me then,Swift treasure of a moment—so I laidBetween her palms a little simple thing,A golden heart, grav'd with my name alone,And round it, twining close, small shamrocks link'dOf gold, mere gold: no jewels made it rich,Until twin di'monds shatter'd from her eyesAnd made the red gold rare. "True Knight," she said,"Your English heart with Irish shamrocks bound!""A golden prophet of eternal truth,"I said, and kissed the roses of her palms,And then the shy, bright roses of her lips,And all the jealous jewels shone forgotIn necklace and tiara, as I clasp'dThe gold heart and its shamrocks round her neck.My fair, pure soul! My noble Irish love!
I mind him well, he was a quare ould chap,Come like meself from swate ould Erin's sod,He hired me wanst to help his harvest in;The crops was fine that summer, prais'd be God!He found us, Rosie, Mickie, an' meself,Just landed in the emigration shed,Meself was tyin' on there bits of clothes,Their mother (rest her tender sowl!) was dead.
It's not meself can say of what she died;But t'was the year the praties felt the rain,And rotted in the soil; an' just to dhrawThe breath of life was one long hungry pain.If we were haythens in a furrin' land,Not in a country grand in Christian pride,Faith, then a man might have the face to say'Twas of stharvation my poor Shylie died.
But whin the parish docthor come at last,Whin death was like a sun-burst in her eyes,(They looked straight into heaven) an her earsWor deaf to the poor childer's hungry cries;He touched the bones stretched on the mouldy sthraw;"She's gone!" he says, and drew a solemn frown;"I fear, my man, she's dead." "Of what?" says I.He coughed, and says, "She's let her system down!"
"An' that's God's truth!" says I, an' felt aboutTo touch her dawney hand, for all looked dark,An' in my hunger-bleached, shmall-beatin' heart,I felt the kindlin' of a burning spark."O, by me sowl, that is the holy truth!There's Rosie's cheek has kept a dimple still,An' Mickie's eyes are bright—the craythur thereDied that the weeny ones might eat there fill."
An' whin they spread the daisies thick and white,Above her head that wanst lay on my breast,I had no tears, but took the childhers' hands,An' says, "We'll lave the mother to her rest,"An' och! the sod was green that summers day;An' rainbows crossed the low hills, blue an' fair;But black an' foul the blighted furrows stretched,An' sent their cruel poison through the air.
An' all was quiet—on the sunny sidesOf hedge an' ditch the stharvin' craythurs lay,An' thim as lack'd the rint from empty wallsOf little cabins, wapin' turned away.God's curse lay heavy on the poor ould sod,An' whin upon her increase His right handFell with'ringly, there samed no bit of blueFor Hope to shine through on the sthricken land.
No facthory chimblys shmoked agin the sky,No mines yawn'd on the hills so full an' rich;A man whose praties failed had nought to do,But fold his hands an' die down in a ditch!A flame rose up widin me feeble heart,Whin passin' through me cabin's hingeless dure,I saw the mark of Shylie's coffin inThe grey dust on the empty earthen flure.
I lifted Rosie's face betwixt me hands;Says I, 'Me girleen, you an' Mick an' me,Must lave the green ould sod, an' look for foodIn thim strange countries far beyant the sea.'An' so it chanced, when landed on the streets,Ould Dolan, rowlin' a quare ould shay,Came there to hire a roan to save his whate,An' hired meself and Mickie by the day.
"An' bring the girleen, Pat," he says, an' lookedAt Rosie lanin' up agin me knee;"The wife will be right plaised to see the child,The weeney shamrock from beyant the sea.We've got a tidy place, the saints be praised!As nice a farm as ever brogan trod,A hundred acres—us as never ownedLand big enough to make a lark a sod!"
"Bedad," sez I, "I heerd them over thereTell how the goold was lyin' in the sthreet,An' guineas in the very mud that sthuckTo the ould brogans on a poor man's feet!""Begorra, Pat," says Dolan, "may ould NickFly off wid thim rapscallions, schaming rogues,An' sind thim thrampin' purgatory's flure,Wid red hot guineas in their polished brogues!"
"Och, thin," says I, "meself agrees to that!"Ould Dolan smiled wid eyes so bright an' grey;Says he. "Kape up yer heart—I never knewSince I come out a single hungry day!"
"But thin I left the crowded city sthreets,There men galore to toil in thim an' die,Meself wint wid me axe to cut a homeIn the green woods beneath the clear, swate sky.
"I did that same: an' God be prais'd this day!Plenty sits smilin' by me own dear dure:An' in them years I never wanst have seenA famished child creep tremblin' on me flure!"
I listened to ould Dolan's honest words,That's twenty years ago this very spring,An' Mick is married—an' me Rosie wearsA swateheart's little, shinin' goulden ring.
'Twould make yer heart lape just to take a lookAt the green fields upon me own big farm;An' God be prais'd! all men may have the sameThat owns an axe! an' has a strong right arm!