Behold these vivid woods, that gleam besideThe happy vision of an autumn eve,When red leaves fall, and redder sunsets fade!The world grows pensive sinking into night,Whose melancholy space hides sighing winds:Can they reply to sadder human speech?What centuries are counted here—my books!Shadows of mighty men; the chorus, hark!The antique chant vibrates, and Fate compels!Comrades, return; the midnight lamp shall gleamAs in old nights; the chaplets woven then—Withered, perhaps, by time—may grace us yet;The laurel faded is the laurel still,And some of us are heroes to ourselves.And amber wine shall flow; the blue smoke wreatheIn droll disputes, with metaphysics mixed;Or float as lightly as the quick-spun verse,Threading the circle round from thought to thought,Sparkling and fresh as is the airy webSpread on the hedge at morn in silver dew.The scent of roses you remember well;In the green vases they shall bloom again.And me—do you remember? I remainUnchanged, I think; though one I saw like meSome years ago, with hair that was not white;And she was with you then, as brave a soulAs souls can be whom Fate has not approached.But seek and find me now, unchanged or changed,Mirthful in tears, and in my laughter sad.EXILE.Blind in these stony streets, dumb in their crowds,What can I do but dream of other days?Whose is the love I had, and have not now?If it be Nature's, let her answer me.It wanders by the blue, monotonous sea,Where rushes grow, or follows all the sweepOf shallow summer brooks and umber pools.Or does it linger in those hidden pathsWhere starlike blossoms blow among dead leaves,And dark groves murmur over darker shrubs,Birds with their fledgelings sleep, and pale moths flit?With sunset's crimson flags perhaps it goes,And reappears with yellow Jupiter,Riding the West beside the crescent moon.Comes it with sunrise, when the sunrise floatsFrom Night's bold towers, vast in the East, and grayTill tower and wall flash into fiery clouds,Moving along the verge, stately and slow,Ordered by the old music of the spheres?Perchance it trembles in October's oaks;Or, twining with the brilliant, berried vine,Would hide the tender, melancholy elm.Well might it rest within those solemn woodsWhere sunlight never falls—whose tops are greenWith airs from heaven,—its balmy mists and rains,—While underneath black, mossy, mammoth rocksKeep silence with the waste of blighted boughs.If winter riots with the wreathing snow,And ocean, tossing all his threatening plumes,And winds, that tear the hollow, murky sky,Can this, my love, which dwells no more with me,Find dwelling there,—like some storm-driven bird,That knows not whence it flew, nor where to fly,Between the world of sea and world of cloud,At last drops dead in the remorseless deep?A SEASIDE IDYL.I wandered to the shore, nor knew I thenWhat my desire,—whether for wild lament,Or sweet regret, to fill the idle pauseOf twilight, melancholy in my house,And watch the flowing tide, the passing sails,Or to implore the air, and sea, and sky,For that eternal passion in their powerWhich souls like mine who ponder on their fateMay feel, and be as they—gods to themselves.Thither I went, whatever was my mood.The sands, the rocks, and beds of bending sedge,I saw alone. Between the east and west,Along the beach no creature moved besides.High on the eastern point a lighthouse shone;Steered by its lamp a ship stood out to sea,And vanished from its rays towards the deep,While in the west, above a wooded isle,An island-cloud hung in the emerald sky,Hiding pale Venus in its sombre shade.I wandered up and down the sands, I loiteredAmong the rocks, and trampled through the sedge:But I grew weary of the stocks and stones."I will go hence," I thought; "the ElementsHave lost their charm; my soul is dead to-night.Oh passive, creeping Sea, and stagnant Air,Farewell! Dull sands, and rocks, and sedge, farewell."Homeward I turned my face, but stayed my feet.Should I go back but to revive againThe ancient pain? Hark! suddenly there cameFrom over sea, a sound like that of speech;And suddenly I felt my pulses leapAs though some Presence were approaching me.Loud as the voice of Ocean's dark-haired kingA breeze came down the sea,—the sea rose high;The surging waves sang round me—this their song:"Oh, yet your love will triumph! He shall comeIn love's wild tumult; he shall come once more,—By tracks of ocean or by paths of earth;The wanderer will reach you and remain."The breakers dashed among the rocks, and theySeemed full of life; the foam dissolved the sands,And the sedge trembled in the swelling tide.Was this a promise of the vaunting Sea,Or the illusion of a last despair?Either, or both, still homeward I must go,And that way turned mine eyes, and thought they metA picture,—surely so,—or I was mad.The crimson harvest-moon was rising fullAbove my roof, and glimmered on my walls.Within the doorway stood a man I knew—No picture this. I saw approaching meHim I had hoped for, grieved for, and despaired."My ship is wrecked," he cried, "and I returnNever to leave my love. You are my love?""I too am wrecked," I sighed, "by lonely years;Returning, you but find another wreck."He bent his face to search my own, and spake:"What I have traversed sea and land to find,I find. For liberty I fought, and life,On savage shores and wastes of unknown seas,While waiting for this hour. Oh, think you notImmortal love mates with immortal loveAlways? And now, at last, we know this love."My soul was filling with a mighty joyI could not show—yet must I show my love."From you whose will divided broke our heartsI now demand a different kiss than thatWhich then you said should be our parting kiss.Given, I vow the past shall be forgot.The kiss—and we are one! Give me the kiss."Like the dark rocks upon the sands he stood,When on his breast I fell, and kissed his lips.All the wild clangor of the sea was hushed;The rapid silver waves ran each to each,Lapsed in the deep with joyous, murmured sighs.Years of repentance mine, forgiveness his,To tell. Happy, we paced the tranquil shores,Till between sea and sky we saw the sun,And all our wiser, loving days began.THE CHIMNEY-SWALLOW'S IDYL.From where I built the nest for my first young,In the high chimney of this ancient house,I saw the household fires burn and go down,And know what was and is forever gone.My dusky, swift-winged fledgelings, flying farTo seek their mates in clustered eaves or towers,Would linger not to learn what I have learned,Soaring through air or steering over sea—These single, solitary walls must fade.But I return, inhabiting my nest,A little simple bird, which still survivesThe noble souls now vanished from this hearth;And none are here besides but she who sharesMy life, and pensive vigil holds with me.No longer does she mourn; she lives serene;I see her mother's beauty in her face,I see her father's quiet pride and power,The linked traits and traces of her race;Her brothers dying, like strong sapling treesHewn down by violent blows prone in dense woods,Covered with aged boughs, decaying slow.She muses thus: "Beauty once more abides;The rude alarm of death, its wild amazeIs over now. The chance of change has passed;No doubtful hopes are mine, no restless dread,No last word to be spoken, kiss to giveAnd take in passion's agony and end.They cannot come to me, but in good timeI shall rejoin my silent company,And melt among them, as the sunset cloudsMelt in gray spaces of the coming night."So she holds dear as I this tranquil spot,And all the flowers that blow, and maze of green,The meadows daisy-full, or brown and sere;The shore which bounds the waves I love to skim,And dash my purple wings against the breeze.When breaks the day I twitter loud and long,To make her rise and watch the vigorous sunCome from his sea-bed in the weltering deep,And smell the dewy grass, still rank with sleep.I hover through the twilight round her eaves,And dart above, before her, in her path,Till, with a smile, she gives me all her mind;And in the deep of night, lest she be sadIn sleepless thought, I stir me in my nest,And murmur as I murmur to my young;She makes no answer, but I know she hears;And all the cherished pictures in her thoughtsGrow bright because ofme, her swallow friend!LAST DAYS.As one who follows a departing friend,Destined to cross the great, dividing sea,I watch and follow these departing days,That go so grandly, lifting up their crownsStill regal, though their victor Autumn comes.Gifts they bestow, which I accept, return,As gifts exchanged between a loving pair,Who may possess them as memorialsOf pleasures ended by the shadow—Death.What matter which shall vanish hence, if bothAre transitory—me, and these bright hours—And of the future ignorant alike?From all our social thralls I would be free.Let care go down the wind—as hounds afar,Within their kennels baying unseen foes,Give to calm sleepers only calmer dreams.Here will I rest alone: the morning mistConceals no form but mine; the evening dewFreshens but faded flowers and my worn face.When the noon basks among the wooded hillsI too will bask, as silent as the airSo thick with sun-motes, dyed like yellow gold,Or colored purple like an unplucked plum.The thrush, now lonesome, for her young have flown,May flutter her brown wings across my path;And creatures of the sod with brilliant eyesMay leap beside me, and familiar grow.The moon shall rise among her floating clouds,Black, vaporous fans, and crinkled globes of pearl,And her sweet silver light be given to me.To watch and follow these departing daysMust be my choice; and let me mated beWith Solitude; may memory and hopeUnite to give me faith that nothing dies;To show me always, what I pray to know,That man alone may speak the word—Farewell.