II.POEMS OF NATURE.

“O ye valleys! O ye mountains!O ye groves and crystal fountains!How I love at liberty,By turns, to come and visit ye!”

“O ye valleys! O ye mountains!

O ye groves and crystal fountains!

How I love at liberty,

By turns, to come and visit ye!”

Come, let us burst the cerements and the shroud,And with the livelong year renew our breath,Far from the darkness of the city’s cloudWhich hangs above us like the pall of Death.Haste, let us leave the shadow of his wings!Off from our cares, a stolen, happy time!Come where the skies are blue, the uplands green;For hark! the robin singsEven here, blithe herald, his auroral rhyme,Foretelling joy, and June his sovereign queen.See, in our pavéd courts her missal scrollIs dropped astealth, and every verdant line,Emblazoned round with Summer’s aureole,Pictures to eager eyes, like thine and mine,Her trees new-leaved and hillsides far away.Ransom has come: out from this vaulted town,Poor prisoners of a giant old and blind,Into the breezy day,Fleeing the sights and sounds that wear us down,And in the fields our ancient solace find!Again I hunger for the living wood,The laurelled crags, the hemlocks hanging wide,The rushing stream that will not be withstood,Bound forward to wed him with the river’s tide:O what wild leaps through many a fettered pass,Through knotted ambuscade of root and rock,How white the plunge, how dark the cloven pool!Then to rich meadow-grass,And pastures fed by tinkling herd and flock,Till the wide stream receives its waters cool.Again I long for lakes that lie betweenHigh mountains, fringed about with virgin firs,Where hand of man has never rudely been,Nor plashing wheel the limpid water stirs;There let us twain begin the world againLike those of old; while tree, and trout, and deerUnto their kindred beings draw our own,Till more than haunts of men,Than place and pelf, more welcome these appear,And better worth sheer life than we had known.Thither, ay, thither flee, O dearest friend,From walls wherein we grow so wan and old!The liberal Earth will still her lovers lendWater of life and storied sands of gold.Though of her perfect form thou hast securedThy will, some charm shall aye thine hold defy,And day by day thy passion yet shall grow,Even as a bridegroom, luredBy the unravished secret of her eye,Reads the bride’s soul, yet never all can know.And when from her embrace again thou’rt torn,(Though well for her the world were thrown away!)At thine old tasks thou’lt not be quite forlorn,Remembering where is peace; and thou shalt say,“I know where beauty has not felt the curse,—Where, though I age, all round me is so youngThat in its youth my soul’s youth mirrored seems;Yes, in their rippling verse,For all our toil, they have not falsely sungWho said there still was rest beyond our dreams.”

Come, let us burst the cerements and the shroud,

And with the livelong year renew our breath,

Far from the darkness of the city’s cloud

Which hangs above us like the pall of Death.

Haste, let us leave the shadow of his wings!

Off from our cares, a stolen, happy time!

Come where the skies are blue, the uplands green;

For hark! the robin sings

Even here, blithe herald, his auroral rhyme,

Foretelling joy, and June his sovereign queen.

See, in our pavéd courts her missal scrollIs dropped astealth, and every verdant line,Emblazoned round with Summer’s aureole,Pictures to eager eyes, like thine and mine,Her trees new-leaved and hillsides far away.Ransom has come: out from this vaulted town,Poor prisoners of a giant old and blind,Into the breezy day,Fleeing the sights and sounds that wear us down,And in the fields our ancient solace find!

See, in our pavéd courts her missal scroll

Is dropped astealth, and every verdant line,

Emblazoned round with Summer’s aureole,

Pictures to eager eyes, like thine and mine,

Her trees new-leaved and hillsides far away.

Ransom has come: out from this vaulted town,

Poor prisoners of a giant old and blind,

Into the breezy day,

Fleeing the sights and sounds that wear us down,

And in the fields our ancient solace find!

Again I hunger for the living wood,The laurelled crags, the hemlocks hanging wide,The rushing stream that will not be withstood,Bound forward to wed him with the river’s tide:O what wild leaps through many a fettered pass,Through knotted ambuscade of root and rock,How white the plunge, how dark the cloven pool!Then to rich meadow-grass,And pastures fed by tinkling herd and flock,Till the wide stream receives its waters cool.

Again I hunger for the living wood,

The laurelled crags, the hemlocks hanging wide,

The rushing stream that will not be withstood,

Bound forward to wed him with the river’s tide:

O what wild leaps through many a fettered pass,

Through knotted ambuscade of root and rock,

How white the plunge, how dark the cloven pool!

Then to rich meadow-grass,

And pastures fed by tinkling herd and flock,

Till the wide stream receives its waters cool.

Again I long for lakes that lie betweenHigh mountains, fringed about with virgin firs,Where hand of man has never rudely been,Nor plashing wheel the limpid water stirs;There let us twain begin the world againLike those of old; while tree, and trout, and deerUnto their kindred beings draw our own,Till more than haunts of men,Than place and pelf, more welcome these appear,And better worth sheer life than we had known.

Again I long for lakes that lie between

High mountains, fringed about with virgin firs,

Where hand of man has never rudely been,

Nor plashing wheel the limpid water stirs;

There let us twain begin the world again

Like those of old; while tree, and trout, and deer

Unto their kindred beings draw our own,

Till more than haunts of men,

Than place and pelf, more welcome these appear,

And better worth sheer life than we had known.

Thither, ay, thither flee, O dearest friend,From walls wherein we grow so wan and old!The liberal Earth will still her lovers lendWater of life and storied sands of gold.Though of her perfect form thou hast securedThy will, some charm shall aye thine hold defy,And day by day thy passion yet shall grow,Even as a bridegroom, luredBy the unravished secret of her eye,Reads the bride’s soul, yet never all can know.

Thither, ay, thither flee, O dearest friend,

From walls wherein we grow so wan and old!

The liberal Earth will still her lovers lend

Water of life and storied sands of gold.

Though of her perfect form thou hast secured

Thy will, some charm shall aye thine hold defy,

And day by day thy passion yet shall grow,

Even as a bridegroom, lured

By the unravished secret of her eye,

Reads the bride’s soul, yet never all can know.

And when from her embrace again thou’rt torn,(Though well for her the world were thrown away!)At thine old tasks thou’lt not be quite forlorn,Remembering where is peace; and thou shalt say,“I know where beauty has not felt the curse,—Where, though I age, all round me is so youngThat in its youth my soul’s youth mirrored seems;Yes, in their rippling verse,For all our toil, they have not falsely sungWho said there still was rest beyond our dreams.”

And when from her embrace again thou’rt torn,

(Though well for her the world were thrown away!)

At thine old tasks thou’lt not be quite forlorn,

Remembering where is peace; and thou shalt say,

“I know where beauty has not felt the curse,—

Where, though I age, all round me is so young

That in its youth my soul’s youth mirrored seems;

Yes, in their rippling verse,

For all our toil, they have not falsely sung

Who said there still was rest beyond our dreams.”

Bayard, awaken not this music strong,While round thy home the indolent sweet breezeFloats lightly as the summer breath of seasO’er which Ulysses heard the Sirens’ song.Dreams of low-lying isles to June belong,And Circe holds us in her haunts of ease;But later, when these high ancestral treesAre sere, and such melodious languors wrongThe reddening strength of the autumnal year,Yield to heroic words thy ear and eye;—Intent on these broad pages thou shalt hearThe trumpets’ blare, the Argive battle-cry,And see Achilles hurl his hurtling spear,And mark the Trojan arrows make reply!

Bayard, awaken not this music strong,

While round thy home the indolent sweet breeze

Floats lightly as the summer breath of seas

O’er which Ulysses heard the Sirens’ song.

Dreams of low-lying isles to June belong,

And Circe holds us in her haunts of ease;

But later, when these high ancestral trees

Are sere, and such melodious languors wrong

The reddening strength of the autumnal year,

Yield to heroic words thy ear and eye;—

Intent on these broad pages thou shalt hear

The trumpets’ blare, the Argive battle-cry,

And see Achilles hurl his hurtling spear,

And mark the Trojan arrows make reply!

Two thousand feet in air it standsBetwixt the bright and shaded lands,Above the regions it dividesAnd borders with its furrowed sides.The seaward valley laughs with lightTill the round sun o’erhangs this height;But then the shadow of the crestNo more the plains that lengthen westEnshrouds, yet slowly, surely creepsEastward, until the coolness steepsA darkling league of tilth and wold,And chills the flocks that seek their fold.Not like those ancient summits lone,Mont Blanc, on his eternal throne,—The city-gemmed Peruvian peak,—The sunset-portals landsmen seek,Whose train, to reach the Golden Land,Crawls slow and pathless through the sand,—Or that, whose ice-lit beacon guidesThe mariner on tropic tides,And flames across the Gulf afar,A torch by day, by night a star,—Not thus, to cleave the outer skies,Does my serener mountain rise,Nor aye forget its gentle birthUpon the dewy, pastoral earth.But ever, in the noonday light,Are scenes whereof I love the sight,—Broad pictures of the lower worldBeneath my gladdened eyes unfurled.Irradiate distances revealFair nature wed to human weal;The rolling valley made a plain;Its checkered squares of grass and grain;The silvery rye, the golden wheat,The flowery elders where they meet,—Ay, even the springing corn I see,And garden haunts of bird and bee;And where, in daisied meadows, shinesThe wandering river through its vines,Move specks at random, which I knowAre herds a-grazing to and fro.Yet still a goodly height it seemsFrom which the mountain pours his streams,Or hinders, with caressing hands,The sunlight seeking other lands.Like some great giant, strong and proud,He fronts the lowering thunder-cloud,And wrests its treasures, to bestowA guerdon on the realm below;Or, by the deluge roused from sleepWithin his bristling forest-keep,Shakes all his pines, and far and wideSends down a rich, imperious tide.At night the whistling tempests meetIn tryst upon his topmost seat,And all the phantoms of the skyFrolic and gibber, storming by.By day I see the ocean-mistsFloat with the current where it lists,And from my summit I can hailCloud-vessels passing on the gale,—The stately argosies of air,—And parley with the helmsmen there;Can probe their dim, mysterious source,Ask of their cargo and their course,—Whence come? where bound?—and wait reply,As, all sails spread, they hasten by.If, foiled in what I fain would know,Again I turn my eyes belowAnd eastward, past the hither meadWhere all day long the cattle feed,A crescent gleam my sight alluresAnd clings about the hazy moors,—The great, encircling, radiant sea,Alone in its immensity.Even there, a queen upon its shore,I know the city evermoreHer palaces and temples rears,And wooes the nations to her piers;Yet the proud city seems a moleTo this horizon-bounded whole;And, from my station on the mount,The whole is little worth accountBeneath the overhanging sky,That seems so far and yet so nigh.Here breathe I inspiration rare,Unburdened by the grosser airThat hugs the lower land, and feelThrough all my finer senses stealThe life of what that life may be,Freed from this dull earth’s density,When we, with many a soul-felt thrill,Shall thrid the ether at our will,Through widening corridors of mornAnd starry archways swiftly borne.Here, in the process of the night,The stars themselves a purer lightGive out, than reaches those who gazeEnshrouded with the valley’s haze.October, entering Heaven’s fane,Assumes her lucent, annual reign:Then what a dark and dismal clod,Forsaken by the Sons of God,Seems this sad world, to those which marchAcross the high, illumined arch,And with their brightness draw me forthTo scan the splendors of the North!I see the Dragon, as he toilsWith Ursa in his shining coils,And mark the Huntsman lift his shield,Confronting on the ancient fieldThe Bull, while in a mystic rowThe jewels of his girdle glow;Or, haply, I may ponder longOn that remoter, sparkling throng,The orient sisterhood, aroundWhose chief our Galaxy is wound;Thus, half enwrapt in classic dreams,And brooding over Learning’s gleams,I leave to gloom the under-land,And from my watch-tower, close at hand,Like him who led the favored race,I look on glory face to face!So, on the mountain-top, alone,I dwell, as one who holds a throne;Or prince, or peasant, him I countMy peer, who stands upon a mount,Sees farther than the tribes below,And knows the joys they cannot know;And, though beyond the sound of speechThey reign, my soul goes out to reach,Far on their noble heights elsewhere,My brother-monarchs of the air.

Two thousand feet in air it stands

Betwixt the bright and shaded lands,

Above the regions it divides

And borders with its furrowed sides.

The seaward valley laughs with light

Till the round sun o’erhangs this height;

But then the shadow of the crest

No more the plains that lengthen west

Enshrouds, yet slowly, surely creeps

Eastward, until the coolness steeps

A darkling league of tilth and wold,

And chills the flocks that seek their fold.

Not like those ancient summits lone,Mont Blanc, on his eternal throne,—The city-gemmed Peruvian peak,—The sunset-portals landsmen seek,Whose train, to reach the Golden Land,Crawls slow and pathless through the sand,—Or that, whose ice-lit beacon guidesThe mariner on tropic tides,And flames across the Gulf afar,A torch by day, by night a star,—Not thus, to cleave the outer skies,Does my serener mountain rise,Nor aye forget its gentle birthUpon the dewy, pastoral earth.

Not like those ancient summits lone,

Mont Blanc, on his eternal throne,—

The city-gemmed Peruvian peak,—

The sunset-portals landsmen seek,

Whose train, to reach the Golden Land,

Crawls slow and pathless through the sand,—

Or that, whose ice-lit beacon guides

The mariner on tropic tides,

And flames across the Gulf afar,

A torch by day, by night a star,—

Not thus, to cleave the outer skies,

Does my serener mountain rise,

Nor aye forget its gentle birth

Upon the dewy, pastoral earth.

But ever, in the noonday light,Are scenes whereof I love the sight,—Broad pictures of the lower worldBeneath my gladdened eyes unfurled.Irradiate distances revealFair nature wed to human weal;The rolling valley made a plain;Its checkered squares of grass and grain;The silvery rye, the golden wheat,The flowery elders where they meet,—Ay, even the springing corn I see,And garden haunts of bird and bee;And where, in daisied meadows, shinesThe wandering river through its vines,Move specks at random, which I knowAre herds a-grazing to and fro.

But ever, in the noonday light,

Are scenes whereof I love the sight,—

Broad pictures of the lower world

Beneath my gladdened eyes unfurled.

Irradiate distances reveal

Fair nature wed to human weal;

The rolling valley made a plain;

Its checkered squares of grass and grain;

The silvery rye, the golden wheat,

The flowery elders where they meet,—

Ay, even the springing corn I see,

And garden haunts of bird and bee;

And where, in daisied meadows, shines

The wandering river through its vines,

Move specks at random, which I know

Are herds a-grazing to and fro.

Yet still a goodly height it seemsFrom which the mountain pours his streams,Or hinders, with caressing hands,The sunlight seeking other lands.Like some great giant, strong and proud,He fronts the lowering thunder-cloud,And wrests its treasures, to bestowA guerdon on the realm below;Or, by the deluge roused from sleepWithin his bristling forest-keep,Shakes all his pines, and far and wideSends down a rich, imperious tide.At night the whistling tempests meetIn tryst upon his topmost seat,And all the phantoms of the skyFrolic and gibber, storming by.

Yet still a goodly height it seems

From which the mountain pours his streams,

Or hinders, with caressing hands,

The sunlight seeking other lands.

Like some great giant, strong and proud,

He fronts the lowering thunder-cloud,

And wrests its treasures, to bestow

A guerdon on the realm below;

Or, by the deluge roused from sleep

Within his bristling forest-keep,

Shakes all his pines, and far and wide

Sends down a rich, imperious tide.

At night the whistling tempests meet

In tryst upon his topmost seat,

And all the phantoms of the sky

Frolic and gibber, storming by.

By day I see the ocean-mistsFloat with the current where it lists,And from my summit I can hailCloud-vessels passing on the gale,—The stately argosies of air,—And parley with the helmsmen there;Can probe their dim, mysterious source,Ask of their cargo and their course,—Whence come? where bound?—and wait reply,As, all sails spread, they hasten by.

By day I see the ocean-mists

Float with the current where it lists,

And from my summit I can hail

Cloud-vessels passing on the gale,—

The stately argosies of air,—

And parley with the helmsmen there;

Can probe their dim, mysterious source,

Ask of their cargo and their course,—

Whence come? where bound?—and wait reply,

As, all sails spread, they hasten by.

If, foiled in what I fain would know,Again I turn my eyes belowAnd eastward, past the hither meadWhere all day long the cattle feed,A crescent gleam my sight alluresAnd clings about the hazy moors,—The great, encircling, radiant sea,Alone in its immensity.

If, foiled in what I fain would know,

Again I turn my eyes below

And eastward, past the hither mead

Where all day long the cattle feed,

A crescent gleam my sight allures

And clings about the hazy moors,—

The great, encircling, radiant sea,

Alone in its immensity.

Even there, a queen upon its shore,I know the city evermoreHer palaces and temples rears,And wooes the nations to her piers;Yet the proud city seems a moleTo this horizon-bounded whole;And, from my station on the mount,The whole is little worth accountBeneath the overhanging sky,That seems so far and yet so nigh.Here breathe I inspiration rare,Unburdened by the grosser airThat hugs the lower land, and feelThrough all my finer senses stealThe life of what that life may be,Freed from this dull earth’s density,When we, with many a soul-felt thrill,Shall thrid the ether at our will,Through widening corridors of mornAnd starry archways swiftly borne.

Even there, a queen upon its shore,

I know the city evermore

Her palaces and temples rears,

And wooes the nations to her piers;

Yet the proud city seems a mole

To this horizon-bounded whole;

And, from my station on the mount,

The whole is little worth account

Beneath the overhanging sky,

That seems so far and yet so nigh.

Here breathe I inspiration rare,

Unburdened by the grosser air

That hugs the lower land, and feel

Through all my finer senses steal

The life of what that life may be,

Freed from this dull earth’s density,

When we, with many a soul-felt thrill,

Shall thrid the ether at our will,

Through widening corridors of morn

And starry archways swiftly borne.

Here, in the process of the night,The stars themselves a purer lightGive out, than reaches those who gazeEnshrouded with the valley’s haze.October, entering Heaven’s fane,Assumes her lucent, annual reign:Then what a dark and dismal clod,Forsaken by the Sons of God,Seems this sad world, to those which marchAcross the high, illumined arch,And with their brightness draw me forthTo scan the splendors of the North!I see the Dragon, as he toilsWith Ursa in his shining coils,And mark the Huntsman lift his shield,Confronting on the ancient fieldThe Bull, while in a mystic rowThe jewels of his girdle glow;Or, haply, I may ponder longOn that remoter, sparkling throng,The orient sisterhood, aroundWhose chief our Galaxy is wound;Thus, half enwrapt in classic dreams,And brooding over Learning’s gleams,I leave to gloom the under-land,And from my watch-tower, close at hand,Like him who led the favored race,I look on glory face to face!

Here, in the process of the night,

The stars themselves a purer light

Give out, than reaches those who gaze

Enshrouded with the valley’s haze.

October, entering Heaven’s fane,

Assumes her lucent, annual reign:

Then what a dark and dismal clod,

Forsaken by the Sons of God,

Seems this sad world, to those which march

Across the high, illumined arch,

And with their brightness draw me forth

To scan the splendors of the North!

I see the Dragon, as he toils

With Ursa in his shining coils,

And mark the Huntsman lift his shield,

Confronting on the ancient field

The Bull, while in a mystic row

The jewels of his girdle glow;

Or, haply, I may ponder long

On that remoter, sparkling throng,

The orient sisterhood, around

Whose chief our Galaxy is wound;

Thus, half enwrapt in classic dreams,

And brooding over Learning’s gleams,

I leave to gloom the under-land,

And from my watch-tower, close at hand,

Like him who led the favored race,

I look on glory face to face!

So, on the mountain-top, alone,I dwell, as one who holds a throne;Or prince, or peasant, him I countMy peer, who stands upon a mount,Sees farther than the tribes below,And knows the joys they cannot know;And, though beyond the sound of speechThey reign, my soul goes out to reach,Far on their noble heights elsewhere,My brother-monarchs of the air.

So, on the mountain-top, alone,

I dwell, as one who holds a throne;

Or prince, or peasant, him I count

My peer, who stands upon a mount,

Sees farther than the tribes below,

And knows the joys they cannot know;

And, though beyond the sound of speech

They reign, my soul goes out to reach,

Far on their noble heights elsewhere,

My brother-monarchs of the air.

“Something sweetFollowed youth, with flying feet,And will never come again.”

“Something sweet

Followed youth, with flying feet,

And will never come again.”

How many years have made their flights,Northampton, over thee and me,Since last I scaled those purple heightsThat guard the pathway to the sea;Or climbed, as now, the topmost crownOf western ridges, whence againI see, for miles beyond the town,That sunlit stream divide the plain?There still the giant warders standAnd watch the current’s downward flow,And northward still, with threatening hand,The river bends his ancient bow.I see the hazy lowlands meetThe sky, and count each shining spire,From those which sparkle at my feetTo distant steeples tipt with fire.For still, old town, thou art the same:The redbreasts sing their choral tune,Within thy mantling elms aflame,As in that other, dearer June,When here my footsteps entered first,And summer perfect beauty wore,And all thy charms upon me burst,While Life’s whole journey lay before.Here every fragrant walk remains,Where happy maidens come and go,And students saunter in the lanesAnd hum the songs I used to know.I gaze, yet find myself alone,And walk with solitary feet:How strange these wonted ways have grown!Where are the friends I used to meet?In yonder shaded AcademeThe rippling metres flow to-day,But other boys at sunset dreamOf love, and laurels far away;And ah! from yonder trellised home,Less sweet the faces are that peerThan those of old, and voices comeLess musically to my ear.Sigh not, ye breezy elms, but giveThe murmur of my sweetheart’s vows,When Life was something worth to live,And Love was young beneath your boughs!Fade beauty, smiling everywhere,That can from year to year outlastThose charms a thousand times more fair,And, O, our joys so quickly past!Or smile to gladden fresher heartsHenceforth: but they shall yet be led,Revisiting these ancient parts,Like me to mourn their glory fled.

How many years have made their flights,Northampton, over thee and me,Since last I scaled those purple heightsThat guard the pathway to the sea;

How many years have made their flights,

Northampton, over thee and me,

Since last I scaled those purple heights

That guard the pathway to the sea;

Or climbed, as now, the topmost crownOf western ridges, whence againI see, for miles beyond the town,That sunlit stream divide the plain?

Or climbed, as now, the topmost crown

Of western ridges, whence again

I see, for miles beyond the town,

That sunlit stream divide the plain?

There still the giant warders standAnd watch the current’s downward flow,And northward still, with threatening hand,The river bends his ancient bow.

There still the giant warders stand

And watch the current’s downward flow,

And northward still, with threatening hand,

The river bends his ancient bow.

I see the hazy lowlands meetThe sky, and count each shining spire,From those which sparkle at my feetTo distant steeples tipt with fire.

I see the hazy lowlands meet

The sky, and count each shining spire,

From those which sparkle at my feet

To distant steeples tipt with fire.

For still, old town, thou art the same:The redbreasts sing their choral tune,Within thy mantling elms aflame,As in that other, dearer June,

For still, old town, thou art the same:

The redbreasts sing their choral tune,

Within thy mantling elms aflame,

As in that other, dearer June,

When here my footsteps entered first,And summer perfect beauty wore,And all thy charms upon me burst,While Life’s whole journey lay before.

When here my footsteps entered first,

And summer perfect beauty wore,

And all thy charms upon me burst,

While Life’s whole journey lay before.

Here every fragrant walk remains,Where happy maidens come and go,And students saunter in the lanesAnd hum the songs I used to know.

Here every fragrant walk remains,

Where happy maidens come and go,

And students saunter in the lanes

And hum the songs I used to know.

I gaze, yet find myself alone,And walk with solitary feet:How strange these wonted ways have grown!Where are the friends I used to meet?

I gaze, yet find myself alone,

And walk with solitary feet:

How strange these wonted ways have grown!

Where are the friends I used to meet?

In yonder shaded AcademeThe rippling metres flow to-day,But other boys at sunset dreamOf love, and laurels far away;

In yonder shaded Academe

The rippling metres flow to-day,

But other boys at sunset dream

Of love, and laurels far away;

And ah! from yonder trellised home,Less sweet the faces are that peerThan those of old, and voices comeLess musically to my ear.

And ah! from yonder trellised home,

Less sweet the faces are that peer

Than those of old, and voices come

Less musically to my ear.

Sigh not, ye breezy elms, but giveThe murmur of my sweetheart’s vows,When Life was something worth to live,And Love was young beneath your boughs!

Sigh not, ye breezy elms, but give

The murmur of my sweetheart’s vows,

When Life was something worth to live,

And Love was young beneath your boughs!

Fade beauty, smiling everywhere,That can from year to year outlastThose charms a thousand times more fair,And, O, our joys so quickly past!

Fade beauty, smiling everywhere,

That can from year to year outlast

Those charms a thousand times more fair,

And, O, our joys so quickly past!

Or smile to gladden fresher heartsHenceforth: but they shall yet be led,Revisiting these ancient parts,Like me to mourn their glory fled.

Or smile to gladden fresher hearts

Henceforth: but they shall yet be led,

Revisiting these ancient parts,

Like me to mourn their glory fled.

The fair Earth smiled and turned herself and woke,And to the Sun with nuptial greeting said:“I had a dream, wherein it seemed men brokeA sovran league, and long years fought and bled,Till down my sweet sides ran my children’s gore,And all my beautiful garments were made red,And all my fertile fields were thicket-grown,Nor could thy dear light reach me through the air;At last a voice cried, ‘Let them strive no more!’Then music breathed, and to! from my despairI wake to joy,—yet would not joy alone!“For, hark! I hear a murmur on the meads,—Where as of old my children seek my face,—The low of kine, the peaceful tramp of steeds,Blithe shouts of men in many a pastoral place,The noise of tilth through all my goodliest land,And happy laughter of a dusky raceWhose brethren lift them from their ancient toil,Saying: “The year of jubilee has come;Gather the gifts of Earth with equal hand;Henceforth ye too may share the birthright soil,The corn, the wine, and all the harvest-home.”“O my dear lord, my radiant bridegroom, look!Behold their joy who sorrowed in my dreams,—The sword a share, the spear a pruning-hook;Lo, I awake, and turn me toward thy beamsEven as a bride again! O, shed thy lightUpon my fruitful places in full streams!Let there be yield for every living thing;The land is fallow,—let there be increaseAfter the darkness of the sterile night;Ay, let us twain a festival of PeacePrepare, and hither all my nations bring!”The fair Earth spake: the glad Sun speeded forth,Hearing her matron words, and backward draveTo frozen caves the icy Wind of the North,—And bade the South Wind from the tropic waveBring watery vapors over river and plain,—And bade the East Wind cross her path, and laveThe lowlands, emptying there her laden mist,—And bade the Wind of the West, the best wind, blowAfter the early and the latter rain,—And beamed himself, and oft the sweet Earth kissed,While her swift servitors sped to and fro.Forthwith the troop that, at the beck of Earth,Foster her children, brought a glorious storeOf viands, food of immemorial worth,Her earliest gifts, her tenderest evermore.First came the Silvery Spirit, whose marshalled filesClimb up the glades in billowy breakers hoar,Nodding their crests; and at his side there spedThe Golden Spirit, whose yellow harvests trailAcross the continents and fringe the isles,And freight men’s argosies where’er they sail:O, what a wealth of sheaves he there outspread!Came the dear Spirit whom Earth doth love the best,Fragrant of clover-bloom and new-mown hay,Beneath whose mantle weary ones finds rest,On whose green skirts the little children play:She bore the food our patient cattle crave.Next, robed in silk, with tassels scattering spray,Followed the generous Spirit of the Maize;And many a kindred shape of high renownBore in the clustering grape, the fruits that waveOn orchard branches or in gardens blaze,And those the wind-shook forest hurtles down.Even thus they laid a great and marvellous feast,And Earth her children summoned joyously,Throughout that goodliest land wherein had ceasedThe vision of battle, and with glad hands freeThese took their fill, and plenteous measures poured,Beside, for those who dwelt beyond the sea;Praise, like an incense, upward rose to HeavenFor that full harvest; and the autumnal SunStayed long above; and ever at the board,Peace, white-robed angel, held the high seat given,And War far off withdrew his visage dun.

The fair Earth smiled and turned herself and woke,

And to the Sun with nuptial greeting said:

“I had a dream, wherein it seemed men broke

A sovran league, and long years fought and bled,

Till down my sweet sides ran my children’s gore,

And all my beautiful garments were made red,

And all my fertile fields were thicket-grown,

Nor could thy dear light reach me through the air;

At last a voice cried, ‘Let them strive no more!’

Then music breathed, and to! from my despair

I wake to joy,—yet would not joy alone!

“For, hark! I hear a murmur on the meads,—Where as of old my children seek my face,—The low of kine, the peaceful tramp of steeds,Blithe shouts of men in many a pastoral place,The noise of tilth through all my goodliest land,And happy laughter of a dusky raceWhose brethren lift them from their ancient toil,Saying: “The year of jubilee has come;Gather the gifts of Earth with equal hand;Henceforth ye too may share the birthright soil,The corn, the wine, and all the harvest-home.”

“For, hark! I hear a murmur on the meads,—

Where as of old my children seek my face,—

The low of kine, the peaceful tramp of steeds,

Blithe shouts of men in many a pastoral place,

The noise of tilth through all my goodliest land,

And happy laughter of a dusky race

Whose brethren lift them from their ancient toil,

Saying: “The year of jubilee has come;

Gather the gifts of Earth with equal hand;

Henceforth ye too may share the birthright soil,

The corn, the wine, and all the harvest-home.”

“O my dear lord, my radiant bridegroom, look!Behold their joy who sorrowed in my dreams,—The sword a share, the spear a pruning-hook;Lo, I awake, and turn me toward thy beamsEven as a bride again! O, shed thy lightUpon my fruitful places in full streams!Let there be yield for every living thing;The land is fallow,—let there be increaseAfter the darkness of the sterile night;Ay, let us twain a festival of PeacePrepare, and hither all my nations bring!”

“O my dear lord, my radiant bridegroom, look!

Behold their joy who sorrowed in my dreams,—

The sword a share, the spear a pruning-hook;

Lo, I awake, and turn me toward thy beams

Even as a bride again! O, shed thy light

Upon my fruitful places in full streams!

Let there be yield for every living thing;

The land is fallow,—let there be increase

After the darkness of the sterile night;

Ay, let us twain a festival of Peace

Prepare, and hither all my nations bring!”

The fair Earth spake: the glad Sun speeded forth,Hearing her matron words, and backward draveTo frozen caves the icy Wind of the North,—And bade the South Wind from the tropic waveBring watery vapors over river and plain,—And bade the East Wind cross her path, and laveThe lowlands, emptying there her laden mist,—And bade the Wind of the West, the best wind, blowAfter the early and the latter rain,—And beamed himself, and oft the sweet Earth kissed,While her swift servitors sped to and fro.

The fair Earth spake: the glad Sun speeded forth,

Hearing her matron words, and backward drave

To frozen caves the icy Wind of the North,—

And bade the South Wind from the tropic wave

Bring watery vapors over river and plain,—

And bade the East Wind cross her path, and lave

The lowlands, emptying there her laden mist,—

And bade the Wind of the West, the best wind, blow

After the early and the latter rain,—

And beamed himself, and oft the sweet Earth kissed,

While her swift servitors sped to and fro.

Forthwith the troop that, at the beck of Earth,Foster her children, brought a glorious storeOf viands, food of immemorial worth,Her earliest gifts, her tenderest evermore.First came the Silvery Spirit, whose marshalled filesClimb up the glades in billowy breakers hoar,Nodding their crests; and at his side there spedThe Golden Spirit, whose yellow harvests trailAcross the continents and fringe the isles,And freight men’s argosies where’er they sail:O, what a wealth of sheaves he there outspread!

Forthwith the troop that, at the beck of Earth,

Foster her children, brought a glorious store

Of viands, food of immemorial worth,

Her earliest gifts, her tenderest evermore.

First came the Silvery Spirit, whose marshalled files

Climb up the glades in billowy breakers hoar,

Nodding their crests; and at his side there sped

The Golden Spirit, whose yellow harvests trail

Across the continents and fringe the isles,

And freight men’s argosies where’er they sail:

O, what a wealth of sheaves he there outspread!

Came the dear Spirit whom Earth doth love the best,Fragrant of clover-bloom and new-mown hay,Beneath whose mantle weary ones finds rest,On whose green skirts the little children play:She bore the food our patient cattle crave.Next, robed in silk, with tassels scattering spray,Followed the generous Spirit of the Maize;And many a kindred shape of high renownBore in the clustering grape, the fruits that waveOn orchard branches or in gardens blaze,And those the wind-shook forest hurtles down.

Came the dear Spirit whom Earth doth love the best,

Fragrant of clover-bloom and new-mown hay,

Beneath whose mantle weary ones finds rest,

On whose green skirts the little children play:

She bore the food our patient cattle crave.

Next, robed in silk, with tassels scattering spray,

Followed the generous Spirit of the Maize;

And many a kindred shape of high renown

Bore in the clustering grape, the fruits that wave

On orchard branches or in gardens blaze,

And those the wind-shook forest hurtles down.

Even thus they laid a great and marvellous feast,And Earth her children summoned joyously,Throughout that goodliest land wherein had ceasedThe vision of battle, and with glad hands freeThese took their fill, and plenteous measures poured,Beside, for those who dwelt beyond the sea;Praise, like an incense, upward rose to HeavenFor that full harvest; and the autumnal SunStayed long above; and ever at the board,Peace, white-robed angel, held the high seat given,And War far off withdrew his visage dun.

Even thus they laid a great and marvellous feast,

And Earth her children summoned joyously,

Throughout that goodliest land wherein had ceased

The vision of battle, and with glad hands free

These took their fill, and plenteous measures poured,

Beside, for those who dwelt beyond the sea;

Praise, like an incense, upward rose to Heaven

For that full harvest; and the autumnal Sun

Stayed long above; and ever at the board,

Peace, white-robed angel, held the high seat given,

And War far off withdrew his visage dun.

No clouds are in the morning sky,The vapors hug the stream,—Who says that life and love can dieIn all this northern gleam?At every turn the maples burn,The quail is whistling free,The partridge whirs, and the frosted bursAre dropping for you and me.Ho! hilly ho! heigh O!Hilly ho!In the clear October morning.Along our path the woods are bold,And glow with ripe desire;The yellow chestnut showers its gold,The sumachs spread their fire;The breezes feel as crisp as steel,The buckwheat tops are red:Then down the lane, love, scurry again,And over the stubble tread!Ho! hilly ho! heigh O!Hilly ho!In the clear October morning.

No clouds are in the morning sky,

The vapors hug the stream,—

Who says that life and love can die

In all this northern gleam?

At every turn the maples burn,

The quail is whistling free,

The partridge whirs, and the frosted burs

Are dropping for you and me.

Ho! hilly ho! heigh O!

Hilly ho!

In the clear October morning.

Along our path the woods are bold,And glow with ripe desire;The yellow chestnut showers its gold,The sumachs spread their fire;The breezes feel as crisp as steel,The buckwheat tops are red:Then down the lane, love, scurry again,And over the stubble tread!Ho! hilly ho! heigh O!Hilly ho!In the clear October morning.

Along our path the woods are bold,

And glow with ripe desire;

The yellow chestnut showers its gold,

The sumachs spread their fire;

The breezes feel as crisp as steel,

The buckwheat tops are red:

Then down the lane, love, scurry again,

And over the stubble tread!

Ho! hilly ho! heigh O!

Hilly ho!

In the clear October morning.

Which is the Wind that brings the cold?The North-Wind, Freddy, and all the snow;And the sheep will scamper into the foldWhen the North begins to blow.Which is the Wind that brings the heat?The South-Wind, Katy; and corn will grow,And peaches redden for you to eat,When the South begins to blow.Which is the Wind that brings the rain?The East-Wind, Arty; and farmers knowThat cows come shivering up the laneWhen the East begins to blow.Which is the Wind that brings the flowers?The West-Wind, Bessy; and soft and lowThe birdies sing in the summer hoursWhen the West begins to blow.

Which is the Wind that brings the cold?The North-Wind, Freddy, and all the snow;And the sheep will scamper into the foldWhen the North begins to blow.

Which is the Wind that brings the cold?

The North-Wind, Freddy, and all the snow;

And the sheep will scamper into the fold

When the North begins to blow.

Which is the Wind that brings the heat?The South-Wind, Katy; and corn will grow,And peaches redden for you to eat,When the South begins to blow.

Which is the Wind that brings the heat?

The South-Wind, Katy; and corn will grow,

And peaches redden for you to eat,

When the South begins to blow.

Which is the Wind that brings the rain?The East-Wind, Arty; and farmers knowThat cows come shivering up the laneWhen the East begins to blow.

Which is the Wind that brings the rain?

The East-Wind, Arty; and farmers know

That cows come shivering up the lane

When the East begins to blow.

Which is the Wind that brings the flowers?The West-Wind, Bessy; and soft and lowThe birdies sing in the summer hoursWhen the West begins to blow.

Which is the Wind that brings the flowers?

The West-Wind, Bessy; and soft and low

The birdies sing in the summer hours

When the West begins to blow.

The sunlight fills the trembling air,And balmy days their guerdons bring;The Earth again is young and fair,And amorous with musky Spring.The golden nurslings of the MayIn splendor strew the spangled green,And hues of tender beauty play,Entangled where the willows lean.Mark how the rippled currents flow:What lustres on the meadows lie!And hark, the songsters come and go,And trill between the earth and sky.Who told us that the years had fled,Or borne afar our blissful youth?Such joys are all about us spread,We know the whisper was not truth.The birds, that break from grass and grove,Sing every carol that they sungWhen first our veins were rich with love,And May her mantle round us flung.O fresh-lit dawn! immortal life!O Earth’s betrothal, sweet and true,With whose delights our souls are rifeAnd aye their vernal vows renew!Then, darling, walk with me this morn:Let your brown tresses drink its sheen;These violets, within them worn,Of floral fays shall make you queen.What though there comes a time of painWhen autumn winds forbode decay;The days of love are born again,That fabled time is far away!And never seemed the land so fairAs now, nor birds such notes to sing,Since first within your shining hairI wove the blossoms of the Spring.

The sunlight fills the trembling air,And balmy days their guerdons bring;The Earth again is young and fair,And amorous with musky Spring.

The sunlight fills the trembling air,

And balmy days their guerdons bring;

The Earth again is young and fair,

And amorous with musky Spring.

The golden nurslings of the MayIn splendor strew the spangled green,And hues of tender beauty play,Entangled where the willows lean.

The golden nurslings of the May

In splendor strew the spangled green,

And hues of tender beauty play,

Entangled where the willows lean.

Mark how the rippled currents flow:What lustres on the meadows lie!And hark, the songsters come and go,And trill between the earth and sky.

Mark how the rippled currents flow:

What lustres on the meadows lie!

And hark, the songsters come and go,

And trill between the earth and sky.

Who told us that the years had fled,Or borne afar our blissful youth?Such joys are all about us spread,We know the whisper was not truth.

Who told us that the years had fled,

Or borne afar our blissful youth?

Such joys are all about us spread,

We know the whisper was not truth.

The birds, that break from grass and grove,Sing every carol that they sungWhen first our veins were rich with love,And May her mantle round us flung.

The birds, that break from grass and grove,

Sing every carol that they sung

When first our veins were rich with love,

And May her mantle round us flung.

O fresh-lit dawn! immortal life!O Earth’s betrothal, sweet and true,With whose delights our souls are rifeAnd aye their vernal vows renew!

O fresh-lit dawn! immortal life!

O Earth’s betrothal, sweet and true,

With whose delights our souls are rife

And aye their vernal vows renew!

Then, darling, walk with me this morn:Let your brown tresses drink its sheen;These violets, within them worn,Of floral fays shall make you queen.

Then, darling, walk with me this morn:

Let your brown tresses drink its sheen;

These violets, within them worn,

Of floral fays shall make you queen.

What though there comes a time of painWhen autumn winds forbode decay;The days of love are born again,That fabled time is far away!

What though there comes a time of pain

When autumn winds forbode decay;

The days of love are born again,

That fabled time is far away!

And never seemed the land so fairAs now, nor birds such notes to sing,Since first within your shining hairI wove the blossoms of the Spring.

And never seemed the land so fair

As now, nor birds such notes to sing,

Since first within your shining hair

I wove the blossoms of the Spring.

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