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II.

Lightly along her liquid path she presses;
Nor yet the toil her buoyant frame distresses.
Anon, as patiently she sped,
There came as of itself into her head
An old and simple lay,
She oft had sung in many a happier day,
About a maid her home for love forsaking;
And the recurring rhythm making
The effort of volition less,
And so preventing weariness,—
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Though scarce a meaning to its phrases linking—
She kept into her spirit drinking
The metre's chime—a kind of rest from thinking;
And steadily aside the crystal waters flinging,
Kept murmuring the old rhyme in time—she had no breath for singing:—

1.

“The freshet is flowing,
But growing quite clear;
The full river flashes
And gurgles and dashes
With tinklings and plashes
How pleasant to hear!
The tiny bright billows
That lately were whirling
So turbid and dun,
Are playfully curling,
And merrily glance as they dance in the Sun!—
To the current confiding
My little canoe,
See! joyously gliding
My course I pursue.
Look! carelessly twirling
The paddle I sit,
The river deciding
Which way we shall flit:
I sit all alone,
No fear have I, none!
For I know to what quarter its waters will run!
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2.

“And see how, while speeding,
A Maiden unheeding,
Wherever those curling
Crisp billows are leading,—
Never raising a mast or
The light sail unfurling,
But leaving my boat free to float as it will;
The rich breeze comes after
To waft her the faster,
The faster to waft her
To where out of sight
Stands a cottage so bright;
(Ah well do I know it,
Rush-wall and red rafter
And carvings so gay!)
Which oft far away
I have watched half the day,
When the sunbeam would show it
One spot of red light
Beneath the deep-glooming, far-looming blue hill.

3.

“No obstacles stay me,
No dangers delay me!
The streams,—where the river
In summer dividing
In silvery threads,
Slips hurriedly gliding
O'er glittering beds
Of shingle,—all mingled, you nowhere can see!
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All the rapids wherever
The water ran creaming,
And, flashing and gleaming
From humps and from shoulders
Of obstinate boulders,
Snow-tassels offstreaming
Would flutter and quiver,—
They have vanished—replenished to let me go free!
And the broad yellow spaces
Where lost were all traces
Of the creaming, the flashing,
The streaming, the dashing,
The stir and the strife;
Where you heard not a murmur,
No chatter or churme or
Low musical plaint;
Where the gravel-beds wholly
Concealing it, slowly
The river went oozing
Beneath, and gave life
To a few dainty bosses
Of pallid gray mosses,
Such fragrance diffusing
Delicious and faint;—
They are gone—they have vanished—all banished for me!

4.

“The ranks of green rushes
With their brown knobs of down,
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Where the stream's overflow
Creeps dimpling and slow,
How gentle their stirring
As softly conferring
They murmur so low!
In a moment 'tis done;
They are still every one!
As they stand in a row
And watch me, I know
Why it is they are so;
I know each green lisper
Fears even a whisper
May show where I go, who the rover must be!
And the louder flax-bushes
With their crowding and crossing
Black stems darkly studded
With blossoms red-blooded—
Their long blades are tossing
As the breeze comes up quicker
(So wantonly spilling
The honeysweet liquor
Their ruddy cups filling);—
Hark! pattering, playing,
They rustle in glee;
And I fancy them saying:
‘O fondly, O fleetly
She flies—never heed her,
For Love is her leader;
And fairly and featly
He steers, who but he!
Then mind her not—hinder not—let her go free!’—
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And brighter and higher,
Like flames of pale fire,
The great plumes far and wide
Of the sword-grass aspire;
In their grace and their pride
They are all on my side!
See! feather to feather
How bending together
They seem to try whether
My flight they may hide;
‘We know to what meeting,
How blissful a greeting
The runaway fleeting
So fondly would glide;—
Droop thickly—wave quickly—that no one may see!’

5.

“Then, Father, why chide her,
Your darling, your pride, or
Lament at her going
Whatever betide her!
For though your eyes glisten,
O how can she listen—
To such a fond lover the rover has flown!
Unavailing the wailing,
And idle to chide her,
When breezes freshblowing,
When waters quickflowing,
All fair things upgrowing
And waving beside her,
Will but guide and confide her to one heart alone!”
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Thus, not without a sense forlorn and dreary
How doubtful her own flight and fate
Beside that maiden's, speeding to her mate
With answered love and confidence elate,
Poor Amohia swims till she is weary.
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