University of Virginia Library

Sage monitors of youth are wont to say
The eye grows early dim to nature's charms,
And commerce with the world soon dulls the ear
To heavenliest sounds. It may be so; but I,
Whose feet were on the hills from earliest life,
And in the vales, and by the flashing brooks,
Have not so found it:—deeper in my heart,
Deeper and deeper year by year, has sunk
The love of nature, in my close, and long,
And fond companionship with woods and waves,
With birds and breezes, with the starry sky,
The mountain-height, the rocky gorge, the slope
Mantled with flow'rs, and the far-reaching plain
That mingles with the heavens. It is not so—
It is not so save where the ear grows dull
To God's own voice, and the averted eye,
Thick film'd with sin, is darkened thus, and lost
To all his visible glory. The green fields
Are studded with their golden buttons still,
And living with their gilded butterflies,
That pass not unobserved. The rocky pool,
In which the robin bathes his dusky plumes,
The tufted flow'rs that smile beyond, the slope
That from its margin greenly steals away
To bordering woodlands fill'd with airy tongues,
Still lure us from the hot and dusty road
As in the years gone by. There come at morn,
From the cool groves and from the orchards round,
The same sweet songs of birds that charm'd the ear
Of childhood, and of youth; and in the eve
Floats up from the broad meadows still, the same
Sweet smell of new-made hay. Day and the Sun
In all his glory—Night and all she hath
Of beauty, or of mystery, or joy,
Still hold their spell upon the heart, and fill
The soul with wonder and with awe. The earth
Fades not, and fails not in its wealth of charms:—
We seek them now, as in our earliest years,
And find them: we plunge far into the woods,
And roam the flowery fields, and climb the hills,
Not less the child that we are more the man:
We loiter where the waters of the brook
Dance down the pebbly slope, and watch the leaf
Or feather that is on its bosom borne,
Till lost to sight: the little hand that scoop'd
The cool wave up in childhood, larger grown,
Needs now no prompting, but supplies the draught
To thirsty lip or heated forehead. Now,
As then, we marvel at the growing grass,
And at the blooming flower, and at the tree
That rises up and pierces the blue sky
Among the clouds. The high heav'n-spanning arch,
That evening builds when storm has roll'd away
And dies far east, the purple sunset's hue,
The unmatch'd iris of the humming-bird,
The rose's cup, the lily's silver bell,
The blue-eyed violet—all sights and sounds
That won the eye or charm'd the ear in youth,
Are living still. Eternal beauty dies
Within man's heart but through eternal sin,
Or with annihilation. He who has
The love of right, the fear of wrong, the hate
And scorn of evil, multiform and dark—
Who hearkens to the still small voice within—
Who hourly bids the hourly tempter back—
Who loves his fellow-men—who leaves to Heav'n
The judgment of his enemies: not to him,
Not to his eye, not to his ear, will God
Willingly suffer the glad sights and sounds
Of nature to grow dim, or to become
Inaudible. Years change us not so much,
Nor commerce with the world; but groveling thoughts,
Vaulting ambitions, unrepressed desires,
Whose oft-indulgence blunts the edge of youth:
These early dim the eye to nature's charms,
And early dull the ear to heavenliest sounds.