 | The Poetical Works of William Cullen Bryant |  |
393
THE POET'S FIRST SONG.
FROM THE GERMAN OF HOUWALD.
Already had I travelled,
O'er half the globe alone;
The tongues of other nations,
I knew them like my own.
O'er half the globe alone;
The tongues of other nations,
I knew them like my own.
And great men called me brother
In many a distant land,
And many a mighty monarch
In greeting gave his hand.
In many a distant land,
And many a mighty monarch
In greeting gave his hand.
Amid Pompeii's ruins,
Amid the Switzer's snows,
And by the mounds of Egypt,
And where La Plata flows,
Amid the Switzer's snows,
And by the mounds of Egypt,
And where La Plata flows,
I stood and sang my verses;
And what the poet said
Thrilled through the hearts of thousands,
By eager thousands read.
And what the poet said
Thrilled through the hearts of thousands,
By eager thousands read.
A star upon my bosom,
A heaven within, I came
All conscious of the glory
That gathered round my name—
A heaven within, I came
All conscious of the glory
That gathered round my name—
Came from afar to visit
The little mound of earth
Where stood my father's cottage,
The vale that saw my birth.
The little mound of earth
Where stood my father's cottage,
The vale that saw my birth.
And now from the last hill-top,
The boundary-stone beside,
O'er that small shady valley
I cast a look of pride.
The boundary-stone beside,
O'er that small shady valley
I cast a look of pride.
394
And, glorying in my fortunes,
I said, I thank thee, Fate,
I who went forth so humble,
That I come back so great.
I said, I thank thee, Fate,
I who went forth so humble,
That I come back so great.
Then up the hill came toiling
A woman faint and pale,
And with two lovely children
Sat looking down the vale.
A woman faint and pale,
And with two lovely children
Sat looking down the vale.
And soon I heard her singing
A simple little lay—
A strain that moved me strangely,
Though why I could not say.
A simple little lay—
A strain that moved me strangely,
Though why I could not say.
So timidly I asked her
Whence came that simple rhyme;
“From happy days,” she answered,
“A long-remembered time.”
Whence came that simple rhyme;
“From happy days,” she answered,
“A long-remembered time.”
“On parting with the maiden,
A youth composed the song.”—
Ah, then I knew the verses,—
My first—forgotten long.
A youth composed the song.”—
Ah, then I knew the verses,—
My first—forgotten long.
And eagerly I questioned,
“Who gave the song to thee?”
She blushed. “No mortal knoweth,”
She said, “save only me.”
“Who gave the song to thee?”
She blushed. “No mortal knoweth,”
She said, “save only me.”
“Thou art the poet's Mary?”
Her silence owned it true.
“But whither went the poet?”
“Ah, that I never knew.”
Her silence owned it true.
“But whither went the poet?”
“Ah, that I never knew.”
“Hast heard of him no further?”
“No, never since that day.”
“Wrote he no other verses?”
“In truth, I cannot say.”
“No, never since that day.”
“Wrote he no other verses?”
“In truth, I cannot say.”
“His name?” “Nay, gentle stranger,
Ask not the name he bore;
Perhaps I, too, may know him,
But me he knows no more.”
Ask not the name he bore;
395
But me he knows no more.”
“Yet once again, I pray thee,
Sing that sweet melody.”
“Not now. My husband yonder
Waits for my babes and me.”
Sing that sweet melody.”
“Not now. My husband yonder
Waits for my babes and me.”
She spoke, and then descended
To join him where he stood;
Upon his arm he took her,
And led the little brood.
To join him where he stood;
Upon his arm he took her,
And led the little brood.
Here stood a mighty poet,
His name by thousands known;
But in his native valley
To one and one alone.
His name by thousands known;
But in his native valley
To one and one alone.
And lost in sadder musings
Than when he went away,
Surrendered all his honors
To that forgotten lay.
Than when he went away,
Surrendered all his honors
To that forgotten lay.
Roslyn, November, 1873. The Mayflower, April, 1876.
| The Poetical Works of William Cullen Bryant | |