 | Areytos or songs and ballads of the South |  |
375
LANDSCAPE.—SALUDA IN MIDSUMMER.
When to the city's crowded streets
The fiercer spells of summer come,
Then for thy calm and cool retreats,
Saluda, may the wanderer roam.
The fiercer spells of summer come,
Then for thy calm and cool retreats,
Saluda, may the wanderer roam.
Then should he seek thy guardian haunts,
Thy rocky stream, thy shady tree,
And while the plain below him pants,
From all oppression find him free.
Thy rocky stream, thy shady tree,
And while the plain below him pants,
From all oppression find him free.
Above him towers thy giant form,
Rock-throned, and rising like a king;
Around him rides thy summer storm,
With cooling freshness on his wing.
Rock-throned, and rising like a king;
Around him rides thy summer storm,
With cooling freshness on his wing.
Beside him, borne o'er craggy steeps,
From dells that never see the light,
Thy sun-bow'd cataract roars and leaps,
In joyous gush and headlong flight.
From dells that never see the light,
Thy sun-bow'd cataract roars and leaps,
In joyous gush and headlong flight.
Below him—what a scene is there!
The hallowed, sweet repose of home,
The sheltered green, the waters clear,
The sylvan sway, the cottage dome.
The hallowed, sweet repose of home,
The sheltered green, the waters clear,
The sylvan sway, the cottage dome.
Gathering above, the noonday clouds
The sun's intenser fires would chide,
His glories edging still their shrouds,
Palls not unmeet for princely pride.
The sun's intenser fires would chide,
His glories edging still their shrouds,
Palls not unmeet for princely pride.
376
And far in sight the streamlet goes,
With ceaseless chaunt of grateful cheer,
Glad in escape from hungering foes,
And singing but in friendly ear.
With ceaseless chaunt of grateful cheer,
Glad in escape from hungering foes,
And singing but in friendly ear.
See where the hunter speeds his bark,
Not as the Indian chief of old,
Bound on some errand, wild and dark,
Whose legend still remains untold,
Not as the Indian chief of old,
Bound on some errand, wild and dark,
Whose legend still remains untold,
But bent to cross the foaming straits,
And win the woods of yonder shore,
Where, hid in thicket, one awaits—
She knows not why—yet feels the more!
And win the woods of yonder shore,
Where, hid in thicket, one awaits—
She knows not why—yet feels the more!
How changed the strife for sweet repose;
No more the red man scouts the wood;
The hunter through the thicket goes,
Nor dreams of hostile hate and blood.
No more the red man scouts the wood;
The hunter through the thicket goes,
Nor dreams of hostile hate and blood.
The wolf with mournful howl departs;
The panther's spotty hide makes gay
The cot, where woman's gentler arts
Woo young affections forth to play.
The panther's spotty hide makes gay
The cot, where woman's gentler arts
Woo young affections forth to play.
And safe within the cottage shade,
The song birds, with a generous strain,
Teach Nature's music to the maid,
Who pays them back with song again.
The song birds, with a generous strain,
Teach Nature's music to the maid,
Who pays them back with song again.
The prowler hawk no more infests
Their home; and o'er the sacred place,
They pour from glad and grateful breasts,
Their raptures for the guardian race:
Their home; and o'er the sacred place,
They pour from glad and grateful breasts,
Their raptures for the guardian race:
377
Crown home with grace, make lonely cot,
For humble hearts, a home of joy;
Such as makes sweet the lowliest lot,
And glads the dream of man and boy.
For humble hearts, a home of joy;
Such as makes sweet the lowliest lot,
And glads the dream of man and boy.
Oh! not alone a dream, while here
The Nature well achieves her part,
And in her colors, bright and clear,
Prepares the holier dawn of art.
The Nature well achieves her part,
And in her colors, bright and clear,
Prepares the holier dawn of art.
Hence, to the city, well transferr'd,
Our poet-painter bears the scene:
We see the landscape, hear its bird,
Dance with its groups, and feel its green;
Our poet-painter bears the scene:
We see the landscape, hear its bird,
Dance with its groups, and feel its green;
Joy in the gush of living streams,
That bound from prison forth to light,
And feel, all quivering through our dreams,
The music which they make in flight;
That bound from prison forth to light,
And feel, all quivering through our dreams,
The music which they make in flight;
And hear, with reverent awe, the roar,
From gathering winds, through many a dell;
Of heights we may not oft explore,
That rush, a wondrous tale to tell.
From gathering winds, through many a dell;
Of heights we may not oft explore,
That rush, a wondrous tale to tell.
Oh! but to dream beneath the rocks,
And hear that song so wondrous sweet,
While Fancy every door unlocks,
And brings us, Nature, to thy feet!
And hear that song so wondrous sweet,
While Fancy every door unlocks,
And brings us, Nature, to thy feet!
| Areytos or songs and ballads of the South | |