 | The Outcast, and other poems |  |
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THE SILVER CASCADE
IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS.
How beautiful yon glittering tide, as down
It leaps and clatters through its rocky path,
Seeming to smoothe the mountain's angry frown,
As a bright smile shines o'er a giant's wrath!
It leaps and clatters through its rocky path,
Seeming to smoothe the mountain's angry frown,
As a bright smile shines o'er a giant's wrath!
Or it might seem a diadem of jewels fair,
Upon a monarch's brow; a silver gushing shower
Of sunbeams gathered from the cloud and air,
Mingling with beauty, fearful signs of power!
Upon a monarch's brow; a silver gushing shower
Of sunbeams gathered from the cloud and air,
Mingling with beauty, fearful signs of power!
Oh nature, what a wizard wand is thine!
How fearful is thy work, and yet how fair!
The grand—the lovely—how their charms combine,
And to the heart their woven whispers bear!
How fearful is thy work, and yet how fair!
The grand—the lovely—how their charms combine,
And to the heart their woven whispers bear!
And as I look on yonder crystal gush,
Or listen to its mingling laugh and moan,
How many memories to my bosom rush,
Like music's sweet, but half forgotten tone.
Or listen to its mingling laugh and moan,
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Like music's sweet, but half forgotten tone.
All that is good and holy—thoughts of home,
On earth—in heaven—they seem to mingle here;
Love, friendship, piety, they bubbling come,
In one new tide of passion, deep and clear.
On earth—in heaven—they seem to mingle here;
Love, friendship, piety, they bubbling come,
In one new tide of passion, deep and clear.
Mysterious nature—thou'rt a holy book,
By God laid open: mountain, rock, and knoll,
With a rapt spirit let me on thee look,
And read thy deep revealings to the soul!
By God laid open: mountain, rock, and knoll,
With a rapt spirit let me on thee look,
And read thy deep revealings to the soul!
Spirit of heaven! thy hand alone could blend,
Wood, wind, and wave in melody so sweet:
Thy hand alone, the rocky cliffs could bend,
And pour so bright a river at their feet!
Wood, wind, and wave in melody so sweet:
Thy hand alone, the rocky cliffs could bend,
And pour so bright a river at their feet!
Man with his petty arts is far away,
And no harsh echo of his deeds is heard:
Peace in her holy palace here hath sway,
And truth alone within the breast is stirred.
And no harsh echo of his deeds is heard:
Peace in her holy palace here hath sway,
And truth alone within the breast is stirred.
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The morning comes not with a teeming sheet,
Telling of party strife, and party throes,—
No evening record of the crowded street,
Recounts the day's disasters, follies, woes.
Telling of party strife, and party throes,—
No evening record of the crowded street,
Recounts the day's disasters, follies, woes.
No fop intrudes his sickening graces now,—
The heartless miser, monarch of a bank—
The titled knave, who claims a lowly bow,
Though shame shine broadly through his gilded rank;—
The heartless miser, monarch of a bank—
The titled knave, who claims a lowly bow,
Though shame shine broadly through his gilded rank;—
These are not here: the wide o'erarching sky
Is all too pure, and seems to stoop too near—
And lifts the buoyant heart toward heaven too high,
For those whose thoughts are wedded to this sphere.
Is all too pure, and seems to stoop too near—
And lifts the buoyant heart toward heaven too high,
For those whose thoughts are wedded to this sphere.
Farewell to these! and let me climb the peak,
Where yonder current finds a cradle-cloud—
Where in the storm the lightnings love to speak,
Full in the front of heaven, God's sentence loud!
Where yonder current finds a cradle-cloud—
Where in the storm the lightnings love to speak,
Full in the front of heaven, God's sentence loud!
And on the mountain's brow, so high and clear,
I'll mingle with the sky, and deeply fill
My heart with beauty, and my charmed ear,
With the sweet cadence of the mountain rill.
I'll mingle with the sky, and deeply fill
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With the sweet cadence of the mountain rill.
Farewell, bright waters! though my feet must turn,
No more to tread this all enchanting scene,
Yet oft my heart with deep delight shall burn,
As memory brings it back in fadeless green.
No more to tread this all enchanting scene,
Yet oft my heart with deep delight shall burn,
As memory brings it back in fadeless green.
Farewell, gray mountain, fare thee well forever!
Thanks to the joy thy rugged cliffs have given—
We part,—but when, at last, my heart strings sever,
My soul shall take thee in its way to heaven!
Thanks to the joy thy rugged cliffs have given—
We part,—but when, at last, my heart strings sever,
My soul shall take thee in its way to heaven!
| The Outcast, and other poems | |