 | Songs of two centuries |  |
81
Songs of the Mountains.
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PROLOGUE.
The mountains! the mountains!
With crag-step rough and steep;
With silent form and hooded storm,
And avalanche asleep;
Whose tops are hieroglyphics
By fire and tempest wrought,
That human race can never trace
Till God the key has brought.
With crag-step rough and steep;
With silent form and hooded storm,
And avalanche asleep;
Whose tops are hieroglyphics
By fire and tempest wrought,
That human race can never trace
Till God the key has brought.
The mountains' the mountains!
When fall the drenching rains,
That glide and creep, that rush and leap
To find their ocean-plains!
When Winter with loud trumpet
But soft and silent tramp,
Chains brook and rill, and makes each hill
A white tent of his camps!
When fall the drenching rains,
That glide and creep, that rush and leap
To find their ocean-plains!
When Winter with loud trumpet
But soft and silent tramp,
Chains brook and rill, and makes each hill
A white tent of his camps!
The mountains! the mountains!
With gardens in their keep:
With bloom that shines, and emerald vines,
And arbors still and deep!
E'en in the tropic's empire,
Like floral worlds they tower;
For every zone that earth has known,
Will send a greeting-flower.
With gardens in their keep:
With bloom that shines, and emerald vines,
And arbors still and deep!
E'en in the tropic's empire,
Like floral worlds they tower;
For every zone that earth has known,
Will send a greeting-flower.
The mountains! the mountains!
Where forests live and die;
Where through long years tree-mountaineers
Are struggling toward the sky,
With combats fierce though silent,
With struggles brave and long;
While in their tops the wind oft stops
To sing their battle-song.
Where forests live and die;
Where through long years tree-mountaineers
Are struggling toward the sky,
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With struggles brave and long;
While in their tops the wind oft stops
To sing their battle-song.
The mountains! the mountains!
That harbor beasts of prey;
Where wild-dogs howl and panthers prowl
And reptiles shun the day;
Where serpents creep and clamber,
Where eagle-broods are fed;
And caved from air the sullen bear
Has found his winter bed.
That harbor beasts of prey;
Where wild-dogs howl and panthers prowl
And reptiles shun the day;
Where serpents creep and clamber,
Where eagle-broods are fed;
And caved from air the sullen bear
Has found his winter bed.
The mountains! the mountains!
Where sickness, pain, and care
'Gainst ramparts high may rest their eye,
And drink the creamy air;
Where smile the clustered landscapes,
Where robins brood and nest;
And Nature's child with song beguiled
May on her bosom rest.
Where sickness, pain, and care
'Gainst ramparts high may rest their eye,
And drink the creamy air;
Where smile the clustered landscapes,
Where robins brood and nest;
And Nature's child with song beguiled
May on her bosom rest.
The mountains! the mountains!
Great watch-tower tops have they,
Whence, starred and clear, Heaven seems so near,
And earth so far away!
Whence one may call to Jesus,
Who mused on hills alone,
Or hearts devote to Him who wrote
The mountain-page of stone.
Great watch-tower tops have they,
Whence, starred and clear, Heaven seems so near,
And earth so far away!
Whence one may call to Jesus,
Who mused on hills alone,
Or hearts devote to Him who wrote
The mountain-page of stone.
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TO THE MOUNTAIN PROFILE.
This magnificent freak of nature, famous
everywhere as “The Old Man of the Mountain”, is well known to those
who have frequented the Franconia Range. It is situated twelve hundred
feet above the vantage-ground, from which it is best viewed—the profile bearing
an extraordinary resemblance to a human face (though not of the most refined
character). The great rocks which compose it are forty feet from the top
of the chin to the crown, and are wide in about the right proportion for a human
face. The rock comprising forehead, mouth, and chin, are several feet
apart: and there is no resemblance to the human face in a front view of them.
This great mountain-sculpture creates different impressions in different
minds: and an attempt has been made in the two poems (“To the Mountain
Profile” and “To the Same”), to depict the two extremes of these.
This magnificent freak of nature, famous everywhere as “The Old Man of the Mountain”, is well known to those who have frequented the Franconia Range. It is situated twelve hundred feet above the vantage-ground, from which it is best viewed—the profile bearing an extraordinary resemblance to a human face (though not of the most refined character). The great rocks which compose it are forty feet from the top of the chin to the crown, and are wide in about the right proportion for a human face. The rock comprising forehead, mouth, and chin, are several feet apart: and there is no resemblance to the human face in a front view of them.
This great mountain-sculpture creates different impressions in different minds: and an attempt has been made in the two poems (“To the Mountain Profile” and “To the Same”), to depict the two extremes of these.
From Clara's Mind.
Giant of old, formed in the mould
Of some god of the past,
What wouldst thou say if thy lips of gray
Could speak at last?
Of some god of the past,
What wouldst thou say if thy lips of gray
Could speak at last?
Couldst thou not tell all that befell
At the mountain's fierce birth,
When fiends of fire made a red pyre
Of the desolate earth?
At the mountain's fierce birth,
When fiends of fire made a red pyre
Of the desolate earth?
Wast thou not here when from the drear
Snowy hills of the North,
Glaciers of gray from their country astray
Sailed in majesty forth?
Snowy hills of the North,
Glaciers of gray from their country astray
Sailed in majesty forth?
Was it a crime in some dead time,
That imprisoned thee there?
Penitent now, is that sad brow
Lifted in prayer?
That imprisoned thee there?
Penitent now, is that sad brow
Lifted in prayer?
When the black storm winds its cold form
About thy face,
Dost thou not fear destruction near,
Last of thy race?
About thy face,
Dost thou not fear destruction near,
Last of thy race?
Or, when the sun, life-giving one,
Cheers the world and the sky,
Dost thou e'er groan lest while Earth holds her own,
Thou canst not die?
Cheers the world and the sky,
Dost thou e'er groan lest while Earth holds her own,
Thou canst not die?
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TO THE SAME.
From Clara's Big Brother's Mind.
Weary old face on the precipice glowering,
What is there in you so vastly o'erpowering?
Why, as men gaze, is their fancy a slave of you—
Why do the women so frequently rave of you?
Why with the lens do they render absurder you—
Why upon plaques do they maltreat and murder you?
Though you've no visible means of restraining it,
Still, you might venture some mode of explaining it!
What is there in you so vastly o'erpowering?
Why, as men gaze, is their fancy a slave of you—
Why do the women so frequently rave of you?
Why with the lens do they render absurder you—
Why upon plaques do they maltreat and murder you?
Though you've no visible means of restraining it,
Still, you might venture some mode of explaining it!
Many a novelist eagerly wrote of you—
Poets have made much prosodical note of you—
Orators oft have had somewhat to say of you—
Artists have offered no end of display of you;
How do you do it?—while, fatly or meagerly,
Real men are striving for notice so eagerly?
Savage old face on the precipice slumbering,
When the night hours their black minutes are numbering,
Say! are the sprites with sweet visions e'er storing you,
Made up of ladies perversely adoring you?
How would you look, if effusively facing them?
How would they act if you spoke of embracing them?
How would you cold kisses prove indigestible,
Nature's own Frankenstein, crude and detestable!
Poets have made much prosodical note of you—
Orators oft have had somewhat to say of you—
Artists have offered no end of display of you;
How do you do it?—while, fatly or meagerly,
Real men are striving for notice so eagerly?
Savage old face on the precipice slumbering,
When the night hours their black minutes are numbering,
Say! are the sprites with sweet visions e'er storing you,
Made up of ladies perversely adoring you?
How would you look, if effusively facing them?
How would they act if you spoke of embracing them?
How would you cold kisses prove indigestible,
Nature's own Frankenstein, crude and detestable!
You must have met with some startling calamities:
You have no body, no arms, no extremities.
Or they are, if we persist in presuming them,
Buried in rock, with no hope of exhuming them.
Even your face—one may see, with facility,
Stands off in parts that prevent sociability
(Unlike those maidens who nourish the pride of you);
When one goes round to a different side of you,
Then you appear, to the veriest slow body,
Merely a wink and a blink and a nobody!
You have no body, no arms, no extremities.
Or they are, if we persist in presuming them,
Buried in rock, with no hope of exhuming them.
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Stands off in parts that prevent sociability
(Unlike those maidens who nourish the pride of you);
When one goes round to a different side of you,
Then you appear, to the veriest slow body,
Merely a wink and a blink and a nobody!
Still keep your head 'mid the mountains' rough comeliness—
Answer no questions, grim fragment of homeliness:
Many a boor, from mere lack of loquacity,
Builds up a good name for mental capacity:
Many a fool is a wise man instead to us,
Just from the things that he never has said to us.
Answer no questions, grim fragment of homeliness:
Many a boor, from mere lack of loquacity,
Builds up a good name for mental capacity:
Many a fool is a wise man instead to us,
Just from the things that he never has said to us.
Long as the roads are their passengers numbering,
Long as the stage through the forest is lumbering,
Long as the summer-girl washes her freckles in,
Long as the inn-keeper gathers his shekels in,
Long as good folk in vacuity sorrowing
Are from the past exclamation-points borrowing,
Stay where you are, neatly shelved curiosity—
Known as the mountain's most monstrous monstrosity!
Long as the stage through the forest is lumbering,
Long as the summer-girl washes her freckles in,
Long as the inn-keeper gathers his shekels in,
Long as good folk in vacuity sorrowing
Are from the past exclamation-points borrowing,
Stay where you are, neatly shelved curiosity—
Known as the mountain's most monstrous monstrosity!
88
IN THE MOUNTAINS, YOU KNOW.
Yes, old fellow, I went to the mountains, you know,
Where the hyacinths bloom and the daffodils blow;
For my sister was there with her bevy of seven;
They are all of them angels, but still out of heaven.
'Twas “Oh, Uncle, you've come!” and with love-seasoned pats,
Like a frolicsome parcel of juvenile cats,
They hung to me, clung to me, wouldn't let me go,
On the first day I got to the mountains, you know.
Where the hyacinths bloom and the daffodils blow;
For my sister was there with her bevy of seven;
They are all of them angels, but still out of heaven.
'Twas “Oh, Uncle, you've come!” and with love-seasoned pats,
Like a frolicsome parcel of juvenile cats,
They hung to me, clung to me, wouldn't let me go,
On the first day I got to the mountains, you know.
Then a walk through the meadows suggested to me
An escape from the noise, and a think, don't you see;
So I roamed in the sweet-smelling grasses afar,
And I borrowed a match and I lit a cigar;
Then I saw through the fence, lying prone and asleep,
A peculiar mild-countenanced horn-handled sheep;
So I climbed to his side and I kindly bent low,
And awoke him to see what he'd do, don't you know.
An escape from the noise, and a think, don't you see;
So I roamed in the sweet-smelling grasses afar,
And I borrowed a match and I lit a cigar;
Then I saw through the fence, lying prone and asleep,
A peculiar mild-countenanced horn-handled sheep;
So I climbed to his side and I kindly bent low,
And awoke him to see what he'd do, don't you know.
And I saw, very soon; for he rose to his feet,
And commenced a peculiar and guarded retreat;
Retreated—ah—backward—face toward me, I mean,
Just the same as folks do from a king or a queen;
And I pitied him much for the fear he displayed,
And I said, “My dear chappie, now don't be afraid!”
And I judge he was not: for, dispenser of woe,
He came at me as if from a gun, don't you know!
And commenced a peculiar and guarded retreat;
Retreated—ah—backward—face toward me, I mean,
Just the same as folks do from a king or a queen;
And I pitied him much for the fear he displayed,
And I said, “My dear chappie, now don't be afraid!”
And I judge he was not: for, dispenser of woe,
He came at me as if from a gun, don't you know!
And I skipped like a deer, or a yacht in a breeze,
In a way that distended my pants at the knees;
And, to uttermost speed by the animal pressed,
I relinquished my coat and my necktie and vest;
And I went round the field, trying hard for first place,
Like a sprinter that's trying to capture a race;
And, “We'll bet on you, Uncle!” was screeched to and fro;
For the children had climbed on the fence, don't you know.
In a way that distended my pants at the knees;
And, to uttermost speed by the animal pressed,
I relinquished my coat and my necktie and vest;
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Like a sprinter that's trying to capture a race;
And, “We'll bet on you, Uncle!” was screeched to and fro;
For the children had climbed on the fence, don't you know.
As was afterwards said, 'twas quite touching to see
That undignified creature's attachment for me;
And wherever my footsteps would go, don't you mind,
The diminutive monster was not far behind!
And he seemed to have picked up a notion, indeed,
That his mission on earth was to further my speed;
And I think that we furnished a capital show
To the people that happened to pass, don't you know!
That undignified creature's attachment for me;
And wherever my footsteps would go, don't you mind,
The diminutive monster was not far behind!
And he seemed to have picked up a notion, indeed,
That his mission on earth was to further my speed;
And I think that we furnished a capital show
To the people that happened to pass, don't you know!
Then a handsome young lady stepped over the stile,
With a blessed tin dipper of salt, and a smile;
And she said, “Come, Dick, dear!” (that's the name that I keep,
But I'm glad that 'twas also the name of the sheep;
For he went to the maid to be fed and caressed,
While I walked down the road for a while and redressed);
And I've made up my mind that if she'll see it so,
I will marry that girl in the fall, don't you know!
With a blessed tin dipper of salt, and a smile;
And she said, “Come, Dick, dear!” (that's the name that I keep,
But I'm glad that 'twas also the name of the sheep;
For he went to the maid to be fed and caressed,
While I walked down the road for a while and redressed);
And I've made up my mind that if she'll see it so,
I will marry that girl in the fall, don't you know!
90
SOME COUNTRY SOLACE.
Late Evening.
From the city's constant clatter,
I have come, with purpose deep
Not to healthy grow, or fatter,
But to sleep, and sleep, and sleep.
Not so much in hours of night-time
(City habits capture them!)
For I rather think the right time
Is from two to eight A. M.
Oh the comfort and completeness
Of these balmy morning naps!
'Tis because they hold the sweetness
Found in stolen goods, perhaps.
(Steal the golden locks one may,
From the foretop of the day.)
I have come, with purpose deep
Not to healthy grow, or fatter,
But to sleep, and sleep, and sleep.
Not so much in hours of night-time
(City habits capture them!)
For I rather think the right time
Is from two to eight A. M.
Oh the comfort and completeness
Of these balmy morning naps!
'Tis because they hold the sweetness
Found in stolen goods, perhaps.
(Steal the golden locks one may,
From the foretop of the day.)
Scarce could words contrive the shaping
Of the noise that I'm escaping!—
Town utilities and follies:
Steam-cars, horse-cars, air-cars, trollies,
Butcher-boys, the distance spurning,
Strewing flesh the city o'er;
Bottle-milkmen, fiercely churning
Their white wares from door to door;
Cats through garden-jungles prowling,
Dogs with death-notes in their howling,
All the highways' crash and clatter—
All the byways' clash and chatter;
Postman's whistle, iceman's yelling,
Huckster's plea for double-selling;
Door-bells, school-bells, fire-bells—every
Kind of bell's acoustic slavery:
All these helped me toward obeying
Solomon's most lively saying,
While I wondered at his prizing
Of the old ant's early rising,
So as in soft words to coddle
Her, and pose her as a model!
Of the noise that I'm escaping!—
Town utilities and follies:
Steam-cars, horse-cars, air-cars, trollies,
Butcher-boys, the distance spurning,
Strewing flesh the city o'er;
Bottle-milkmen, fiercely churning
Their white wares from door to door;
Cats through garden-jungles prowling,
Dogs with death-notes in their howling,
All the highways' crash and clatter—
All the byways' clash and chatter;
Postman's whistle, iceman's yelling,
Huckster's plea for double-selling;
Door-bells, school-bells, fire-bells—every
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All these helped me toward obeying
Solomon's most lively saying,
While I wondered at his prizing
Of the old ant's early rising,
So as in soft words to coddle
Her, and pose her as a model!
Early Morning.
How we miss the bliss we aim for!
Surely 'tis not this I came for:
Hear the rooster's trumpet, shaming
All who do not greet the morn!
Hear the hen's wild song, proclaiming
That another hope is born!
Hear the wakeful cattle lowing
For the gardens of the herds;
Hear on air the maids bestowing
Lexicons of damaged words;
Hear the robins' notes inspiring
You to drink those rills of sound;
Hear the sparrows, loud inquiring
Where the early worm is found!
Then back to your covert creeping,
Try again the art of sleeping,
With such critics grouped around.
Surely 'tis not this I came for:
Hear the rooster's trumpet, shaming
All who do not greet the morn!
Hear the hen's wild song, proclaiming
That another hope is born!
Hear the wakeful cattle lowing
For the gardens of the herds;
Hear on air the maids bestowing
Lexicons of damaged words;
Hear the robins' notes inspiring
You to drink those rills of sound;
Hear the sparrows, loud inquiring
Where the early worm is found!
Then back to your covert creeping,
Try again the art of sleeping,
With such critics grouped around.
I can stand the fitful walker,
Oft he comes—but oft he goes;
But that everlasting talker
Underneath the window's nose!
Words, and words, without endeavor,
Speech-brook, flowing on forever!
Talking every subject weary,
Till it wilts—a phantom dreary;
Pauseless he—this rural Solon;
Comma, period, semicolon,
None of these will he set free.
Oh what blessedness, if he
Would cut loose those pauses' tether,
And like old Lord Timothy,
Let them all appear together!
Oft he comes—but oft he goes;
But that everlasting talker
Underneath the window's nose!
Words, and words, without endeavor,
Speech-brook, flowing on forever!
Talking every subject weary,
Till it wilts—a phantom dreary;
Pauseless he—this rural Solon;
Comma, period, semicolon,
None of these will he set free.
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Would cut loose those pauses' tether,
And like old Lord Timothy,
Let them all appear together!
From the country's clash and chatter,
Creep I, not by half so merry,
And, to try and mend the matter,
Seek the silent cemetery.
There, where sleeping is the fashion,
I, by some lone grave, mayhap,
Can indulge my silent passion,
And secure a morning nap.
Even then, some early-rising
Bug may see me, I suppose,
And begin the day by sizing
The compartments of my nose.
Only dead folks, buried deep,
They can sleep, and sleep, and sleep.
Creep I, not by half so merry,
And, to try and mend the matter,
Seek the silent cemetery.
There, where sleeping is the fashion,
I, by some lone grave, mayhap,
Can indulge my silent passion,
And secure a morning nap.
Even then, some early-rising
Bug may see me, I suppose,
And begin the day by sizing
The compartments of my nose.
Only dead folks, buried deep,
They can sleep, and sleep, and sleep.
93
THE MAID OF THE MOUNTAIN.
It was morning 'mongst the hill-tops, with a golden day begun,
And the Old Man of the Mountain caught the radiance of the sun,
And some fleecy clouds were hanging o'er his brow serene and high,
And the faded moon was drifting in the ocean of the sky;
While the banks along the lakelet were with breezes hovered o'er,
And the ripples whispered softly to the pebbles on the shore.
And the Old Man of the Mountain caught the radiance of the sun,
And some fleecy clouds were hanging o'er his brow serene and high,
And the faded moon was drifting in the ocean of the sky;
While the banks along the lakelet were with breezes hovered o'er,
And the ripples whispered softly to the pebbles on the shore.
Now a summer-girl had wandered on her nimble steed of steel,
And was gazing on the water, with a white hand on her wheel.
Then her handsome eyes uplifted, as an eagle sought his nest,
And a rush of girlish fancies gave her heart a new unrest.
“Oh, the emptiness of living!” she was murmuring, soft and low,
“When the object of her being one has never come to know!
And was gazing on the water, with a white hand on her wheel.
Then her handsome eyes uplifted, as an eagle sought his nest,
And a rush of girlish fancies gave her heart a new unrest.
“Oh, the emptiness of living!” she was murmuring, soft and low,
“When the object of her being one has never come to know!
“I have mastered all my studies and have taken a degree—
I have traveled in all countries that had anything for me;
I have toiled with facts and fancies, and have turned them inside out;
But I cannot solve the problem—What this world is all about!
When I enter life in earnest, must I drone along the way
In the same old humdrum fashion that mother does today?
I have traveled in all countries that had anything for me;
I have toiled with facts and fancies, and have turned them inside out;
But I cannot solve the problem—What this world is all about!
When I enter life in earnest, must I drone along the way
In the same old humdrum fashion that mother does today?
“If my hands a deed could compass that the soul of man would cheer!
If I could but speak a sentence that the noisy world would hear!
If I only could be rated as a hero in a strife,
Or could draw a soul from bondage, or could save a human life!
I would feel myself requited for a world of toil and pain;
I would vow that I was happy, and that life was not in vain!”
If I could but speak a sentence that the noisy world would hear!
If I only could be rated as a hero in a strife,
Or could draw a soul from bondage, or could save a human life!
I would feel myself requited for a world of toil and pain;
I would vow that I was happy, and that life was not in vain!”
As she spoke, a mimic sailor clove the lake, not far away:
He was young, and strong, and handsome, with a fondness for display;
'Twas a gallant tourist-student, clad in mountain-climbing suit;
And he raised his cap politely, with a graceful, kind salute.
But the sudden move capsized him; and he frantic efforts made
To learn swimming in one lesson—then he loudly called for aid.
He was young, and strong, and handsome, with a fondness for display;
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And he raised his cap politely, with a graceful, kind salute.
But the sudden move capsized him; and he frantic efforts made
To learn swimming in one lesson—then he loudly called for aid.
And the treacherous boat escaped him and went drifting from his clasp,
And he raised his hands in horror, without e'en a straw to grasp;
And again for help he shouted; then retreated 'neath the wave;
Then appeared again, and pleaded for a friendly hand to save.
Then the girl, with heart swift-beating, rushing to the lakelet's brim,
Said, “My chance has come: thank Heaven that a girl has learned to swim!”
And he raised his hands in horror, without e'en a straw to grasp;
And again for help he shouted; then retreated 'neath the wave;
Then appeared again, and pleaded for a friendly hand to save.
Then the girl, with heart swift-beating, rushing to the lakelet's brim,
Said, “My chance has come: thank Heaven that a girl has learned to swim!”
And she sprang into the water, and her arms with vigor plied,
And 'twas not so many minutes ere she hovered at his side;
And she bent her shapely shoulder to his eager, trembling hand,
And went swimming toward the safety of the help-deserted land.
But a sturdy breeze came sweeping from the rude, unfriendly shore,
And the cold wind pressed against her, and her strength availed no more.
And 'twas not so many minutes ere she hovered at his side;
And she bent her shapely shoulder to his eager, trembling hand,
And went swimming toward the safety of the help-deserted land.
But a sturdy breeze came sweeping from the rude, unfriendly shore,
And the cold wind pressed against her, and her strength availed no more.
Then she struggled—oh, how bravely! but her efforts were in vain:
And she kept above the water—but no vantage could she gain;
And she prayed to God in Heaven, hoping He might lend an ear;
But Heaven seemed so far above her, and destruction was so near!
And she wildly gazed to shoreward, with a weak, despairing cry;
But no help appeared in answer, and it seemed that one must die.
And she kept above the water—but no vantage could she gain;
And she prayed to God in Heaven, hoping He might lend an ear;
But Heaven seemed so far above her, and destruction was so near!
And she wildly gazed to shoreward, with a weak, despairing cry;
But no help appeared in answer, and it seemed that one must die.
And the struggling man looked at her, and then whispered in her ear,
“You can reach the shore in safety, if you only leave me here;
It were better one should perish than that death should capture two;
You have risked your life to save me—I will give my life for you.
You have shown yourself a heroine; you have done your best to save!”
Then he loosed his hold upon her, and was sinking in the wave.
“You can reach the shore in safety, if you only leave me here;
It were better one should perish than that death should capture two;
You have risked your life to save me—I will give my life for you.
You have shown yourself a heroine; you have done your best to save!”
Then he loosed his hold upon her, and was sinking in the wave.
Then a thousand thoughts were darting through her peril-quickened brain,
And sweet home and friends and parents stood before her, clear and plain;
And she saw the joys and pleasures that had lingered at her feet,
And life empty seemed no longer—it was wondrous dear and sweet!
And the question flashed upon her—and the answer were a strife—
“Shall I leave this man behind me in the hope to save my life?”
And sweet home and friends and parents stood before her, clear and plain;
And she saw the joys and pleasures that had lingered at her feet,
And life empty seemed no longer—it was wondrous dear and sweet!
And the question flashed upon her—and the answer were a strife—
“Shall I leave this man behind me in the hope to save my life?”
The author, having gone thus far, has always been unable to extricate the young people from their predicament, without drowning one or both of them. Several hundred sequels to the poem have been written by people in different parts of the country, suggesting various methods: but few of them were at all logical, or satisfactory.
| Songs of two centuries | |