Claribel and Other Poems By W. J. Linton |
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SONG OF THE STREAMS |
 | Claribel and Other Poems |  |
143
SONG OF THE STREAMS
We leap from the rock's sheer edge,
Boisterously:
With a shout and hearty laughter
Fore and after:
Joyously:
Slide we over the mossy ledge,
Lusciously,
Dreaming deliciously:
And an eternal roar rolls with us on our way.
Boisterously:
With a shout and hearty laughter
Fore and after:
Joyously:
Slide we over the mossy ledge,
Lusciously,
Dreaming deliciously:
And an eternal roar rolls with us on our way.
Clear is the young spring day!
The trilling laugh of childish glee
And sobs and bubbling mirth are ours
'Mid the wild flowers,—
The playful hours racing us through the heath,
Down the hill-side racing us out of breath.
O'er us the eternal voice rolls on sonorously.
The trilling laugh of childish glee
And sobs and bubbling mirth are ours
'Mid the wild flowers,—
The playful hours racing us through the heath,
Down the hill-side racing us out of breath.
O'er us the eternal voice rolls on sonorously.
144
An organ thunder—the dim melody
Of many instruments—a rushing throng
Of men and voices,—near a charmed song,
Solemn afar, even as the voice of God:
And heaven is children-trod:
Over the many hills the same bright tune
Singing to sun and moon;
High company upon the hills we had;
Were not we glad,
Leaping from crag to crag?
Of many instruments—a rushing throng
Of men and voices,—near a charmed song,
Solemn afar, even as the voice of God:
And heaven is children-trod:
Over the many hills the same bright tune
Singing to sun and moon;
High company upon the hills we had;
Were not we glad,
Leaping from crag to crag?
Leaping from crag to crag;
Hiding behind the masses of the rocks;
Deem'd from afar to be the shining flocks
Of God upon the mountains fed,
Everywhere scattered:
Now as a silver thread
Along the deep ravine
The torrent speedeth; and again between
The massed rocks, fall after fall,
With uproar musical,
Bounding from crag to crag, on travel we.
Hiding behind the masses of the rocks;
Deem'd from afar to be the shining flocks
Of God upon the mountains fed,
Everywhere scattered:
Now as a silver thread
Along the deep ravine
The torrent speedeth; and again between
The massed rocks, fall after fall,
With uproar musical,
Bounding from crag to crag, on travel we.
145
Anon our passage free
A mountain wall hath stopp'd;
And we lie chafing in the fond distress
Of way ward pettishness,
Boiling with childish rage,
Till gentler tones assuage
Impetuosity:
Still, still hold watch and ward!
A postern is unbarr'd:
Through the quick gap our damm'd-up waters gush
All eagerly:
And our high song hath dropp'd
Adown the steeps of life, and youthhood's flush
Floweth more steadily.
A mountain wall hath stopp'd;
And we lie chafing in the fond distress
Of way ward pettishness,
Boiling with childish rage,
Till gentler tones assuage
Impetuosity:
Still, still hold watch and ward!
A postern is unbarr'd:
Through the quick gap our damm'd-up waters gush
All eagerly:
And our high song hath dropp'd
Adown the steeps of life, and youthhood's flush
Floweth more steadily.
Continueth our glee
Through the wide meadows, through the long lush grass;
Our jocund course between
The great grand trees, who in our changeful glass
Gaze, as a seer into a depth of dreams:
Queenliest trees, proud-form'd, with port serene:
And now our many streams
Are blending, and the mountain alleys,
Merged in one broad road, plunge toward the valleys,
While o'er our torrent force the hill-song leaps.
Through the wide meadows, through the long lush grass;
Our jocund course between
The great grand trees, who in our changeful glass
Gaze, as a seer into a depth of dreams:
Queenliest trees, proud-form'd, with port serene:
And now our many streams
Are blending, and the mountain alleys,
Merged in one broad road, plunge toward the valleys,
While o'er our torrent force the hill-song leaps.
146
And here and there uppeeps
Through grassy hair the weird and rugged face
Of some grey rock, one of the giant race
Of our bleak birth-place, grey as the memories
Of an uncultured world, the asperities
Of our progressive life: and ever keeps
The ancient hill in sight, its head in heaven:
And little rustic homelinesses
Welcome the mountain-born with flower-wreathing,
Bright buttercups, primroses quiet-breathing,
Rich-scented chestnut-bloom:
And in the torrent's foam
The sweet May dips her tresses,
Scarcely distinct:—On, on the waves are driven,
As o'er us the old mountain voice still hovers.
Through grassy hair the weird and rugged face
Of some grey rock, one of the giant race
Of our bleak birth-place, grey as the memories
Of an uncultured world, the asperities
Of our progressive life: and ever keeps
The ancient hill in sight, its head in heaven:
And little rustic homelinesses
Welcome the mountain-born with flower-wreathing,
Bright buttercups, primroses quiet-breathing,
Rich-scented chestnut-bloom:
And in the torrent's foam
The sweet May dips her tresses,
Scarcely distinct:—On, on the waves are driven,
As o'er us the old mountain voice still hovers.
And every turn discovers
New beauty; other streamlets pour,
Like other minds their flood of thought,
Or other beings influence, brought
From many a distance, hour by hour;
And the stream swells its volume, and the tide
Of power is amplified;
And earth is fertilized, field-glories wave,
And human dwellings stand on either side: While with melodious stave
The river saileth through the busy scene,
And o'er it most serene
The hill-song, like a heaven-burden, hovers.
New beauty; other streamlets pour,
Like other minds their flood of thought,
Or other beings influence, brought
From many a distance, hour by hour;
And the stream swells its volume, and the tide
Of power is amplified;
And earth is fertilized, field-glories wave,
And human dwellings stand on either side: While with melodious stave
147
And o'er it most serene
The hill-song, like a heaven-burden, hovers.
Now, like two eager lovers,
Two fair streams mingle hearts, and our full song
Is the quick panting of voluptuous life
The harvest fields among,
Beneath heaven-arched skies with blithest warblings rife:
And our sunn'd face is flush'd even as a bride's:
And many a trickling kiss in music glides,
Like molten silver bells, our features o'er—
A chorus liquefied of birds and flowers:
Such ecstacy is ours.
Yet still floats o'er our life the distant roar
Of the far mountain hymn:—God whispers as of old.
Two fair streams mingle hearts, and our full song
Is the quick panting of voluptuous life
The harvest fields among,
Beneath heaven-arched skies with blithest warblings rife:
And our sunn'd face is flush'd even as a bride's:
And many a trickling kiss in music glides,
Like molten silver bells, our features o'er—
A chorus liquefied of birds and flowers:
Such ecstacy is ours.
Yet still floats o'er our life the distant roar
Of the far mountain hymn:—God whispers as of old.
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