Days and Hours :: :: University of Virginia Library

In the hot hours when scarce the whir is heard
Of the bird's wing, or murmur of the bee,
Where the leaf-shadows tremble on the sward,
To the wild forest come away with me;
I know a dewy green where you may lie,
And dream you hear from the embowered glades
Low laughter twinkle, and sweet music sigh,
And faint away among the pillar'd shades.

II

I know a lake upon whose surface pass
Trembling soft pictures of the Summer treen,
And as we gaze into that magic glass
The sloping woods with their high walks are seen;
Keep thou thine eye upon the azure water,
And when its mirror ruffles with the air,
I'll show thee many a rosy forest-daughter,
Satyr, and wild-eyed Hamadryad there.

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III

I'll show thee sun-brown Faun with Woodnymph playing,
Or twining wreaths of eglantine and rose,
Or on soft moss the tawny muskgrape laying
For Pan, who takes his afternoon repose
Upon deep flowers, and virgin green—to slake
His thirsty ardors, when at set of day
From his enchanted dreams the God shall wake,
And see the shadows turn'd the other way.

IV

And sometimes Bacchus shall go reeling by
Where the deep forest leaves a lawny dell,
With flute, and twisted wand, and sunlit eye,
Amid the rose-crown'd Mænads, with a swell
Far off of mingled voices musical,
And for a moment, in a stream of light,
Thou shalt behold the viny festival
Sweep by like dream, and glitter out of sight!

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V

If thou shouldst slumber in a thicket near,
The grasshopper shall wake thee up with glee,
And hidden rillets bubbling in thine ear
Shall float off the soft hours with melody;
Thy curls uplifted by the Zephyr sleek
Shall make thee dream of some beloved hand
Laid in thy hair—a kiss upon thy cheek—
And one dear face the loveliest in the land.

Part II.

I

A sound of fluttering leaves begins to run
From side to side, and the farflying fawn
Glances athwart green glooms, or in the sun
Peers tremblingly, or shoots across a lawn:
From mossy glens, and tops of breezy hills
I hear the bugle wail, and bowstring keen,
Green plumes move with the leaves, wild laughter thrills,
From sylvan valleys, and dark gulphs of green.

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II

Look where the forest slopes unto the lake,
And the brisk winds that curl the Summer trees
Leap to the brink, their morning thirst to slake,
Caught from the sharp rocks and the parched leas;
The evening waters now begin to sing
Over the swart sands, and three Oreads tall
From oak-tree arms a crimson awning swing,
Whose ruby shadows o'er the mosses fall.

III

As tho' the blushing turf-plot saw, and knew
The Virgin Huntress with unzoned limbs!
For now a lucent shoulder fresh with dew
Dawns o'er the waters, as she shoreward swims,
Now leans she on the pebbles with her hand,
And lifts herself amid her long bright hair,
Now with her Nymphs she shoots across the strand
Peerless in grace and stature, pure and fair.

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IV

And now she sits in rosy light and veils
Her innocence, and to the silver sound
Of falling ripplets she begins her tales
Of summer pastimes sought with horn and hound;
At every pause young girls with kirtles green
Taking their little lyres of gracious mould
Sing antique songs, and strike the strings between—
Echoes, and shadows of the Age of gold.

V

Oh! I could tarry under these green boughs,
In these deep coverts, all the Summer long,
If only one sweet Nymph with sunny brows
Would teach me all her ancient woodland song,
Till I had learn'd such pure and simple breath
As pour'd into the dusty ears of Kings
Would make them thirsty for a wildrose wreath,
Turfwalks, and thymy slopes, and fresh cold rills.