 | Forest leaves |  |
TO THE PINE—ON THE MOUNTAIN.
Thou giant Pine—of patriarchal years,
O'er the rock helmet of the mountain bending,
As watching you glad river, which appears
Like a bright dream, through worlds of beauty wending,
Mocking thy bleak and solitary pride,
With warm and flow'ry scenes, and soft wings gleaming,
Bright fountains smiling on the green hill-side,
'Neath bowers of blossom'd vines, profusely streaming.
O'er the rock helmet of the mountain bending,
As watching you glad river, which appears
Like a bright dream, through worlds of beauty wending,
Mocking thy bleak and solitary pride,
With warm and flow'ry scenes, and soft wings gleaming,
Bright fountains smiling on the green hill-side,
'Neath bowers of blossom'd vines, profusely streaming.
And sigh'st thou o'er those visions of delight,
As my lone bosom, o'er the glowing treasures
Which live in fancy's realm, before my sight
And mock my spirit, with ideal pleasures?
Or art thou holding converse with the wind,
Waving majestic assent to some story,
Of mournful interest, how thy stately kind
Have perish'd from the places of their glory.
As my lone bosom, o'er the glowing treasures
Which live in fancy's realm, before my sight
And mock my spirit, with ideal pleasures?
Or art thou holding converse with the wind,
Waving majestic assent to some story,
Of mournful interest, how thy stately kind
Have perish'd from the places of their glory.
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Or are ye talking of the noble race
Stately as thou, with the wind's freedom roaming,
Who o'er these mountains once pursued the chase,
And stemm'd the river, with the spring flood foaming.
Oh, knew I all the legends of the past,
With life, and love, and death, and sorrow teeming,
On which thou hast look'd down, since first the blast
Play'd with thy plumes, in morning sunlight gleaming.
Stately as thou, with the wind's freedom roaming,
Who o'er these mountains once pursued the chase,
And stemm'd the river, with the spring flood foaming.
Oh, knew I all the legends of the past,
With life, and love, and death, and sorrow teeming,
On which thou hast look'd down, since first the blast
Play'd with thy plumes, in morning sunlight gleaming.
Thou'st seen the free-born hunters of the wild,
Chasing the fleet deer, in his antler'd glory;
Or with his chosen maid, rich nature's child,
Breathing in whispers love's ungarnish'd story.
And thou hast seen him on the mountain path,
Victor, and vanquish'd; fleeing, and pursuing;
Conquer'd, and writhing with vindictive wrath;
Or agonizing o'er his country's ruin.
Chasing the fleet deer, in his antler'd glory;
Or with his chosen maid, rich nature's child,
Breathing in whispers love's ungarnish'd story.
And thou hast seen him on the mountain path,
Victor, and vanquish'd; fleeing, and pursuing;
Conquer'd, and writhing with vindictive wrath;
Or agonizing o'er his country's ruin.
While the fierce conqueror gaz'd with gloating eye
On mangled forms, in mortal anguish lying;
Or where the weekwam's flame was wreathing high,
Lighting dark forms, with frantic terror flying:
Seem'd he not king-like, with his plumy crown;
And like a tiger, streak'd with hideous painting;
With hand that sought no treasure but renown,
And heart that knew no fear, and felt no fainting?
On mangled forms, in mortal anguish lying;
Or where the weekwam's flame was wreathing high,
Lighting dark forms, with frantic terror flying:
Seem'd he not king-like, with his plumy crown;
And like a tiger, streak'd with hideous painting;
With hand that sought no treasure but renown,
And heart that knew no fear, and felt no fainting?
Full many a time, perchance, beneath thy shade
The youthful sachem stood, with pride surveying
His wide dominion, and the balmy shade
Of the soft valley, where his love was straying,
And sometimes still there comes a wasted form
With locks like thine, by many winters faded;
Well has he braved the battle and the storm,
The sachem whom thy youthful branches shaded.
The youthful sachem stood, with pride surveying
His wide dominion, and the balmy shade
Of the soft valley, where his love was straying,
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With locks like thine, by many winters faded;
Well has he braved the battle and the storm,
The sachem whom thy youthful branches shaded.
Ye are a noble pair, ye stand the last,
Each, of a noble race; and ye are staying,
Magnificent mementoes of the past,
Glorious and wonderful in your decaying.
And thou dost toss thy branches to the wind,
And sigh sad dirges of thy perish'd glory,
And he is brooding with a darken'd mind
Over a perished nation's wrongful story.
Each, of a noble race; and ye are staying,
Magnificent mementoes of the past,
Glorious and wonderful in your decaying.
And thou dost toss thy branches to the wind,
And sigh sad dirges of thy perish'd glory,
And he is brooding with a darken'd mind
Over a perished nation's wrongful story.
A few more years—the bird of mightiest wing
Shall seek his long-loved rest, with mournful screaming—
A few more years, and no dark form shall cling
To this stern height, of perish'd glory dreaming.
Ah! who will mourn, when thou art lying low,
And o'er the shatter'd trunk green mosses creeping?
What noble heart will swell with generous wo
When the last warrior of his race is sleeping?—
Shall seek his long-loved rest, with mournful screaming—
A few more years, and no dark form shall cling
To this stern height, of perish'd glory dreaming.
Ah! who will mourn, when thou art lying low,
And o'er the shatter'd trunk green mosses creeping?
What noble heart will swell with generous wo
When the last warrior of his race is sleeping?—
| Forest leaves | |