 | Specimens of American poetry |  |
Poet, with bent ear, to thee
Call I, the spirit of poesy.
Music's elder sister I,
That dwell i' the earth, and sea, and sky,
Chosen from my birth to be
Attendant on the Deity.
And through air, and earth, and sea,
By his power, I speak to thee.
Call I, the spirit of poesy.
Music's elder sister I,
That dwell i' the earth, and sea, and sky,
Chosen from my birth to be
Attendant on the Deity.
And through air, and earth, and sea,
By his power, I speak to thee.
My voice is in the “thunder's mouth,”
And in the breath of the sweet south;
In the hollow sounding sea
Of storms; and in its quiet glee,
When the winds of summer run
Along the pathways of the sun.
I am in the torrent's going,
And the brooklet's silver flowing;
In the great, heart-chilling cranch
Of the coming avalanche,
When the groaning forests cower,
Like slaves beneath his steps of power,
And beast, and bird, and peasant cry
Once, in death's strong agony—
All noises of destruction blending;
And in the flaky snow's descending,
On whose feathery, printless bed,
Silence lies embodied.
And in the breath of the sweet south;
In the hollow sounding sea
Of storms; and in its quiet glee,
When the winds of summer run
Along the pathways of the sun.
I am in the torrent's going,
And the brooklet's silver flowing;
In the great, heart-chilling cranch
Of the coming avalanche,
When the groaning forests cower,
Like slaves beneath his steps of power,
And beast, and bird, and peasant cry
Once, in death's strong agony—
All noises of destruction blending;
And in the flaky snow's descending,
On whose feathery, printless bed,
Silence lies embodied.
When the pleasant spring-time comes
To palaces and cotter's homes,
My voice is in the low heard laughings
That stir in the air, like fairy quaffings;
'T is I who tune the summer trees
To their soft breezy cadences,
And in their autumn wails draw near
To sing a moral in man's ear
I, who in the pattering rain
Soothe the dying harvest's pain,
So my liquid talkings then
Are happy sounds to husbandmen.
When the lighten'd clouds go by,
Unveiling the sun's great eye,
I soar up in its warm blaze,
And divide the coming rays;
Contriving, with poetic knowing,
What bending tints to wreathe his bow in;
Then, when my gamut is complete,
I tread it with my silver feet,
Till the depths of ether ring
To the soft tints mingling;
It was my stealing voice that came,
On the glance of morning's flame,
To old Memnon's shrine, to make
Tones divine, for mystery's sake.
Through the dark earth's cavy halls,
Ore to ore in music calls;
And gem to glancing gem, by me
Is stirr'd with answering melody.
To palaces and cotter's homes,
My voice is in the low heard laughings
That stir in the air, like fairy quaffings;
'T is I who tune the summer trees
To their soft breezy cadences,
And in their autumn wails draw near
To sing a moral in man's ear
I, who in the pattering rain
Soothe the dying harvest's pain,
So my liquid talkings then
Are happy sounds to husbandmen.
When the lighten'd clouds go by,
Unveiling the sun's great eye,
270
And divide the coming rays;
Contriving, with poetic knowing,
What bending tints to wreathe his bow in;
Then, when my gamut is complete,
I tread it with my silver feet,
Till the depths of ether ring
To the soft tints mingling;
It was my stealing voice that came,
On the glance of morning's flame,
To old Memnon's shrine, to make
Tones divine, for mystery's sake.
Through the dark earth's cavy halls,
Ore to ore in music calls;
And gem to glancing gem, by me
Is stirr'd with answering melody.
Mine is all the harmony
Of sounds to hear, and sights to see;
All the joy of the glad earth,
And the blue sky's holier mirth.
I, with calm consistency,
Unroll the mazes of the sky;
That the sage's soul may scan
The Deity's harmonious plan,
So his thought to men may tell
The orderings that in heaven do dwell,
That worn age, and prime, and youth,
Alike may know of God's good truth.
Then, poet, bend thine ear to me,
Attendant on the Deity.
Of sounds to hear, and sights to see;
All the joy of the glad earth,
And the blue sky's holier mirth.
I, with calm consistency,
Unroll the mazes of the sky;
That the sage's soul may scan
The Deity's harmonious plan,
So his thought to men may tell
The orderings that in heaven do dwell,
That worn age, and prime, and youth,
Alike may know of God's good truth.
Then, poet, bend thine ear to me,
Attendant on the Deity.
| Specimens of American poetry | |