University of Virginia Library

NATURE'S GLADNESS.

In Nature's joy is something holy still,
It seems some mighty mandate to fulfil,
And more immediately from Heaven to flow,
And still to rise from this dim Earth below!
Yea! more immediately to Heaven to rise,
Scarce lent ere it returneth to the Skies!
There is a sacredness in even her mirth,
From Springs so pure it ever takes its birth!
How different from our forced festivity,
Our ofttimes hollow heartless human glee!
The fawn's exulting bound and lightsome play,
The bird's glad glancing in the sunny ray,
The insects' mazy flight and busy hum,
Near which all other sounds of joy seem dumb
All have a charm peculiar, and distinct
From all, that seems with our rejoicings linked—
And the most wounded heart on Earth that mourns,
Scarce with disgust from that sweet gladness turns,
Though Oh! so far beyond all we may share,
Who find in every wreath the thorns of Care—
So far beyond the bliss that we may know,
Slaves, exiles, prisoners in this World below!
Lark! let me bless thee on thy happy flight,
And thy rich ostentation of delight!
A blameless ostentation—never meant
To grieve the wretch unblessed with like content!
Thou tell'st the Earth and Heaven that thou art glad,
Unconscious that one single thing is sad,
To thee all living Nature still must seem
Wrapt in one cloudless, one ecstatic dream!
Fawn! let me watch thee at thy blithesome play,
With eyes and heart the while almost as gay,
We feel thy innocent and gentle glee
From every shadow, every stain is free;
No inborn pang that outward gladness mocks,
No truth it shames, and no remembrance shocks;
Pure, and even perfect as 'tis pure, it is—
Our childhood dreamt of such a bounding bliss!
And Oh! 'tis something, surely something still
In this strange life of trouble and of ill
To see—to feel the joys left yet on Earth,
'Midst much of mourning seems there more of mirth!