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251

THE DROUGHT OF 1864, HOW IT AFFECTED THE ANGLER.

PART I.

I

The lips of all the springs are dry,
And parch'd the throats of every rill;
A fiery shape hath scaled the hill
With blistering foot and brazen eye.

II

A fiery shape hath cross'd the lea,
And trodden out its summer life,
Filling the hags with fetid stife,
And staggers onward to the sea.

III

Within the range of its regard,
Drop silenced all the tongues of mirth;
Aspiring flowers crouch back to earth,
The emeralds of the mead lie charr'd.

252

IV

His thirsty tooth the gad-fly whets,
Incited by the cruel glare;
The spider wrapt in crafty lair
Watches the flutter of her nets.

V

The lizard basks upon the bank;
The slow-worm in our pathway crawls;
The loathly adder, on the knolls,
Lies coil'd among the herbage rank.

VI

All nature wears an air of spleen—
A cast of languor, not repose,
That in the season of the rose
Seems alien to her wonted mien.

VII

Upon the feather'd tribe, the charm
Works in a more or less degree;
The swallow, which hath cross'd the sea,
Within the circuit of the farm

VIII

Shows flagging wing. The doves retire
Below the curtains of the grove,
And in the under-tones of love
Communicate their one desire.

IX

With furled canvas, under thatch
Of a desponding willow, stands,
Like the carved work of cunning hands,
The heron keeping weary watch.

253

X

The valley's glory broad and bright,
Which flash'd with life the May-month long,
And with its challenges of song
Saluted the starr'd ear of night,

XI

Has shrunk into a narrow thread,
Or, if assuming ampler course,
It still affects the river's force,
The life and song alike are fled.

XII

The valley's glory now no more,
So straiten'd are its ways and means,
So cast the tints—the golds and greens—
Which ranged across from shore to shore.

XIII

So lazily the pulses beat,
Which once their merry throb sent out,
And stirr'd the hidings of the trout
And wing'd the river's twinkling feet,

XIV

And buoy'd with promises of cheer
The angler's heart, like sough of corn,
That with the breezes of the morn
Comes flowing on the sower's ear.

XV

Alas! the angler's hopes fall crush'd,
Arrested in their radiant flight
His aspirations of delight,
Their music and persuasion hush'd.

254

XVI

The weapon of his prowess lies
Neglected. The grey moth invades
His feathery stores; the beauty fades
From his prospective paradise.

XVII

And languor, such as reigns without,
Enters into his inmost soul,
And by its pressure, past control,
Puts every longing to the rout.

XVIII

Even the soft, seducing dawn
Allures not with its temper'd hues;
Nor yet the shedding of the dews
Across the carpet of the lawn;

XIX

Nor yet the rustling of the trees,
The conference of oak with oak,
That ushers in the midnight stroke,
And predicates the showery breeze.

XX

A strange, low wind, without an airt,
A whispering of leafy sprites,
The running to and fro of lights
Mysterious, through the forests' heart.

XXI

Such held their influence till now—
The wildfire and the Dryad's talk,
The steppings in the river's walk,
The plumelike beckonings of the bough.

255

XXII

But the old faith, which fondly clung
To signs and omens, is disturb'd;
The tide of superstition curb'd
That wander'd betwixt heart and tongue.

XXIII

Ay! even his wishes lie repell'd
By the fierce furnace overhead,
Or reach the lips, to die unsaid;
So sunk the heart from which they well'd.

XXIV

Oh! quickly melt, ye skies of brass!
Drop, cruel heav'ns, your crystal stores!
Open at length the long-barr'd doors,
And let the glad libation pass!

XXV

Relent apace, oh! eye of day
That blazing smitest, like a sword
Grasp'd by an angel of the Lord,
And give the brimming tears their way!

XXVI

Ye eyes of night! a token bring,
Entreat for us, thou Dian chaste!
The coursers of the watery waste,
And round thee bind thy mystic ring.

XXVII

The cloud no bigger than a hand,
Awaits thy signal in the West,
Ready to do thy high behest,
And roll salvation o'er the land.

256

XXVIII

Oh! welcome rain, oh! welcome rain!
Welcome the smile-precursing tears—
The weeping of the clouds and spheres
Which, pass'd, restores to life again,

XXIX

Freshens the hues of eve and morn—
Dilates the humid orbs of night,
And from the treasuries of light
Replenishes the lunar horn!

XXX

I hear it coming in my sleep
From cloudland and the vast behind;
From the four Castles of the Wind,
From the green caverns of the deep.

XXXI

I hear it coming, as they came
That are the messengers of God,
And harness'd chariots at his nod,—
Horses of cloud to wheels of flame.

XXXII

The vision that so often pass'd
Before me, fraught of longings vain—
The wishes of the heart and brain—
Is surely realized at last!

XXXIII

Oh! welcome rain, oh! welcome rain!
Welcome the quickenings all around
The cloud-drift and the moaning sound,
The shiftings of the gilded vane!

257

XXXIV

The ringings as of liquid bells
That break the silence overhead,
And hovering o'er the river's bed
Set bubbling the enchanted wells.

XXXV

Hands feebly dropt are raised again—
Tongues loosen'd to make thankful prayer—
Hearts cheer'd—eyes lighten'd everywhere;
Oh! welcome rain! oh! welcome rain!

PART II.

I

Oh! angler, thine experience tell,
In faulty rhymes, of this fierce drought,
How it prevail'd within, without
And chain'd thee with its weary spell.

II

Speak to the reason running wild
Of those who waste our valley's wealth,
And on the crystal tide of health
Cast things defiling and defiled;

III

Who drain the juices of our land,
Reckless of what the need may be
To us and to posterity,
So that the profit comes to hand.

258

IV

Counting but for themselves alone
The cost and chances of reward;
But taking into no regard
The future of the evil done.

V

How fountains broken up and spilt—
The life-blood driven from the soil,
Never to be restored by toil—
Commit to the reward of guilt.

VI

All honour to the noble art
Which into corn transmutes the weed,
And turns the waste into the mead,—
The alchemy of hand and heart!

VII

But woe to those who so abuse
The license given to scourge and drain,
As, in their fell pursuit of gain,
All sight of what may come to lose!

VIII

Who of its fragrance rob the wold,
And of its wild-flowers strip the hill;
Who check the frolics of the rill,
And push it from its courses old;

IX

To Nature's remnant laying siege,
And, under guise of tenant skill,
Rake God's own garden with a will,
Committing conscious sacrilege.

259

X

God speed the honest mill, and feed
Its merry spokes by night and day!
The rivers as they dance away
Repeat the blessing, God it speed!

XI

The trout within the dam and lead
Love the sweet clatter of its wheel,
And with its flushings forth reveal
Their joy, and bid it—the God speed;

XII

But let a malison descend
Upon those structures of the day,
That with palatial display
Shadow our streams at every bend!

XIII

Those strongholds of monopoly
That mar the pictures of the mind,
And come betwixt us and the wind,
Tainting its natural purity;

XIV

Which, to allay the thirst of fire
That hugs their vitals, and torments,
Drink in a valley's whole contents,
And sputter out a rush of mire.

XV

Must this great wrong pass unredress'd—
This rifling of our valley's wealth—
This wanton tampering with health,
And no one venture to protest?

260

XVI

Shall it go on from bad to worse,
Until all remedy is past,
And we conniving stand aghast,
Partakers of the withering curse?

XVII

'Tis the Bard's privilege to foresee—
His bounden duty to forewarn;
Thus prompted, I uplift the horn,
And signal the calamity.

XVIII

The cry for corn was late abroad—
The cry for cheap, untrammell'd bread;—
For the big quartern blood was shed,
And the great cry went up to God!

XIX

That cry hath ceased; but in its place
Threatens to come the fiercer cry,
Give us pure water else we die,
And, dying, curse you to the face!

XX

Arrest the evil while you may,
Nor pause to argue, on the plea
That to advance utility
Is the first duty of the day,—

XXI

That interests where selfish strife
Goes hand in hand with factory pride,
Admit of claims which set aside
The grave necessities of life.

261

XXII

With air and fire at their control,
And the electric power divine,
Why trespass on the Naiad's shrine
These taskers of the hand and soul?

XXIII

Forbid it, ye strong powers that be!
Arrest the evil while you can,
And let not the Leviathan
Swallow the tribute of the sea.

XXIV

Its rivers are a nation's trust—
The people's dearest heritage,
Which it is bound from age to age
To hold inviolate from lust;

XXV

With jealousy the fountain-heads
To fend against all reckless waste;
Nor suffer elements unchaste
To dim the diamond of their beds.

XXVI

Up and be busy, ye to whom
This sacred duty appertains!
Our rivers rescue from their chains,
And snatch from their impending doom.

XXVII

No weary drought will vex them then,
No fiery shape invade the lea;
But salmon riches crowd the sea,
And roll up to our doors again.

262

XXVIII

The mill and farm will thrive apace,
And with them peer and peasant both;
Only repel the Hun and Goth,
And meet the Vandal face to face.