University of Virginia Library

Miami Woods!—What says the mighty Past
To the still mightier Present, from the midst
Of all these vestiges of centuries gone,
That strew the plains and hills around? I ask
The question thousands have thus asked before,
And get the common answer—echo! Here,
Green on the crown'd acclivities, or dark
In the dim twilight of o'erarching trees
That clothe the valleys, we behold remains
Of human toil and triumph and dismay,
O'er which the oak that counts five hundred years
Spreads his protecting branches:—walls of earth;
Tlascalan gateways; sacrificial mounds;
The altars of a worship we know not;
And, beautiful in their silence, tombs of men
Who died before the parent tree had cast
The seed from which arose this hoary trunk,
That lies so low at last! But though the eye
Meets these rude records, turn where'er it will,
They tell no story that is understood,
Of all the human love and hate and pride,
And all the joy, and strife and agony,
That once were known within these Sylvan homes,
So populous then, so void and silent now:
And vainly leans the listening ear to catch
A sound or syllable revealing more
Than these mute records to the eye disclose.

Pierce far into the depths of these old woods,
Where seem to meet the Present and the Past;
Hasten not hence, but with still lingering steps
Move to and fro; stand on the tumulus
That rises o'er a chieftain's ashes; trace
The circle and the square, which still remain
Distinct and beautiful; with reverent step
Approach the altar where of old were lit
The fires of sacrifice; snatch from its sleep
Of centuries, beneath the pregnant earth,
The sculptured image; and then question all.
—Question as well the winds, or waves! as well
The child that's with me here, as wise as I!
How silent, where a hundred tongues should speak,
If curiosity had but the power
To bid and be obeyed: how silent all!
There comes down from the Past no voice to tell
The tale so often asked. The Present points
To these rude works alone, and they are mute.
E'en the high chambers of the tumuli,
In which were laid the bones of chiefs and kings
Who ruled here in the ages lost, withhold
The revelation sought. The marvelous skill
And learning that in other lands have read
The secrets of the Past on images,
On stones, and on the corpses of the dead
Exhumed from the repose of centuries,
Read nothing here. The garrulous tongue of Time
—Time, that has hung the forests round like clouds
Upon the hillsides: Time, that here has cut
Grooves in the rocks which antedate the pits
Hewn in the hills of Latium for the first
Foundations of old Rome,—throughout these wilds
Makes not a sign, and syllables no sound,
To break the eternal seal that rests on all!

So let it be! Why seek to know what God,
In his inscrutable ways, has hidden thus?
It may be wise such mysteries to explore;
To probe the Past for what it holds so dark;
But in familiar things that lie along
Our daily walks, are lessons for us all:
And he who seeks the profit of his soul
In free communings with the things that speak
Most reverently of God on earth, may ask
The Present with humility, and find
In all about him revelations deep,
As I do now, here in Miami Woods.