 | The poetical works of Lucy Larcom |  |
THROUGH MINNEHAHA'S VEIL.
Some subtle coloring of the air
Lights every human countenance.
Some faces shine, transfigured, where
A glorifying circumstance
Lifted them from their common phase
To fitness for an aureole's rays.
Lights every human countenance.
Some faces shine, transfigured, where
A glorifying circumstance
Lifted them from their common phase
To fitness for an aureole's rays.
Some single look comes back to us,
Of eye and brow, through memory's blur,
Re-wakening dreams most beauteous,
Setting the laggard pulse astir
To feel that still we hold it fast—
The buried riches of the past.
Of eye and brow, through memory's blur,
Re-wakening dreams most beauteous,
Setting the laggard pulse astir
To feel that still we hold it fast—
The buried riches of the past.
Do you recall our holiday,
Just out of school, in middle June,—
Far West,—the time so far away
We cannot now revive the tune
To which our hearts so gayly beat?
We only know the song was sweet.
Just out of school, in middle June,—
Far West,—the time so far away
We cannot now revive the tune
To which our hearts so gayly beat?
We only know the song was sweet.
We watched the mountain-bluffs, that stood
Fleece-wrapped amid the roseate morn,
Rising from Mississippi's flood;
We gazed where leagues on leagues of corn,
Upon the river's farther side,
Tinged with warm gold the prairies wide.
Fleece-wrapped amid the roseate morn,
Rising from Mississippi's flood;
We gazed where leagues on leagues of corn,
Upon the river's farther side,
Tinged with warm gold the prairies wide.
We saw Winona's precipice
Hang dark above Lake Pepin's wave:
Her plaintive legend who would miss—
Or harmless war-whoop of the brave
Red-blanketed and painted Sioux,
That shot by in his birch canoe?
Hang dark above Lake Pepin's wave:
Her plaintive legend who would miss—
Or harmless war-whoop of the brave
Red-blanketed and painted Sioux,
That shot by in his birch canoe?
A step beyond the roadside's edge;
A rude bridge swung across a stream,
Sliding as softly from the ledge
As one might whisper in a dream:
The mist-like water, falling there,
Seemed, half-way down, dissolved in air.
A rude bridge swung across a stream,
259
As one might whisper in a dream:
The mist-like water, falling there,
Seemed, half-way down, dissolved in air.
And where the drops broke into spray
Of diamonds, forth by millions flung,
Wavering amid their wasteful play,
A visionary rainbow hung.
What need of guide's intrusive call?
We knew it,—Minnehaha's Fall!
Of diamonds, forth by millions flung,
Wavering amid their wasteful play,
A visionary rainbow hung.
What need of guide's intrusive call?
We knew it,—Minnehaha's Fall!
I had not missed you from my side,
When bubbled up a laugh as light
As out of naiad lips might glide;
And there you stood, a phantom bright,
Veiled by the spray, a rosy elf,
Merrier than Minnehaha's self.
When bubbled up a laugh as light
As out of naiad lips might glide;
And there you stood, a phantom bright,
Veiled by the spray, a rosy elf,
Merrier than Minnehaha's self.
Poised on the wet rock, in behind
The rainbow, with your face upturned,
Color and outline half defined,
Your dancing eyes, your cheek that burned
With pleasure—I behold at will
The airy apparition still!
The rainbow, with your face upturned,
Color and outline half defined,
Your dancing eyes, your cheek that burned
With pleasure—I behold at will
The airy apparition still!
Years, years ago! The stream has spilt
Billions of diamonds since that day;
Mill, cabin, barn, by now are built
Close underneath that rainbow spray:
The lonely beauty of the place
Has passed from Minnehaha's face.
Billions of diamonds since that day;
Mill, cabin, barn, by now are built
Close underneath that rainbow spray:
The lonely beauty of the place
Has passed from Minnehaha's face.
And yours,—I never see it now
Except as then, Time's blank between:
The sparkling eye, the lifted brow,
That brought a soul into the scene,
And made the Laughing Water seem
Again a bright, embodied dream.
Except as then, Time's blank between:
The sparkling eye, the lifted brow,
That brought a soul into the scene,
And made the Laughing Water seem
Again a bright, embodied dream.
I have your picture in my heart;
No relic, for it lives and breathes;
The leaves of memory blow apart,
The wavering spray your forehead wreathes;
Your freshness never can grow pale,
Blooming through Minnehaha's veil.
No relic, for it lives and breathes;
The leaves of memory blow apart,
The wavering spray your forehead wreathes;
Your freshness never can grow pale,
Blooming through Minnehaha's veil.
| The poetical works of Lucy Larcom | |