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29
THE BROOK.
The pleasant little meadow brook,
That runneth bright and free,
With what a kind of spirit look
It smileth up to me!
That runneth bright and free,
With what a kind of spirit look
It smileth up to me!
With sunny sprinkles from the skies
Its countless ripples shine;
Like thousand living, starry eyes,
All speaking into mine.
Its countless ripples shine;
Like thousand living, starry eyes,
All speaking into mine.
They flash upon my heart, and bring
A spell beyond control;
They twinkle on the finest string
That vibrates in the soul!
A spell beyond control;
They twinkle on the finest string
That vibrates in the soul!
For I was once a child beside
A brook as clear and bright,
Ere life's first meadow-violets died,
Or waned its morning light;—
A brook as clear and bright,
Ere life's first meadow-violets died,
Or waned its morning light;—
When whole was every kindred tie,
And I had never dreamed
I e'er should miss a single eye
Of all that round me beamed.
And I had never dreamed
I e'er should miss a single eye
Of all that round me beamed.
But those we love and cherish here
To bless our earthly way,—
How do they vanish, when most near!
How vision-like are they!
To bless our earthly way,—
How do they vanish, when most near!
How vision-like are they!
30
They now are here,—they 're past anon,
Like wavelets of the brook,
Where each we do but glance upon
Returns a parting look!
Like wavelets of the brook,
Where each we do but glance upon
Returns a parting look!
And may there not be spirit-eyes,—
As unto me they seem,—
That give, while watching from the skies,
Their reflex on the stream?
As unto me they seem,—
That give, while watching from the skies,
Their reflex on the stream?
We cannot tell the ways of love
Our angel watchers know,
To turn our thoughts to light above
From passing shades below.
Our angel watchers know,
To turn our thoughts to light above
From passing shades below.
O, how like dimpled infancy,
That not a trouble knows,
In gladness and to nature free,
This merry streamlet goes!
That not a trouble knows,
In gladness and to nature free,
This merry streamlet goes!
Like childhood in its rosy hours,
Before a hope has died,
It sparkles forward, while the flowers
Spring up at either side.
Before a hope has died,
It sparkles forward, while the flowers
Spring up at either side.
Whene'er a sudden fall it makes,
As every child has done,
It gathers strength, and thence betakes
Itself to swifter run.
As every child has done,
It gathers strength, and thence betakes
Itself to swifter run.
Does aught oppose its chosen route,
The check is ever brief;
Its little arms it stretches out,
And gains a quick relief.
The check is ever brief;
Its little arms it stretches out,
And gains a quick relief.
31
It dandles here the tender cress,
That creeps upon its edge;
And there it combs the silken tress
Of over-reaching sedge.
That creeps upon its edge;
And there it combs the silken tress
Of over-reaching sedge.
It steals along beneath the bower,
And takes, in mimic theft,
Upon its mirror-breast, the flower
That growing still is left.
And takes, in mimic theft,
Upon its mirror-breast, the flower
That growing still is left.
It hides amid the alder-shade;
Then out it darts to run,
As if at child's bopeep it played,
In frolic with the sun.
Then out it darts to run,
As if at child's bopeep it played,
In frolic with the sun.
And now it takes a deeper place,—
A graver look it wears,
And has a less transparent face,
Like one of growing cares.
A graver look it wears,
And has a less transparent face,
Like one of growing cares.
'T is here it hides the speckled trout
Its jutting bank below,
While silvery minnows gleam about,
Like toys in baby-show.
Its jutting bank below,
While silvery minnows gleam about,
Like toys in baby-show.
It feeds the water-flag and rush,
That haunt it for their drink,—
Meanders where, in brake and brush,
Sing thrush and bobolink.
That haunt it for their drink,—
Meanders where, in brake and brush,
Sing thrush and bobolink.
Then, oozing from the shadowy nook,
It takes another freak;
And on the mead behold the brook,
A shimmering silver streak!
It takes another freak;
And on the mead behold the brook,
A shimmering silver streak!
32
For every basking butterfly
It rears a buttercup;
And flowers—when dragon-flies shoot by—
From dragon-root shot up.
It rears a buttercup;
And flowers—when dragon-flies shoot by—
From dragon-root shot up.
It laughs to see the quaking-grass
At every zephyr shake,
And if a snapping insect pass,
A sign of terror make.
At every zephyr shake,
And if a snapping insect pass,
A sign of terror make.
Would mouse-ear, near its margin, list
The sound of bees that come,
'T is then a mock-ventriloquist,
And, gurgling, drowns their hum.
The sound of bees that come,
'T is then a mock-ventriloquist,
And, gurgling, drowns their hum.
Then, off among the pebble-stones,
It gives a rapid glee,—
It sings in ever-varied tones—
It plays on every key.
It gives a rapid glee,—
It sings in ever-varied tones—
It plays on every key.
Now, soft it glides through velvet green,
With violets blue bestrown;
Its bosom clear, its face serene,
The hue of heaven its own!
With violets blue bestrown;
Its bosom clear, its face serene,
The hue of heaven its own!
Thus, curling here, and twining there,
Its varied banks between,
While speeding down, it knows not where,
This living tide is seen.
Its varied banks between,
While speeding down, it knows not where,
This living tide is seen.
Yet, ever forward, on the run
It goes, and cannot stay;
Like human life, that, once begun,
Unceasing fleets away.
It goes, and cannot stay;
Like human life, that, once begun,
Unceasing fleets away.
33
An aged man, with temples hoar,
I saw approach the brook
Alone, as if to ponder o'er
His life's short story-book.
I saw approach the brook
Alone, as if to ponder o'er
His life's short story-book.
A tuft, where once had stood a tree,
His grassy seat he made;
With staff, awhile from service free,
At rest beside him laid.
His grassy seat he made;
With staff, awhile from service free,
At rest beside him laid.
Upon the stream intent his eye,
His locks dispersed to air;
While spake his breast, by deep-drawn sigh,
Of spirit-sadness there.
His locks dispersed to air;
While spake his breast, by deep-drawn sigh,
Of spirit-sadness there.
'T was here, in childhood light and fair,
He 'd sported by the stream,
When present life was all parterre,
The future—golden dream!
He 'd sported by the stream,
When present life was all parterre,
The future—golden dream!
His feet, that, threescore years and ten,
Had traced life's weary way,
Were in the native scenes again,
Where first they ran to play.
Had traced life's weary way,
Were in the native scenes again,
Where first they ran to play.
In all the changeful years between
The child and pilgrim lorn,
That trembling lone one had not seen
The spot where he was born.
The child and pilgrim lorn,
That trembling lone one had not seen
The spot where he was born.
And, faint from age, he now had come,
With life so near its close,
As in review to cast the sum
Of all that earth bestows.
With life so near its close,
As in review to cast the sum
Of all that earth bestows.
34
As busy Memory numbered up
The honey-drops and gall,
He in the waters dashed her cup
To wash it free of all;—
The honey-drops and gall,
He in the waters dashed her cup
To wash it free of all;—
He bowed him by the streamlet's side,
Beneath his weight of years,
And to the placid crystal tide
Poured forth his soul in tears.
Beneath his weight of years,
And to the placid crystal tide
Poured forth his soul in tears.
For where were they whom first he knew,
And prized o'er all beside?
On church-yard stone the lichen grew,
Of some the names to hide!
And prized o'er all beside?
On church-yard stone the lichen grew,
Of some the names to hide!
And none remained to tell the tale
How others passed away,
To him, who lingered in the vale
Of life, so lone and gray.
How others passed away,
To him, who lingered in the vale
Of life, so lone and gray.
His village home had disappeared,—
Its every vestige gone;
No welcome here his spirit cheered,—
He was to all unknown!
Its every vestige gone;
No welcome here his spirit cheered,—
He was to all unknown!
One, passing, turned with curious eye
His stranger looks to scan;
Another, heedless, hurried by
The friendless, lone old man.
His stranger looks to scan;
Another, heedless, hurried by
The friendless, lone old man.
35
But O, the brook! its tones so deep
Were to his spirit's ear
Like music we—when dropped asleep
From weeping—dream we hear.
Were to his spirit's ear
Like music we—when dropped asleep
From weeping—dream we hear.
For long his soul had been athirst
To taste this stream once more,—
To see it where he saw it first,—
To hear it as of yore.
To taste this stream once more,—
To see it where he saw it first,—
To hear it as of yore.
Its gentle voice had followed him
When roaming far and wide;
And he 'd returned, with vision dim,
To see it ere he died.
When roaming far and wide;
And he 'd returned, with vision dim,
To see it ere he died.
That kind, familiar voice he knew;
'T was all that hailed him here,
Whose sands of time were now so few
On earth so blank and drear.
'T was all that hailed him here,
Whose sands of time were now so few
On earth so blank and drear.
With feelings tongue could never name,
Its sound upon his soul—
Like oil upon the waters—came,
To say he 'd reached the goal.
Its sound upon his soul—
Like oil upon the waters—came,
To say he 'd reached the goal.
“Ah! what,” said he, “is man, bereft
Of all he here hath known?
The last upon the desert,—left
To strike his tent alone!—
Of all he here hath known?
The last upon the desert,—left
To strike his tent alone!—
“His tattered tent to strike, and try
The stream that rolls between
This shore and that, where mortal eye
Must ne'er survey the scene!
The stream that rolls between
This shore and that, where mortal eye
Must ne'er survey the scene!
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“The while, by all his being's plan,
Till here his day is o'er,
The only worthy aim of man
Lies on that other shore!
Till here his day is o'er,
The only worthy aim of man
Lies on that other shore!
“'T is there depends our final home
On this, our little space;—
The rest to which we hope to come,—
On how we run the race.
On this, our little space;—
The rest to which we hope to come,—
On how we run the race.
“That all beside is frail and vain
Doth life itself declare;
In form, a shadow on the plain,—
Its hold, elusive air.
Doth life itself declare;
In form, a shadow on the plain,—
Its hold, elusive air.
“No more have I from time to seek,
No more on earth to do;
But this last point,—the pass is bleak!
Yet I shall soon be through.”
No more on earth to do;
But this last point,—the pass is bleak!
Yet I shall soon be through.”
I turned me, from the hoary sage
My swimming eyes to hide,
When on my ear that voice of age
In faltering accents died.
My swimming eyes to hide,
When on my ear that voice of age
In faltering accents died.
But he—that autumn leaf, that, lone,
Hung shivering on the tree—
Has dropped,—the aged man is gone;
He was,—but where is he?
Hung shivering on the tree—
Has dropped,—the aged man is gone;
He was,—but where is he?
Not trembling here! but we shall see,
Though in the dust no more,
His being bright reality,
Upon the spirit shore;—
Though in the dust no more,
His being bright reality,
Upon the spirit shore;—
37
Where many a lone, forsaken one,
Who here in sorrow bowed,
Will shine resplendent as the sun,
Come glorious from the cloud!
Who here in sorrow bowed,
Will shine resplendent as the sun,
Come glorious from the cloud!
No more beside this earthly rill
His bending form appears,
Where dawned his life, whose evening chill
Condensed its dew to tears.
His bending form appears,
Where dawned his life, whose evening chill
Condensed its dew to tears.
But, still, the little meadow stream
Doth clear and sparkling run,
All pleasant as a summer dream,
When summer toil is done.
Doth clear and sparkling run,
All pleasant as a summer dream,
When summer toil is done.
Still gayly singing, as it sung
Upon the natal day
Of that old man, 't is ever young,
While he hath passed away.
Upon the natal day
Of that old man, 't is ever young,
While he hath passed away.
Its lustrous eyes, that never sleep
By sun, or moon, or star,
Are to their fount of glory, deep
In ether fields afar.
By sun, or moon, or star,
Are to their fount of glory, deep
In ether fields afar.
Do clouds the vault of azure stain,
Rejoicing still, it sings;
Well knowing they 're to fall in rain,
And fill its hidden springs.
Rejoicing still, it sings;
Well knowing they 're to fall in rain,
And fill its hidden springs.
With spirit trustful, undefiled,
It runneth glad and free,
For ever playful, bright, and wild,
Like sportive infancy.
It runneth glad and free,
For ever playful, bright, and wild,
Like sportive infancy.
38
In thousand winsome vagaries
Adown the flowery mead,
The Brook itself the Poem is
'T were best to go and read.
Adown the flowery mead,
The Brook itself the Poem is
'T were best to go and read.
An aged man,—once speaking to the writer of the feelings he had experienced on a recent visit to his native place, which he left while yet in his boyhood, never having seen it again till now, in the evening of life,—alluding to his favorite brook, said with much emotion, “I went and sat down alone by that little brook; and there I rained tears.”
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