 | Poems of home and travel |  |
109
SUMMER'S BACCHANAL.
Fill the cup from some secretest fountain,
Under granite ledges, deep and low,
Where the crystal vintage of the mountain
Runs in foam from dazzling fields of snow.
Under granite ledges, deep and low,
Where the crystal vintage of the mountain
Runs in foam from dazzling fields of snow.
Some lost stream, that in a woodland hollow
Coils, to sleep its weariness away,
Shut from prying stars, that fain would follow,
In the emerald glooms of hemlock spray.
Coils, to sleep its weariness away,
Shut from prying stars, that fain would follow,
In the emerald glooms of hemlock spray.
Fill, dear friend, a goblet dool and sparkling
As the sunlight of October morns,—
Not for us the crimson wave, that darkling
Stains the lips of olden drinking-horns!
As the sunlight of October morns,—
Not for us the crimson wave, that darkling
Stains the lips of olden drinking-horns!
110
We will quaff, beneath the noontide glowing,
Draughts of nectar, sweet as faery dew;
Couched on ferny banks, where light airs blowing,
Shake the leaves between us and the blue.
Draughts of nectar, sweet as faery dew;
Couched on ferny banks, where light airs blowing,
Shake the leaves between us and the blue.
We will pledge, in breathless, long libation,
All we have been, or have sworn to be,—
Fame, and Joy, and Love's dear adoration,—
Summer's lusty bacchanals are we!
All we have been, or have sworn to be,—
Fame, and Joy, and Love's dear adoration,—
Summer's lusty bacchanals are we!
Fill again, and let our goblets, clashing,
Stir the feathery ripples on the brim:
Let the light, within their bosoms flashing,
Leap like youth to every idle limb!
Stir the feathery ripples on the brim:
Let the light, within their bosoms flashing,
Leap like youth to every idle limb!
Round the white roots of the fragrant lily,
And the mossy hazels, purple-stained,
Once the music of these waters chilly
Gave return for all the sweetness drained.
And the mossy hazels, purple-stained,
Once the music of these waters chilly
Gave return for all the sweetness drained.
How that rare, delicious, woodland flavor
Mocked my palate in the fever hours,
When I pined for springs of coolest savor,
As the burning Earth for thunder-showers!
Mocked my palate in the fever hours,
When I pined for springs of coolest savor,
As the burning Earth for thunder-showers!
111
In the wave, which through my maddened dreaming
Flowed to cheat me, fill the cups again!
Drink, dear friend, to life which is not seeming,—
Fresh as this to manhood's heart and brain!
Flowed to cheat me, fill the cups again!
Drink, dear friend, to life which is not seeming,—
Fresh as this to manhood's heart and brain!
Fill, fill high! and while our goblets, ringing,
Shine with vintage of the mountain-snow,
Youth shall bid his Fountain, blithely springing,
Brim our souls to endless overflow!
Shine with vintage of the mountain-snow,
Youth shall bid his Fountain, blithely springing,
Brim our souls to endless overflow!
| Poems of home and travel | |