 | Forest buds, from the woods of Maine |  |
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THE HAUNTED RIVER.
I sit by a beautiful river,
Whose waves, dancing on to the sea,
Are kissing each other in gladness,
And laughing like children in glee.
Whose waves, dancing on to the sea,
Are kissing each other in gladness,
And laughing like children in glee.
It flows amid flower-gemmed meadows,
And eddies through blossomy dells,
And, to every fresh leaf-spray that greets it,
A tale of new melody tells.
And eddies through blossomy dells,
And, to every fresh leaf-spray that greets it,
A tale of new melody tells.
When twilight with covetous fingers
Afar in the shadowy west,
Has gathered the roses of sunset,
And hidden them under her vest,—
Afar in the shadowy west,
Has gathered the roses of sunset,
And hidden them under her vest,—
I love by its margin to wander,
For sweetest of music to me
Is the song rippling up from its bosom,
In numbers triumphant and free.
For sweetest of music to me
Is the song rippling up from its bosom,
In numbers triumphant and free.
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The charm of an olden tradition
Hangs over the beautiful place,
Investing its wildering sweetness
With a sacred and mystical grace.
Hangs over the beautiful place,
Investing its wildering sweetness
With a sacred and mystical grace.
'T is a tale of a sunny-eyed maiden
Who dwelt by the murmuring stream,
With a form and a face which were fairer
Than the shapes in a summer-night's dream.
Who dwelt by the murmuring stream,
With a form and a face which were fairer
Than the shapes in a summer-night's dream.
But there came a dark sorrow, that blighted
Her heart to its innermost core,
And the gladness returned to her spirit,
And the smile to her sweet lips no more.
Her heart to its innermost core,
And the gladness returned to her spirit,
And the smile to her sweet lips no more.
One night in the beautiful season
Which follows the summer's decline,
When beams from the fair face of heaven
A smile that is almost divine,—
Which follows the summer's decline,
When beams from the fair face of heaven
A smile that is almost divine,—
When her chaplet of crimson and golden
The goddess of autumn-time weaves,
And berries like clusters of rubies
Hide under the emerald leaves,—
The goddess of autumn-time weaves,
And berries like clusters of rubies
Hide under the emerald leaves,—
She parted the curls from her forehead,
And bound them with glittering gems,
And looped up their rich glossy masses
With lilies and daffodil stems,—
And bound them with glittering gems,
And looped up their rich glossy masses
With lilies and daffodil stems,—
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And decked in pure snowy-white garments
Befitting a newly-made bride,
She loosened her boat from its mooring,
And rowed o'er the glistening tide.
Befitting a newly-made bride,
She loosened her boat from its mooring,
And rowed o'er the glistening tide.
And when the glad morning was shaking
The light from her tresses of gold,
And the folds of her many-hued mantle
Again in the east were enrolled,
The light from her tresses of gold,
And the folds of her many-hued mantle
Again in the east were enrolled,
And the wood-birds, to welcome her coming
Were warbling their merriest strain,
The boat lay alone on the water
But the maiden returned not again.
Were warbling their merriest strain,
The boat lay alone on the water
But the maiden returned not again.
And 't is said in the gathering twilight
Of autumn's soft whispering eves,
When sweetly the river is singing
Its song to the listening leaves,
Of autumn's soft whispering eves,
When sweetly the river is singing
Its song to the listening leaves,
When the wind, with a mother's devotion
Has rocked the faint blossoms to rest,
And the white moonlight lies like a spirit
Asleep on the river's soft breast,
Has rocked the faint blossoms to rest,
And the white moonlight lies like a spirit
Asleep on the river's soft breast,
With a dipping of shadowy paddles
Which noiselessly tremble and gleam,
A boat, like a silvery crescent
Comes floating adown the bright stream.
Which noiselessly tremble and gleam,
A boat, like a silvery crescent
Comes floating adown the bright stream.
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And there, with her lily-twined tresses,
A snowy-white bridal array,
The beautiful maiden sits guiding
The boat on its star-lighted way.
A snowy-white bridal array,
The beautiful maiden sits guiding
The boat on its star-lighted way.
Ah! oft have I mused on the story,
Alone in this shadowy place,
Till I almost could see in the waters
The gleam of a beautiful face,—
Alone in this shadowy place,
Till I almost could see in the waters
The gleam of a beautiful face,—
Till dimly my watching eyes pictured
In a far away curve of the stream,
The spirit-like boat of the maiden
And her white garments' quivering gleam.
In a far away curve of the stream,
The spirit-like boat of the maiden
And her white garments' quivering gleam.
| Forest buds, from the woods of Maine | |