 | Poems of home and country |  |
157
THE PINE AND THE PALM.
AN ALLEGORY OF 1861–65.
On Northern hills where bleak winds blow,
And crystalled branches twine,
Stood, in its never-fading green,
A strong and stately pine.
The evening came with balmy breath,
And gold and purple dyes;
And glowing noon its heat diffused
From summer's ardent skies;
And tempests roared, with crashing might,—
But little cared the tree,
Rocked by the storms, it sang for joy
Its own sweet minstrelsy.
And crystalled branches twine,
Stood, in its never-fading green,
A strong and stately pine.
The evening came with balmy breath,
And gold and purple dyes;
And glowing noon its heat diffused
From summer's ardent skies;
And tempests roared, with crashing might,—
But little cared the tree,
Rocked by the storms, it sang for joy
Its own sweet minstrelsy.
On sunnier slopes, in milder airs,
In endless summer's calm,
In fragrant beauty towered on high
A graceful, nodding palm;
Proudly it tossed its emerald head,
Wrapped in its haughty scorn,
Like roses in the lovelit bower,
Girt by the bristling thorn.
In endless summer's calm,
In fragrant beauty towered on high
A graceful, nodding palm;
Proudly it tossed its emerald head,
Wrapped in its haughty scorn,
Like roses in the lovelit bower,
Girt by the bristling thorn.
At length the winds grew fierce and loud,
As through the palm they sung,
And reddening clouds around its head
A fiery lustre hung;
An angry cadence on the air
Seemed fitfully to float,
And pine and palm, as if in ire,
With wild, discordant note,
Driven by the tempest, answered each,
In sounds like rushing fire,
As if some demon in his wrath
Had swept his breaking lyre.
As through the palm they sung,
And reddening clouds around its head
A fiery lustre hung;
An angry cadence on the air
Seemed fitfully to float,
And pine and palm, as if in ire,
With wild, discordant note,
158
In sounds like rushing fire,
As if some demon in his wrath
Had swept his breaking lyre.
The sound passed on. A wreath of light
Came like a white-winged dove;
Hovered like angels in their flight,
A messenger of love;
Waved its bright form o'er pine and palm,
And touched them as it passed,—
The storm was laid, and notes of love
Came singing on the blast.
Came like a white-winged dove;
Hovered like angels in their flight,
A messenger of love;
Waved its bright form o'er pine and palm,
And touched them as it passed,—
The storm was laid, and notes of love
Came singing on the blast.
The flaming cloud dissolved in air;
It lost its fiery hue,
And quenched the crimson of its cheek
In heaven's immortal blue;
Peace shed again along the hills
Its breath of fragrant balm,—
The waving palm-tree blessed the pine,
The waving pine, the palm.
It lost its fiery hue,
And quenched the crimson of its cheek
In heaven's immortal blue;
Peace shed again along the hills
Its breath of fragrant balm,—
The waving palm-tree blessed the pine,
The waving pine, the palm.
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