Poems of home and country :: :: University of Virginia Library

Humble is my little cottage;
Yet it is the seat of bliss.
Anger never dwells among us,
Only peace and happiness;
Kindness there you always see,
And the sweetest harmony.

PLEASURES OF NATURE.

How sweet 'tis to play,
In the green fields in May,
Beneath the tall trees,
Or after school hours,
To pluck the sweet flowers,
And feel the fresh breeze!

How pleasant to look
In the murmuring brook,
And hear its soft sound!
How happy are we!
How nimble and free,
We skip o'er the ground!

328

Now gone is the light;
Now comes the dark night;
All still is the vale.
We'll go to our rest,
Nor wake till redbreast,
Renews his soft tale.

THE PLEASURES OF INNOCENCE.

Bliss is hovering, smiling, everywhere,—
Hovering o'er the verdant mountain,
Smiling in the glassy fountain;
Bliss is hovering, smiling, everywhere.

Tender love is active everywhere,—
Active in the shady bower,
In the little modest flower;
Tender love is active everywhere.

Innocence unseen is ever near;
In the tall tree-top it lingers,
In the nest of feathered singers,—
Innocence unseen is ever near.

Pleasure echoes, echoes far and near;
From the green bank decked with flowers,
Sunny hills, and pleasant bowers,—
Pleasure echoes, echoes far and near.

Up and weave us now a flowery crown;
See the blossoms all unfolding,
Each its beauteous station holding,—
Up and weave us now a flowery crown.

329

Go ye forth and join the May-day throng;
Sings the cuckoo by the river,
In the breeze the young leaves quiver,—
Go ye forth and join the May-day throng.

MY DELIGHT.

Through the grassy fields to run,
And to see the pleasant sun,
And soft twilight;
Through the meadow and the grove,
With my nimble feet to rove,—
Is my delight.

From the lofty hill to view,
The fair sky so bright and blue,
And clouds of white;
And some lovely song to sing,
While I hear the echo ring,—
Is my delight.

When so happy and so gay,
Through the flowery meads I stray,
All fair and bright,
There to pluck a rose for you,
Bright and sparkling with the dew,
Is my delight.

In the bower of shady trees,
Shaken by the gentle breeze,
By morning light,
Little Robin there to hear,
Singing praises without fear,
Is my delight.

330

ON WAKING IN THE MORNING.

Arouse up, ye sleepers, the morning has come!
The sun has awakened the insects' soft hum;
The sheep to the fields go,
The men to the meadow,
And all to their labor till daylight grows low.

Oh, lose not the brightness of morning's young beams;
The beauties of Nature are sweeter than dreams.
Your downy bed leaving,
Go forth till the evening
Its fragrant air breathes, and the night-warblers sing.

THE RAIN.

See, the rain is falling
On the mountain's side;
From the clouds dispensing
Blessings far and wide!
How the cooling shower
Brightens every flower,
Makes the sun-parched land
With fresh blooms expand.

Now the rain is over,
See the painted bow,
O'er the distant hilltop,
All its colors show.
God is ever faithful;
Let us all be grateful,
For the rain and dew,
And the cloudless blue.

331

PRAYER BEFORE SCHOOL.

For our life, so young and pleasing,
Father, we
Sing to Thee
Praises never ceasing.

Let us, filled with pious feeling,
Waked from rest,
Neatly drest,
Humbly now be kneeling.

Give us, Lord, a zeal for learning;
Mercy we
Seek from Thee;
Make our minds discerning.

May we, through the love of Jesus,
Feel Thy power,
Every hour,
From sin to release us.

THE SPRING IS COME.

The spring is come! and vales and mountains
Are clothed anew in lovely green,
And purling streams and mossy fountains,
And blooming flowers adorn the scene;
Oh, listen to the insect hum,—
The spring, the spring is come!

332

The spring is come! New life is gleaming,
In the fresh earth and brilliant sky;
The warm sun on the earth is beaming;
And heaven is full of melody.
And listen to the insect hum,—
The spring, the spring is come!

The spring is come! Away with dulness!
Go to the rich and verdant fields;
While morning glows in all its fulness,
Go taste the joys the spring-time yields,
And listen to the insect hum,—
The spring, the spring is come!

THE GARDEN.

Come, children, and now to the garden we'll go,
Where cowslips and snow-drops and buttercups grow.

The blossoms we'll pluck with a childish delight,
And get us a bunch of the red and the white.

We'll plant the dark roots, the young shoots we'll stick down,
To weave us next May-day a flowery crown.

Again at our school, when the dear bell shall ring,
Our tasks we will learn and our songs we will sing.

333

SPRING FLOWERS.

Kind, the spring appears;
Softest smiles it wears.
Lovely flowers are springing;
Happy birds are singing,
On the fair green trees,
Waving in the breeze.

Blooming on the ground,
Many flowers are found;
But so modest keeping,
On the green banks sleeping,
By the rivulet,
Seek the violet.

How it fills the air,
With its fragrance there!
Lovely, little flower!
Bending to the shower,
May we learn of thee
Sweet humility.

334

THE THREE FLOWERS.

There bloom three young flowers, so sweet and fair,
In Nature's wild, flourishing garden,
On mountains and hillsides, in forests and vales,
As if playing watcher and warden;
Your beauties, sweet flowers, are rich and divine;
They bloom in the field; in the nosegay they shine.

The buttercup, first, all spring-time so bright,
Like glittering beads, strung in order;
Its blossoms like dew-drops, the daughters of night,
Gem the fields, and the green roadsides border;
Wherever its clear yellow flowers you see,
Its honey-cup swells with the food of the bee.

The violet, next, in its liveliest blue,
In green, clasping leaflets half-covered,
The spring-meadow fills with its fragrant perfume,
Where the red-breast, by morning-light, hovered;
The image of mildness and modesty, too,
Is the violet-flower, of heavenly hue.

And then, where the sparkling fountain gleams,
Beneath the noon-sunlight so splendid,
The flower-de-luce, with its triple bell, smiles,
Till the days of the spring-time are ended;
'T is sacred to friendship and sacred to love,
The emblem of union in heaven above.

335

A SONG IN THE WOODS.

In the cool and leafy grove,
Hand in hand we love to rove,
While in every shady tree,
Birds tune up their melody;
Let us join their happy song,
And the harmony prolong.

Of the mighty oaks we'll sing,
And the flowers that near them spring;
Of the trees above our head,
And the grass on which we tread;
Of the little verdant hills,
Purling brooks, and running rills.

Listen how the rustling leaves,
Ever quivering in the breeze,
Send forth each a separate sound
To the echoing woods around,—
Sounds of praise to Him who made
Pine-clad hills and forest-glade.

See around the brilliant flowers,
Freshened by the evening showers,
Bright by morning, bright by night,
When comes, and when fades, the light
In the cool and leafy grove,
Hand in hand we love to rove.

336

THE HUNTSMAN'S SONG.

Trarah! Trarah!
The morning hoar-frost on the cold earth glistens;
The bleak wind whistles so fresh and cold,
The huntsman arouses and listens;
The horn is winding so clear and shrill,
It calls him abroad to the sunny hill;
Trarah! Trarah!
The sunny hill,
Trarah! Trarah! Trarah!

Trarah! Trarah!
The winter's breeze makes strong his very marrow.
Up fly the birds—and his eye is clear;
He seizes the sharp gleaming arrow,
And scours the hillside where waved the corn,
Led on by the voice of the hunting-horn.
Trarah! Trarah!
The hunting-horn,
Trarah! Trarah! Trarah!

Trarah! Trarah!
It calls away,—the sound of sport and pleasure.
The hounds are ready; away we go!
The evening our frolic shall measure.
The horn is winding; the game is here;
And the echo salutes us far and near,—
Trarah! Trarah!
The game is here;
Trarah! Trarah! Trarah!

337

INVITATION TO THE COUNTRY.

The winter winds are gone;
Fresh dews and summer showers,
Green grass and blooming flowers,
Brighten the pleasant lawn.

Come, see the springing corn;
Come, hear the soft birds singing;
Come, hear their music ringing
At crimson eve and morn.

Come to the land of song,—
The land of sweetest fragrance
Where pleasure throws its radiance,
And music floats along.

Up to the hill-tops come,
Where bloom the tasselled flowers,
And spring, with freshened flowers,
Raises its insect hum.

THE LITTLE WEAVER.

I am a little weaver, and pleasant are my days;
My little wheel keeps whirling, and round me kitty plays.
My life so calm and happy, so bright and active is,
There is no joy I wish for to crown my cup of bliss.

338

My songs are never silent but in the peaceful night;
I always rise to labor when day is growing light;
But though I am so busy, I'm sure I do not care;
They rather should be pitied, who always idle are.

And while my wheel keeps whirling, the hours they seem not long;
I feel all day so happy, so lively is my song.
My work, it never wearies, but gives me health, you see;
And I am always cheerful,—oh, don't you envy me?

I care not for the dainties and all the fancy things,
Which from beyond the ocean the rich man's vessel brings;
My turnips and potatoes I am content to eat;
Nor will I ever murmur for want of food more sweet.

THE LITTLE STAR.

A star shines in the heavens,
With soft and tender light;
How pleasant is its radiance!
'T is gone—and now 't is bright.

I knew the place, at evening,
Where over me it stood,
Where doves all day were cooing,
Over the thick green wood.

I looked to see it twinkle,
Up in the brilliant blue;
For to its mighty station,
It soon would come, I knew.

339

OUR PLEASANT VILLAGE.

Oh, see how bright and sweetly shines
Our village in the evening,
While crimson clouds and streaks of gold
Their fairy forms are weaving!
How peaceful is the dewy air!
No place on earth is half so fair.

Look, how the polished window-panes
The parting sunbeams lighten;
And autumn's scarlet-colored leaves,
Touched by the red rays, brighten.
Oh, see our pretty village there!
No place on earth is half so fair.

And now the burning sun is gone;
It only tips the towers
That rise above the temple roof;
And now the darkness lowers.
But still our village glimmers there;
No place on earth is half so fair.

340

SALUTATION TO THE VILLAGE.

Little vale, with fairy meadows!
Trees, that spread your leafy hands!
Flowers, clothed in softest beauty,
Lovelier than eastern lands!
Village! home of every treasure,
Thee we sing in strains of pleasure;
Village in the silent vale,
Lovely village! thee we hail!

How thy pleasant evening-shadows
Make our troubled passions cease;
And they thy bright and purling rivers
Fill our souls with hallowed peace.
Village! tender thoughts promoting,
Like the clouds in azure floating;
Village in the silent vale,
Lovely village! thee we hail!

In thy green and sunny pathways,
Near thy bright and glassy streams,
Free from care we love to wander,
Cheered by summer's radiant beams:
Scenes of sweetest recollection,
Sacred to the soul's reflection,
Village in the silent vale,
Lovely village! thee we hail!

341

FAREWELL TO THE VILLAGE.

Silent vale! where love and pleasure
Ever round our cottage flowed;
Beauteous as the western evening,
Lovely as the sunlit cloud;
Peaceful as the vesper bell,—
Thee we bid a long farewell.
Fare thee well! Fare thee well!

Fare ye well, ye ancient beeches,
Which have shielded oft our head;
Still be green, ye sunny meadows;
Fields with brightest flowers bespread,—
Scenes, where oft the reapers' song
Swelled in echoes sweet and strong.
All farewell! All farewell!

Pleasant village! oft thy beauties
Shall revive within our breast,
And the lovely recollection
Soothe, like visits from the blest.
Often to our tearful eyes
Shall thy cherished image rise.
Fare thee well! Fare thee well!

342

HAIL, BETHLEHEM'S STAR!

The gloomy night is fleeing fast,
The morning star appears;
Its glowing rays a splendor cast
On morning's dewy tears.
Come, let us join in cheerful praises,
While Nature her sweet pæan raises;
The morning star appears.

Fair star! thy charms have ne'er declined
Since first thy beams were given,—
Like golden chains that firmly bind
The distant earth and heaven.
Oh, praise the Lord, as on the morning
When angels sang the lovely dawning
Of Bethlehem's star in heaven!

Let thousand voices swell the strain;
Let praises loudly ring;
Let melody the soul enchain,
And all creation sing.
Hail, Bethlehem's star, thy light, abiding,
Thro' stormy life our path still guiding,
To heaven our feet shall bring.

343

NATIVE LAND, SO LOVELY.

Evening winds are breathing,
Through the forest green;
Crimson clouds are wreathing,
In the sky, serene.

Trees, so tall and branching,
Relics of the past,
In the soft breeze waving,
Roaring in the blast,

Bloom in future ages,
Bloom in Freedom's light;
Though the tempest rages,
Stand in all your might.

Native land, so lovely,
Bright thy beauties are;
Long may noon beam o'er thee,
Let thy night be far.

On thy rising glories,
Let the clear light glow,
Clearer than the mid-day,
On the spotless snow.

344

SUMMER EVENING.

The summer evening
Bright wreaths is weaving,
Round vale and hill;
The dewy flowers
Perfume the bowers,
And all is still.

The moon shines brightly,
The birds rest lightly
Among the trees.
The reapers, singing,
Are homeward bringing
Their yellow sheaves.

Now day is over,
The little rover
Must be at rest.
Till purple morning
Awakes the dawning,
In glory drest.