 | [Communion with nature, in] The token and Atlantic souvenir |  |
76
COMMUNION WITH NATURE.
—‘All seasons shall be sweet to thee—
Whether the summer clothe the genial earth
With greenness, or the red-breast sit and sing
Betwixt the tufts of snow, on the bare branch
Of mossy apple-tree.’
Coleridge.
Whether the summer clothe the genial earth
With greenness, or the red-breast sit and sing
Betwixt the tufts of snow, on the bare branch
Of mossy apple-tree.’
Coleridge.
Farewell sweet, bowery summer—fare thee well—
Fast fades thy lingering smile on hill and dell,
Thy latest flowers are trembling in the blast,
And all the glories of thy reign o'ercast.
Sweet sang the wild-bird on the waving bough,
Where cold November winds are wailing now.
The chirp of insects on the sunny lea,
And the wild murmur of the wandering bee,
Are silent all—closed is their vesper lay,
Borne by the breeze of Autumn far away.
No more o'er bourne and brake I wander far,
Till warned of evening by her ‘folding star.’
No more I linger by the fountain's play
While the long hours glide unperceived away;
Nor by the flower-fringed borders of the stream
Where arching boughs shut out the sultry beam,
Making at noontide hours a dewy gloom
O'er the moist marge where weeds and wild flowers bloom;
Nor when the level sunbeams pour a flood
Of arrowy radiance through the twilight wood,
Mark, through the parted boughs, their quivering play,
Flecking the forest gloom with golden ray.
No longer doth the wild Clematis wear
A zone of stars amid her floating hair,
But decked in mournful plumes her tresses fall
Rude and neglected o'er the ruined wall.
Fast fades thy lingering smile on hill and dell,
Thy latest flowers are trembling in the blast,
And all the glories of thy reign o'ercast.
Sweet sang the wild-bird on the waving bough,
Where cold November winds are wailing now.
The chirp of insects on the sunny lea,
And the wild murmur of the wandering bee,
Are silent all—closed is their vesper lay,
Borne by the breeze of Autumn far away.
No more o'er bourne and brake I wander far,
Till warned of evening by her ‘folding star.’
No more I linger by the fountain's play
While the long hours glide unperceived away;
Nor by the flower-fringed borders of the stream
Where arching boughs shut out the sultry beam,
Making at noontide hours a dewy gloom
O'er the moist marge where weeds and wild flowers bloom;
Nor when the level sunbeams pour a flood
Of arrowy radiance through the twilight wood,
Mark, through the parted boughs, their quivering play,
Flecking the forest gloom with golden ray.
77
A zone of stars amid her floating hair,
But decked in mournful plumes her tresses fall
Rude and neglected o'er the ruined wall.
Yet still the withered heath I love to rove,
The bare, brown meadow and the leafless grove—
Still love to climb the mountain's rocky side
Where nodding asters wave in purple pride—
Or on the grey cliff lie, while far below
The rushing waters sweep in endless flow,
While through tall pines the loud winds pour a dirge
Hoarse as the roar of Ocean's stormy surge.
The bare, brown meadow and the leafless grove—
Still love to climb the mountain's rocky side
Where nodding asters wave in purple pride—
Or on the grey cliff lie, while far below
The rushing waters sweep in endless flow,
While through tall pines the loud winds pour a dirge
Hoarse as the roar of Ocean's stormy surge.
Still through dim tangled paths I love to stray
Where sere and rustling leaves obstruct the way,
To find the last, pale blossom of the year,
That strangely blooms when all is dark and drear,
The wild witch-hazel, fraught with mystic power
To ban or bless as sorcery rules the hour.
Where sere and rustling leaves obstruct the way,
To find the last, pale blossom of the year,
That strangely blooms when all is dark and drear,
The wild witch-hazel, fraught with mystic power
To ban or bless as sorcery rules the hour.
Oft mid the dewy damps of twilight grave,
I pause where Dian woos the sleeping wave,
Deep in the fountain's heart serene and cold
Glassing her glorious image—as of old—
When first she shone upon Endymion's rest
And his dark dreams with heavenly beauty blest.
Aye, for the heart that seeks its joys aright,
Each page of nature proffers new delight.
To such most welcome e'en thy stern career
‘O Winter, ruler of the inverted year.’
When through thy long dark nights, cold sleet and rain
Patter and plash against the frosty pane,
Warm curtained from the storm I love to lie,
Wakeful and listening to the lullaby
Of fitful winds, that as they rise and fall,
Send hollow murmurs through the echoing hall.
I pause where Dian woos the sleeping wave,
Deep in the fountain's heart serene and cold
Glassing her glorious image—as of old—
When first she shone upon Endymion's rest
And his dark dreams with heavenly beauty blest.
78
Each page of nature proffers new delight.
To such most welcome e'en thy stern career
‘O Winter, ruler of the inverted year.’
When through thy long dark nights, cold sleet and rain
Patter and plash against the frosty pane,
Warm curtained from the storm I love to lie,
Wakeful and listening to the lullaby
Of fitful winds, that as they rise and fall,
Send hollow murmurs through the echoing hall.
Oft by the blazing hearth at eventide
I love to mark the changing shadows glide
In flickering motion o'er the umber'd wall,
Till slumber's honey dew my senses thrall.
Then, while in dreamy consciousness I lie,
'Twixt sleep and waking, fairy fantasie
Culls from the golden past a treasured store,
And weaves a dream so sweet, hope could not ask for more.
I love to mark the changing shadows glide
In flickering motion o'er the umber'd wall,
Till slumber's honey dew my senses thrall.
Then, while in dreamy consciousness I lie,
'Twixt sleep and waking, fairy fantasie
Culls from the golden past a treasured store,
And weaves a dream so sweet, hope could not ask for more.
In the cold splendour of a frosty night,
When blazing stars burn with intenser light
Through the blue vault of heaven—when cold and clear
The air through which yon tall cliffs rise severe—
When sleeps the shrouded earth in solemn trance
Beneath the wan moon's melancholy glance,
I love to mark earth's sister planets rise
And in pale beauty tread the midnight skies;
While like lone pilgrims constant as the night
They fill their dark urns from the fount of light—
I love the Borealis flames that fly
Fitful and wild athwart the northern sky—
The storied constellations—like a page
Fraught with the wonders of a former age,
Where monsters grim, gorgons and hydras rise,
‘And Gods and heroes blaze along the skies.’
When blazing stars burn with intenser light
Through the blue vault of heaven—when cold and clear
The air through which yon tall cliffs rise severe—
When sleeps the shrouded earth in solemn trance
Beneath the wan moon's melancholy glance,
I love to mark earth's sister planets rise
And in pale beauty tread the midnight skies;
While like lone pilgrims constant as the night
They fill their dark urns from the fount of light—
79
Fitful and wild athwart the northern sky—
The storied constellations—like a page
Fraught with the wonders of a former age,
Where monsters grim, gorgons and hydras rise,
‘And Gods and heroes blaze along the skies.’
Thus nature's music, various as the hour,
Solemn or sweet hath ever mystic power,
Still to preserve the unperverted heart,
‘Awake to love and beauty,’ and impart
Treasures of thought and feeling pure and deep,
Which aid the doubting soul its heavenward course to keep!
Solemn or sweet hath ever mystic power,
Still to preserve the unperverted heart,
‘Awake to love and beauty,’ and impart
Treasures of thought and feeling pure and deep,
Which aid the doubting soul its heavenward course to keep!
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