 | Poems by John Howard Bryant |  |
95
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
THE MAPLES.
In the shadow of the maples,
That cluster round my home,
I watch the silent changes,
That with the seasons come.
That cluster round my home,
I watch the silent changes,
That with the seasons come.
'Tis six and forty summers,
Since the naked prairie land,
With the slender forest saplings,
Was planted by my hand.
Since the naked prairie land,
With the slender forest saplings,
Was planted by my hand.
Then so slender, now so sturdy,
Their round tops towering high,
While beneath them on the greensward,
The broad, dark shadows lie.
Their round tops towering high,
While beneath them on the greensward,
The broad, dark shadows lie.
And still in youthful vigor,
The struggling branches climb;
While my life's powers are ebbing,
With the passing years of time.
The struggling branches climb;
While my life's powers are ebbing,
With the passing years of time.
96
Beneath these spreading branches,
Cool as the sky o'ercast
I dream of the boundless future,
And muse on the mighty past.
Cool as the sky o'ercast
I dream of the boundless future,
And muse on the mighty past.
Here sometimes quiet voices.
Speak to my inner ear,
In soft and tender accents,
What none but I can hear.
Speak to my inner ear,
In soft and tender accents,
What none but I can hear.
And I think, but not with sadness,
When I in earth am laid,
How after generations
Will bless this grateful shade.
When I in earth am laid,
How after generations
Will bless this grateful shade.
Here friends in social converse,
Pass happy hours away,
And then, as now, will graybeards
Find pastime in croquet.
Pass happy hours away,
And then, as now, will graybeards
Find pastime in croquet.
Here then, shall children gather,
For sport at summer noon,
When clover blooms are drooping,
In the burning heat of June.
For sport at summer noon,
When clover blooms are drooping,
In the burning heat of June.
Here each returning season,
Build the robin and the jay,
And the oriole and throstle
Sing the summer months away.
Build the robin and the jay,
And the oriole and throstle
Sing the summer months away.
97
I love those merry wood-birds,
And sitting here I bless
The gentle winds that pass me,
With whisper and caress.
And sitting here I bless
The gentle winds that pass me,
With whisper and caress.
O! birds and summer zephyrs,
In a better home than this,
Shall I hear your joyous singing,
And feel the soft wind's kiss?
In a better home than this,
Shall I hear your joyous singing,
And feel the soft wind's kiss?
And the once familiar faces
That I yearn to see again,
Will they meet me at the threshold,
And smile upon me then?
That I yearn to see again,
Will they meet me at the threshold,
And smile upon me then?
Those six and forty summers,
Like a dream have passed away,
And the day these trees were planted,
Now seems but yesterday.
Like a dream have passed away,
And the day these trees were planted,
Now seems but yesterday.
Since then how many dear ones,
From earth's bright scenes have gone,
While I a little longer,
Am left to journey on.
From earth's bright scenes have gone,
While I a little longer,
Am left to journey on.
How swift time's restless current,
That bears our lives away,
How soon fair brows are wrinkled
And auburn locks are gray.
That bears our lives away,
How soon fair brows are wrinkled
And auburn locks are gray.
98
'Tis a trite and hackneyed subject,
This rapid flight of time;
It is one that men have grieved about,
In every age and clime—
This rapid flight of time;
It is one that men have grieved about,
In every age and clime—
And I doubt not old Methuselah
Felt that nature did him wrong,
As he marked how fast the centuries
Were hurrying him along.
Felt that nature did him wrong,
As he marked how fast the centuries
Were hurrying him along.
And there is a tradition
That at last he died of grief,
O'er his lack of opportunity
In a life so very brief.
That at last he died of grief,
O'er his lack of opportunity
In a life so very brief.
As it is with money-getting,
So with life, 'till life is o'er;
Man seldom has so much of it,
But he wants a little more.
So with life, 'till life is o'er;
Man seldom has so much of it,
But he wants a little more.
And those with locks all hoary,
Spite of life's pains and tears,
Would cling to earthly being,
I wis a thousand years.
Spite of life's pains and tears,
Would cling to earthly being,
I wis a thousand years.
And who would leave earth's gladness,
Its breath and light and bloom,
For the coldness and the darkness,
And the silence of the tomb?
Its breath and light and bloom,
For the coldness and the darkness,
And the silence of the tomb?
99
For this world is full of beauty,
The raidient sky o'erhead,
The awe inspiring mountains,
The vales with verdure spread.
The raidient sky o'erhead,
The awe inspiring mountains,
The vales with verdure spread.
These homes of sweet affections,
Of gentle deeds of love;
The men of firm uprightness
That human virtue prove.
Of gentle deeds of love;
The men of firm uprightness
That human virtue prove.
These things and countless others,
That charm life's onward way,
Make glad its opening morning,
And cheer its evening ray.
That charm life's onward way,
Make glad its opening morning,
And cheer its evening ray.
'Tis true its paths are toilsome,
At times exceeding rough;
But save its crimes and sorrows,
This world is good enough.
At times exceeding rough;
But save its crimes and sorrows,
This world is good enough.
And He whose hand hath formed it,
Plain, mountain, sky and flood,
When the great work was finished
Pronounced his labor good.
Plain, mountain, sky and flood,
When the great work was finished
Pronounced his labor good.
100
A RECOLLECTION.
The night was so calm, so silent,
I could hear the beat of my heart,
Like the faint throb of an engine
Nearing some distant mart,
Or laboring up the mountain,
Whence the river fountains start
To exchange the bread of the country
For the city's wealth in art.
I could hear the beat of my heart,
Like the faint throb of an engine
Nearing some distant mart,
Or laboring up the mountain,
Whence the river fountains start
To exchange the bread of the country
For the city's wealth in art.
No voice in the starry heaven;
In the trees no whispering sound;
No hum of droning insect
Came up from the brooding ground;
And a sense of fear stole o'er me
In that silence so profound,
For it seemed as if life had perished
From everything around.
In the trees no whispering sound;
No hum of droning insect
Came up from the brooding ground;
And a sense of fear stole o'er me
In that silence so profound,
For it seemed as if life had perished
From everything around.
And I mused on those distant cycles
When the great Earth swung in night,
Ere an ear had been created,
Or an eye received the light.
And I stood in awe at the wisdom,
The matchless skill and might
Of the great and good All Father,
Who rules by love and right.
When the great Earth swung in night,
Ere an ear had been created,
Or an eye received the light.
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The matchless skill and might
Of the great and good All Father,
Who rules by love and right.
Who shed, over all His glory—
The beauty that round us glows;
Who fills the world with His bounty,
Tints every flower that blows,
And opens the gates of the morning
And gives the night's repose;
And quickens the tide of being
That over His universe flows.
The beauty that round us glows;
Who fills the world with His bounty,
Tints every flower that blows,
And opens the gates of the morning
And gives the night's repose;
And quickens the tide of being
That over His universe flows.
And I dreamed of the life immortal,
Where the gardens of Paradise lie,
Clothed in a living splendor,
Never seen by mortal eye;
The mansions—the homes eternal,
Airy and vast and high,
And Life's river, pure as crystal,
Whose fountains shall never dry.
Where the gardens of Paradise lie,
Clothed in a living splendor,
Never seen by mortal eye;
The mansions—the homes eternal,
Airy and vast and high,
And Life's river, pure as crystal,
Whose fountains shall never dry.
102
BORDER COURTSHIP—A REMINISCENCE.
Where the highway winds down a hill,
Beside a sparkling woodland rill,
In the mild winter thirty-three,
A wigwam stood beneath a tree,
A lordly oak, whose branches gray,
Hung o'er the passing traveler's way,
Until the woodman's echoing stroke
The silence of the forest broke,
And felled to earth the giant oak.
Within that wigwam snug and warm,
Close sheltered from the winter storm,
Dwelt a proud chieftain of the band
That erst possessed this lovely land.
Maumese his name, and, by his side
A forest girl his stay and pride,
A gentle princess of the wood
Whose form and air betrayed her blood.
'Twas there a settler's roving son,
A blooming youth scarce twenty-one,
Sought for and found the Chieftain's daughter,
In her lone home by Bureau's water.
Bashful at first the lovers sat
Within a wigwam on a mat,
But soon found out with little pother,
A way to understand each other;
For love's soft language in rehearsal,
The poet's say is universal.
Maumese had gone with day's first beam,
To hunt the deer along the stream,
Nor yet returned, though to his rest
The sun was sinking in the west,
Which left the damsel quite at ease
To study arts her beau to please.
Her youthful suitor to beguile
She wore her sweetest, gentlest smile;
Plaited with nice assiduous care,
Each flowing tress of jetty hair;
Bound with a ribbon gay her waist,
To make it more in English taste;
Arranged her beads and silver rings,
Bracelets, and various trivial things,
Which add such charms to beauty's face,
And heighten every female grace;
Around her dusky shoulders drew,
A cotton scarf of azure hue;
And thus in all her pride arrayed,
The white man wooed the Indian maid.
Stately was she in form and mien,
Fit pattern for a forrest queen;
Her step was lighter than the fawn's
That bounded o'er those blooming lawns.
Her dark eye shed a pensive ray,
Soft as the violets of May
That smiled amid the solitudes
Of these her native plains and woods.
On passed the days, 'till wore away
The winter months, and bright and gay
In the soft airs of April sprung
The wood-flowers, and the wild birds sung
Amid the boughs that waived above
That home of happiness and love.
For, while the wintry season flew,
Acquaintance into friendship grew;
Friendship to love, until, at last,
The golden links seemed strong and fast;
When without notice to the lovers,
Maumese the wigwam roof uncovers,
Unloosed his ponies from their stakes,
And started for the northern lakes,
To meet his brother chiefs and sires
Around the Nation's council fires.
Ah! who can tell what pangs of grief,
Pierced the young daughter of the chief?
How streamed with tears those beaming eyes,
How her dark bosom heaved with sighs,
When thus at one relentless stroke,
The golden chain of love was broke.
And as her pony climbed the hill,
She gazed behind, and listened still,
If haply she again might see
Her lover's form beneath a tree,
Or hear him sing, so sweet to her,
The Indian Philosopher.
But e'er the nightfall closed the day,
Long miles of rugged distance lay
Between the lovers—parted, never
To meet again on earth forever!
When the sun rose to noon's full height,
And filled the wood with warmth and light,
Our lover sauntering through the grove,
Sought the lone dwelling of his love.
As midst her marble piles o'erthrown
Old exiled Marius sat alone,
And wept the sad and mournful fate
Of Carthage, fallen and desolate;
Even so our hero, when he stood
By that lone wigwam of the wood,—
No sound of human footstep there,
Its bare poles quivering to the air,
Its hearth's cold ashes slaked and strown,
The maid he loved far distant gone,
O'er blasted hopes with bleeding heart,
Wept with a keener, bitterer smart.
Deride him not ye scornful girls,
With blooming cheeks and flaxen curls,
Those tears were honorably shed
As Anthony's o'er Cæsar dead.
And know like anguish and despair
Your hearts may yet be doomed to bear.
As bends the sapling to the blast,
Yet stands erect when storms are past;
Sometimes the human soul, bowed low
By disappointment's cruel blow,
By firm resolve casts off the pain,
And stands erect and healed again.
Not so our pale-faced youth. Love's dart
Had pierced too deep his wounded heart;
And in his struggle for relief,
To dissipate the inward grief,
That plagued him more than gout or phthisic,
Resolved to learn the art of physic,
And delve within that mine of thought,
'Till his keen anguish was forgot.
What trifles change the course of life
From scenes of love to toil and strife!
And eke from scenes of toil and pain,
To scenes of love and peace again.
So the frail leaves of Autumn, shed
Upon the streamlets sandy bed,
Resist the struggling currents force,
Obstruct its way, and change its course.
Had not the fates thus stepped between
Our hero and the forest queen,
Until the work by love begun,
Had melted both hearts into one,
What different course their lives had run.
Perhaps our lover might have stood
Among the chieftains of the wood,
And ruled as the superior mind
Rules in the councils of its kind;
Or else had led the dusky maid,
Timid, and shrinking and afraid,
Where fashions votaries held the sway,
In towns and cities far away.
Or, haply, they had built their home
By some lone stream where violets bloom,
And reared beside the quiet waters,
A stately group of sons and daughters;
Sons, in whose form and martial mien,
The chieftain grandsire might be seen.
Some Randolph, with eccentric mind,
Keen, shrewd, sarcastic and refined;
And buxom girls, with flaxen hair,
And cheeks of dusky shadow, where
The Saxon blood came mantling through,
And eyes of heaven's serenest blue.
But fancy wearies in the chase
Of things that might have taken place,
Had not the fates thus snapped the chain,
By Cupid forged to bind the twain.
Beside a sparkling woodland rill,
In the mild winter thirty-three,
A wigwam stood beneath a tree,
A lordly oak, whose branches gray,
Hung o'er the passing traveler's way,
Until the woodman's echoing stroke
The silence of the forest broke,
And felled to earth the giant oak.
Within that wigwam snug and warm,
Close sheltered from the winter storm,
Dwelt a proud chieftain of the band
That erst possessed this lovely land.
Maumese his name, and, by his side
A forest girl his stay and pride,
A gentle princess of the wood
Whose form and air betrayed her blood.
'Twas there a settler's roving son,
A blooming youth scarce twenty-one,
Sought for and found the Chieftain's daughter,
In her lone home by Bureau's water.
Bashful at first the lovers sat
103
But soon found out with little pother,
A way to understand each other;
For love's soft language in rehearsal,
The poet's say is universal.
Maumese had gone with day's first beam,
To hunt the deer along the stream,
Nor yet returned, though to his rest
The sun was sinking in the west,
Which left the damsel quite at ease
To study arts her beau to please.
Her youthful suitor to beguile
She wore her sweetest, gentlest smile;
Plaited with nice assiduous care,
Each flowing tress of jetty hair;
Bound with a ribbon gay her waist,
To make it more in English taste;
Arranged her beads and silver rings,
Bracelets, and various trivial things,
Which add such charms to beauty's face,
And heighten every female grace;
Around her dusky shoulders drew,
A cotton scarf of azure hue;
And thus in all her pride arrayed,
The white man wooed the Indian maid.
Stately was she in form and mien,
Fit pattern for a forrest queen;
104
That bounded o'er those blooming lawns.
Her dark eye shed a pensive ray,
Soft as the violets of May
That smiled amid the solitudes
Of these her native plains and woods.
On passed the days, 'till wore away
The winter months, and bright and gay
In the soft airs of April sprung
The wood-flowers, and the wild birds sung
Amid the boughs that waived above
That home of happiness and love.
For, while the wintry season flew,
Acquaintance into friendship grew;
Friendship to love, until, at last,
The golden links seemed strong and fast;
When without notice to the lovers,
Maumese the wigwam roof uncovers,
Unloosed his ponies from their stakes,
And started for the northern lakes,
To meet his brother chiefs and sires
Around the Nation's council fires.
Ah! who can tell what pangs of grief,
Pierced the young daughter of the chief?
How streamed with tears those beaming eyes,
How her dark bosom heaved with sighs,
When thus at one relentless stroke,
105
And as her pony climbed the hill,
She gazed behind, and listened still,
If haply she again might see
Her lover's form beneath a tree,
Or hear him sing, so sweet to her,
The Indian Philosopher.
But e'er the nightfall closed the day,
Long miles of rugged distance lay
Between the lovers—parted, never
To meet again on earth forever!
When the sun rose to noon's full height,
And filled the wood with warmth and light,
Our lover sauntering through the grove,
Sought the lone dwelling of his love.
As midst her marble piles o'erthrown
Old exiled Marius sat alone,
And wept the sad and mournful fate
Of Carthage, fallen and desolate;
Even so our hero, when he stood
By that lone wigwam of the wood,—
No sound of human footstep there,
Its bare poles quivering to the air,
Its hearth's cold ashes slaked and strown,
The maid he loved far distant gone,
O'er blasted hopes with bleeding heart,
Wept with a keener, bitterer smart.
Deride him not ye scornful girls,
106
Those tears were honorably shed
As Anthony's o'er Cæsar dead.
And know like anguish and despair
Your hearts may yet be doomed to bear.
As bends the sapling to the blast,
Yet stands erect when storms are past;
Sometimes the human soul, bowed low
By disappointment's cruel blow,
By firm resolve casts off the pain,
And stands erect and healed again.
Not so our pale-faced youth. Love's dart
Had pierced too deep his wounded heart;
And in his struggle for relief,
To dissipate the inward grief,
That plagued him more than gout or phthisic,
Resolved to learn the art of physic,
And delve within that mine of thought,
'Till his keen anguish was forgot.
What trifles change the course of life
From scenes of love to toil and strife!
And eke from scenes of toil and pain,
To scenes of love and peace again.
So the frail leaves of Autumn, shed
Upon the streamlets sandy bed,
Resist the struggling currents force,
Obstruct its way, and change its course.
Had not the fates thus stepped between
107
Until the work by love begun,
Had melted both hearts into one,
What different course their lives had run.
Perhaps our lover might have stood
Among the chieftains of the wood,
And ruled as the superior mind
Rules in the councils of its kind;
Or else had led the dusky maid,
Timid, and shrinking and afraid,
Where fashions votaries held the sway,
In towns and cities far away.
Or, haply, they had built their home
By some lone stream where violets bloom,
And reared beside the quiet waters,
A stately group of sons and daughters;
Sons, in whose form and martial mien,
The chieftain grandsire might be seen.
Some Randolph, with eccentric mind,
Keen, shrewd, sarcastic and refined;
And buxom girls, with flaxen hair,
And cheeks of dusky shadow, where
The Saxon blood came mantling through,
And eyes of heaven's serenest blue.
But fancy wearies in the chase
Of things that might have taken place,
Had not the fates thus snapped the chain,
By Cupid forged to bind the twain.
108
JOHN SMITH'S EPISTLE TO KATE.
Dear Kate, as you and I were sitting
Last evening by your parlor door;
While you with busy hands were knitting,
And I was turning Wordsworth o'er—
Once as we hap'd to change a glance,
Deep in the chamber of your eye
I saw reclined, with bow and lance,
A winged Cupid—then a sigh
Rose from my breast; I gave a start—
But ah—he shot me through the heart.
Last evening by your parlor door;
While you with busy hands were knitting,
And I was turning Wordsworth o'er—
Once as we hap'd to change a glance,
Deep in the chamber of your eye
I saw reclined, with bow and lance,
A winged Cupid—then a sigh
Rose from my breast; I gave a start—
But ah—he shot me through the heart.
At first I knew not what it meant;
I felt a strange and nameless feeling,
Up from my inmost bosom sent;
And then it seemed my wound was healing.
How queer the thought, (I can't but smile)
'Twas growing deeper all the while.
Time now has chased twelve hours away,
And brought the blushing dawn of day;
Since Cupid sent that winged dart,
That rankles in my aching heart.
And I am sitting all alone,
Beneath a shade tree on a stone.
I scarcely slept an hour all night;
I had a thousand feelings—right
Or wrong—such as I can't describe,
They were a long and nameless tribe.
I felt a strange and nameless feeling,
Up from my inmost bosom sent;
And then it seemed my wound was healing.
How queer the thought, (I can't but smile)
'Twas growing deeper all the while.
Time now has chased twelve hours away,
And brought the blushing dawn of day;
Since Cupid sent that winged dart,
That rankles in my aching heart.
And I am sitting all alone,
Beneath a shade tree on a stone.
I scarcely slept an hour all night;
109
Or wrong—such as I can't describe,
They were a long and nameless tribe.
I fancied that thy lovely form,
Bent o'er me half a dozen times,
And then there came a thunder storm,
And then I fell to making rhymes.
I ryhmed not of the thunder shower,
That shook the heavens in that dark hour;
Though it was wild and fierce and strong,
And might inspire a poet's song.
Bent o'er me half a dozen times,
And then there came a thunder storm,
And then I fell to making rhymes.
I ryhmed not of the thunder shower,
That shook the heavens in that dark hour;
Though it was wild and fierce and strong,
And might inspire a poet's song.
My theme was not of battles won,
Or heroes slain on fields of glory—
It was a tenderer, sweeter one,
'Twas love's bewitching story.
I never felt the poet's fire
Burn in my frosty soul before,
I never tried to string a lyre,
Or pluck the flowers Parnassus bore.
And this is strange, 'tis passing strange,
That I should meet with such a change.
I said that I was all alone,
Beneath a shade tree on a stone—
The heaven is clear, of azure hue,
And winds, as soft as ever blew,
Breathe through the groves with lulling sound,
And bend the harvests all around.
Or heroes slain on fields of glory—
It was a tenderer, sweeter one,
'Twas love's bewitching story.
I never felt the poet's fire
Burn in my frosty soul before,
I never tried to string a lyre,
Or pluck the flowers Parnassus bore.
And this is strange, 'tis passing strange,
That I should meet with such a change.
I said that I was all alone,
Beneath a shade tree on a stone—
The heaven is clear, of azure hue,
And winds, as soft as ever blew,
Breathe through the groves with lulling sound,
And bend the harvests all around.
110
O'er mountain top, o'er rock and tree—
O'er many a vale and many a blossom;
Laden with sweets and melody;
They come to fan my cheek and bosom.
They seem celestial spirits sent,
To bless me from the firmament.
A thousand insect wings are ringing
In the wide sky; and birds are singing
Amid the leafy woods of June.
A long, unchanging, quiet tune
Comes from a bed of fragrant roses,
Where midst the flowers the bee reposes.
The vales in deep contentment lie,
The streams are shouting merrily;
All nature round is joy and gladness,
While I, alas, am pained with sadness.
A want I never felt before,
Now presses on me more and more.
O'er many a vale and many a blossom;
Laden with sweets and melody;
They come to fan my cheek and bosom.
They seem celestial spirits sent,
To bless me from the firmament.
A thousand insect wings are ringing
In the wide sky; and birds are singing
Amid the leafy woods of June.
A long, unchanging, quiet tune
Comes from a bed of fragrant roses,
Where midst the flowers the bee reposes.
The vales in deep contentment lie,
The streams are shouting merrily;
All nature round is joy and gladness,
While I, alas, am pained with sadness.
A want I never felt before,
Now presses on me more and more.
I feel the truth of what some quizzers
Have said of man in single life;
That he's but half a pair of scissors—
A useless tool without a wife.
My heart is lone and desolate,
To tell the truth I want a mate.
I say again 'tis passing strange,
Twelve hours should bring me such a change.
Now gentle Kate, if you and I,
Could journey on life's road together,
Methinks that many a stormy sky,
Might be exchanged for pleasant weather;
For surely one so good as you,
So kind, so gentle, and so true,
With those two bright cerulian eyes,
Thy faultless form, thy cheeks of rose,
Thy forehead white as mountain snows,
Would make my home a paradise.
Have said of man in single life;
That he's but half a pair of scissors—
A useless tool without a wife.
My heart is lone and desolate,
To tell the truth I want a mate.
I say again 'tis passing strange,
Twelve hours should bring me such a change.
Now gentle Kate, if you and I,
111
Methinks that many a stormy sky,
Might be exchanged for pleasant weather;
For surely one so good as you,
So kind, so gentle, and so true,
With those two bright cerulian eyes,
Thy faultless form, thy cheeks of rose,
Thy forehead white as mountain snows,
Would make my home a paradise.
Then say, dear Kate, wilt thou be mine?
Shall I be thine till life is ended;
And shall our several lives entwine,
And be forever blended?
I close my message with a sigh,
And wait in hope for your reply.
Shall I be thine till life is ended;
And shall our several lives entwine,
And be forever blended?
I close my message with a sigh,
And wait in hope for your reply.
Jacksonville, Ill., June, 1831.
112
A SUMMER MORNING SCENE.
'Twas a bright morn in June, when the leaf and the flowerWere freshest and fairest, I spent a brief hour
On the hill side and gazed on the valleys around,
When all nature was hushed in a slumber profound.
So still and so calm was the air where I stood,
That no murmur was heard through the pines in the wood.
The red fox had slunk to his covert afar,
Beneath the faint light of the last waning star;
The birds were all mute, and the cricket's shrill cry;
And the grasshopper's chirp were unheard in the sky;
And the humble-bee hung with the dew on its wing,
To the bloom of the thistle that bent o'er the spring;
And no sound could I hear, as I gazed far away.
But the fountains amid the young blossoms at play.
O 'twas sweet in that hour of unbroken repose,
113
To gaze on the vales that around me were spread,
So still that they seemed but the home of the dead;
And to mark as the curtains of night were withdrawn,
And glory and beauty broke forth with the dawn;
Earth's numberless beings from slumber arise,
And to hear their glad voices ascend to the skies.
Then the winds woke apace, and the song of the bird
And the grey squirrel's chirp in the thicket were heard;
And the low of the kine, and the bleat of the flock,
As they spread from the fold over hillock and rock.
The yeoman went singing afield to his plow,
The waterfowl swam on the river below,
The swallows came darting athwart the blue sky,
And a thousand gay insects glanced merrily by;
114
As they broke from their slumbers and rose to my view;
As if the Creator's all life-giving breath,
Had passed through the vale of the shadow of death;
And awakened anew to an innocent birth,
These beings of beauty to people the earth.
And I thought of the morn when the trumpet of God,
Shall awake all the sleepers beneath the green sod,
And souls be united, that long, long ago,
Were parted in anguish and bitterest woe.
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WRITTEN AT CUMMINGTON, 1870.
How many hearts are cold,That throbbed with wild delight;
How many eyes are dim,
That beamed with living light;
How many voices sweet,
Are stilled forevermore;
How many restless feet,
That trod from door to door;
How many homes are gone,
That love and beauty filled;
How many radiant hopes,
Hath sin and sorrow chilled;
How many hands that toiled,
Are folded soft away;
How many glorious forms,
Have mouldered back to clay,
Since first I left these hills,
And made my home afar,
Where green savannas lie,
Beneath the evening star.
Since then the flight of time
Has borne me swiftly on,
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Shall pass ere I am gone.
Thus ever goes the old,
And ever comes the new,
The slender sapling springs,
Where once the old oak grew;
And nature striving still,
To heal the waste of time,
Clothes with new life the earth
As in her early prime.
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LINES WRITTEN ON VISITING MY BIRTHPLACE, MAY 1866.
When death shall come, O let me die,
Where these wild steeps around me rise;
Where the green slopes and valleys lie
Beneath these bright, blue mountain skies.
Where these wild steeps around me rise;
Where the green slopes and valleys lie
Beneath these bright, blue mountain skies.
For this is my dear native home;
This low-roofed dwelling once was ours—
This orchard bright with scented bloom;
These pastures gay with vernal flowers.
This low-roofed dwelling once was ours—
This orchard bright with scented bloom;
These pastures gay with vernal flowers.
Here when the land was rent with strife;
And on the coast the war cloud hung,
These veins first felt the pulse of life;
These lips first lisped the English tongue.
And on the coast the war cloud hung,
These veins first felt the pulse of life;
These lips first lisped the English tongue.
Brothers and sisters nestled here
Beneath the kind parental sway;
And here through many a passing year
Love, peace and joy were round my way.
Beneath the kind parental sway;
And here through many a passing year
Love, peace and joy were round my way.
Now three score years of life are past,
The hair is silvered on my brow;
And shadows o'er my way are cast—
Life's evening shadows even now.
The hair is silvered on my brow;
And shadows o'er my way are cast—
Life's evening shadows even now.
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What though beneath a milder sky,
Broad fields of waving wheat were mine—
And tasselled maize and bearded rye,
And steeds and flocks and herds of kine.
Broad fields of waving wheat were mine—
And tasselled maize and bearded rye,
And steeds and flocks and herds of kine.
Or what if mine were princely state,
And lofty towers and airy halls;
Or marble piles with moated gate,
And gilded dome and pictured walls.
And lofty towers and airy halls;
Or marble piles with moated gate,
And gilded dome and pictured walls.
These could not compensate the heart,
For childhood's haunts and home of rest;
No solace to the soul impart,
To fill the void within my breast.
For childhood's haunts and home of rest;
No solace to the soul impart,
To fill the void within my breast.
For still my spirit fondly clings
To these loved hills, though wild and stern;
And every passing season brings
A deeper yearning to return.
To these loved hills, though wild and stern;
And every passing season brings
A deeper yearning to return.
And when life's few brief years are gone,
I would my dim and fading eye,
Might cast a loving look upon
My native home, my native sky.
I would my dim and fading eye,
Might cast a loving look upon
My native home, my native sky.
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A FRAGMENT.
Light of my home, light of my heart,
Dear maid so gentle and so fair,
So free from every stain or art,
So lovely and so debonair.
Dear maid so gentle and so fair,
So free from every stain or art,
So lovely and so debonair.
How shall I treat thee as I ought,
How render the affection due;
How clothe with fitting words my thought
Of one so beautiful and true?
How render the affection due;
How clothe with fitting words my thought
Of one so beautiful and true?
And not affect the flatterer's role,
And not awaken deep within
The inner chambers of thy soul,
A vanity allied to sin.
And not awaken deep within
The inner chambers of thy soul,
A vanity allied to sin.
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UNCERTAINTY.
Life's mystery I cannot solve,
Nor can I from my mind root out
The painful vestiges of doubt
That human destiny involve.
Nor can I from my mind root out
The painful vestiges of doubt
That human destiny involve.
Said one of wisest thought possessed;
“Man yields his life and where is he?”
Ah! where? I cry, but unto me.
There comes no answer to the quest.
“Man yields his life and where is he?”
Ah! where? I cry, but unto me.
There comes no answer to the quest.
I would not tread forbidden ground,
Nor seek for that I may not know,
Nor strive beyond the line to go
Where wisdom's self has fixed the bound.
Nor seek for that I may not know,
Nor strive beyond the line to go
Where wisdom's self has fixed the bound.
The shadows that obscure my way,
I fondly hope may one day lift,
When calmly through the opening rift
These eyes shall see the perfect day.
I fondly hope may one day lift,
When calmly through the opening rift
These eyes shall see the perfect day.
God cares for all; without His will
There falls no sparrow to the ground,
All souls in His great love abound,
That love will all its aims fulfill.
There falls no sparrow to the ground,
All souls in His great love abound,
That love will all its aims fulfill.
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SONNET.
I saw a preacher in the house of God,With frantic gestures and in accents loud,
And words profane he spread his hands abroad
And dealt damnation to the gathered crowd!
His speech was set with many a phrase uncouth,
And frivolous remark and common jest;
A mixture strange of folly and of truth,
With fierce denunciation for the rest.
Is this, I thought while listening to his strains,
A follower of the meek and lowly One?
Are these the accents heard on Bethlehem's plains,
When angels hailed the birth of Mary's Son?
Is this the Gospel sent us from above
Whose words are peace and charity and love?
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THE OUTCAST.
Matron with the wasted form,
Withered, bowed, but not with years,
Thine hath been a path of storm—
Thine has been a vale of tears.
Withered, bowed, but not with years,
Thine hath been a path of storm—
Thine has been a vale of tears.
Where New England's hills arise,
Glorious from the ocean brine,
Thou did'st ope' thine infant eyes,
Peace and competence were thine.
Glorious from the ocean brine,
Thou did'st ope' thine infant eyes,
Peace and competence were thine.
There the broad green pastures lay—
There the orchard spread its bloom,
Woodland, stream, and meadow gay,
Circled round thy mountain home.
There the orchard spread its bloom,
Woodland, stream, and meadow gay,
Circled round thy mountain home.
Late I saw thee but a child,
Playful, prattling, full of glee;
On thy steps a mother smiled,
Danced upon a father's knee.
Playful, prattling, full of glee;
On thy steps a mother smiled,
Danced upon a father's knee.
Then a stately maiden grown,
Raven tresses round thy brow,
Cheeks like summer roses blown,
None more beautiful than thou.
Raven tresses round thy brow,
Cheeks like summer roses blown,
None more beautiful than thou.
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Heart all innocent and gay,
Full of feeling, full of truth,
Oh, how soon hath passed away
All the glory of thy youth.
Full of feeling, full of truth,
Oh, how soon hath passed away
All the glory of thy youth.
Edward sought thy hand and won thee
Generous, beautiful, and brave,
Noble Edward hath undone thee,
Who shall heal the wounds he gave.
Generous, beautiful, and brave,
Noble Edward hath undone thee,
Who shall heal the wounds he gave.
Tempted from thy guardian side,
Pleasure's boisterous sons among,
Poisoned by the cup he died,
With a curse upon his tongue.
Pleasure's boisterous sons among,
Poisoned by the cup he died,
With a curse upon his tongue.
Then the babe upon thy bosom,
Wasting, sinking, day by day,
Like a trembling April blossom,
Passed its little life away.
Wasting, sinking, day by day,
Like a trembling April blossom,
Passed its little life away.
One by one thy friends departed,
Father, mother, all are gone,
Thou a widow broken hearted,
Wanderest through the world alone.
Father, mother, all are gone,
Thou a widow broken hearted,
Wanderest through the world alone.
Born to wealth, to honor born,
These like morning dews are fled,
Child of poverty and scorn,
Who shall stay thy sinking head?
These like morning dews are fled,
Child of poverty and scorn,
Who shall stay thy sinking head?
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Bitter tears have blanched thy cheek,
Keenest anguish wrung thy breast,
Sad and sorrowful, and weak,
Soon the grave shall give thee rest.
Keenest anguish wrung thy breast,
Sad and sorrowful, and weak,
Soon the grave shall give thee rest.
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THE APPROACH OF AGE.
Gone are the friends my boyhood knew,
Gone three score years since childhood's morn;
A lonely stalk I stand, where grew
And proudly waved the summer corn.
Gone three score years since childhood's morn;
A lonely stalk I stand, where grew
And proudly waved the summer corn.
Scanning the record of my years,
How blank, how meagre seems the page;
How small the sum of good appears
Wrought by these hands from youth to age.
How blank, how meagre seems the page;
How small the sum of good appears
Wrought by these hands from youth to age.
Yet, 'midst the toils and cares of life,
I've tried to keep a cheerful heart;
To curb my fiercer passions' strife,
And as a man to act my part.
I've tried to keep a cheerful heart;
To curb my fiercer passions' strife,
And as a man to act my part.
And I repine not at my lot,
Glad to have lived in times like these,
When mystic cords of human thought
Bind realm to realm across the seas.
Glad to have lived in times like these,
When mystic cords of human thought
Bind realm to realm across the seas.
When this dear land, Time's latest birth,
Strikes every chain from human hands,
And 'midst the nations of the earth,
The greatest, freest, noblest stands.
Strikes every chain from human hands,
And 'midst the nations of the earth,
The greatest, freest, noblest stands.
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When progress in material things
Leads upward immaterial mind,
And into nearer prospect brings
The perfect life of all mankind.
Leads upward immaterial mind,
And into nearer prospect brings
The perfect life of all mankind.
Kindly, as yet, life's autumn sun
Gilds the green precincts of my home;
Softly, though fast, the moments run,
And fleeting seasons go and come.
Gilds the green precincts of my home;
Softly, though fast, the moments run,
And fleeting seasons go and come.
Yet nearer moans the wintry blast,
The chilling wind of Age that blows,
Through darkening skies with cloud o'ercast
With blinding sleet and drifting snows.
The chilling wind of Age that blows,
Through darkening skies with cloud o'ercast
With blinding sleet and drifting snows.
Ho! gleaner on life's wintry lea,
I hear thy steps 'mid rustling leaves,
And soon this withered stalk will be
Close garnered with the autumn sheaves.
I hear thy steps 'mid rustling leaves,
And soon this withered stalk will be
Close garnered with the autumn sheaves.
And then will He, beneath whose eye
Each act of right and wrong appears,
Aught of untarnished grain descry
Among these husks of wasted years?
Each act of right and wrong appears,
Aught of untarnished grain descry
Among these husks of wasted years?
Haply these mustering clouds that lower
On the low sky in seeming wrath
May vanish, and life's sunset hour,
Shed a calm radiance o'er my path.
On the low sky in seeming wrath
May vanish, and life's sunset hour,
Shed a calm radiance o'er my path.
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Then may the clear horizon bring
Those glorious summits to the eye,
Where, flanked by fields of endless Spring,
The Cities of the Blessed lie.
Those glorious summits to the eye,
Where, flanked by fields of endless Spring,
The Cities of the Blessed lie.
SONG OF LABOR.
We sing the song of the farmer,
Who tills the stubborn soil,
And feeds earth's countless millions
With the fruits of his patient toil.
Who tills the stubborn soil,
And feeds earth's countless millions
With the fruits of his patient toil.
He rises at early dawning,
Nor stays with the setting snn,
But toils 'till the twilight deepens,
Ere the work of the day is done.
Nor stays with the setting snn,
But toils 'till the twilight deepens,
Ere the work of the day is done.
He reaps the golden wheatfield;
And tends the tasseled maize,
And plucks the ripened fruitage,
In the frosty autumn days.
And tends the tasseled maize,
And plucks the ripened fruitage,
In the frosty autumn days.
To Him all look for succor,
On Him the nations lean,
And yet no slave or pauper
By the proud, is thought more mean.
On Him the nations lean,
And yet no slave or pauper
By the proud, is thought more mean.
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In his country's hour of peril,
He is first in the deadly fray,
Filling the ranks with heroes,
And sweeping her foes away.
He is first in the deadly fray,
Filling the ranks with heroes,
And sweeping her foes away.
Would the toiler be a freeman,
He must rise in strengh and might,
Stand with a front undaunted
And vindicate his right.
He must rise in strengh and might,
Stand with a front undaunted
And vindicate his right.
He must leave old party leaders;
They care not for him a straw,
Only to wrong and rob him,
Under the color of law.
They care not for him a straw,
Only to wrong and rob him,
Under the color of law.
He must vote for honest rulers,
Who will give him honest laws,
For men whose hearts are with him,
And love a righteous cause.
Who will give him honest laws,
For men whose hearts are with him,
And love a righteous cause.
Then awake, ye sons of labor,
The day and the hour have come
To break old party shackles,
And stand for hearth and home.
The day and the hour have come
To break old party shackles,
And stand for hearth and home.
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THE HILLS OF PARADISE.
Each moment, Lord of might,
Before thy mighty breath,
What myriads springs to life and light,
What myriads fall in death.
Before thy mighty breath,
What myriads springs to life and light,
What myriads fall in death.
The broad full stream flows on,
Forevermore the same;
All coming from the dim unknown,
All going whence they came.
Forevermore the same;
All coming from the dim unknown,
All going whence they came.
Does then the grave hold all
In its insatiate deep?
Is the last summons but a call
To an eternal sleep?
In its insatiate deep?
Is the last summons but a call
To an eternal sleep?
Nay, put thy trust in God,
And faith shall ope thine eyes,
To see before thee fair and broad,
The hills of Paradise.
And faith shall ope thine eyes,
To see before thee fair and broad,
The hills of Paradise.
Beyond the dark abyss,
Shall loom the radiant shore—
Heaven's boundless realm of love and bliss,
Where grief is known no more.
Shall loom the radiant shore—
Heaven's boundless realm of love and bliss,
Where grief is known no more.
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Where the Good Shepherd brings
His fair unnumbered flock,
To pastures ever fresh, and springs
Fed from the Eternal Rock.
His fair unnumbered flock,
To pastures ever fresh, and springs
Fed from the Eternal Rock.
Tents where the patriarchs rest,
Temples, vast, high and broad,
On whose grand structure is impressed,
The handiwork of God.
Temples, vast, high and broad,
On whose grand structure is impressed,
The handiwork of God.
And homes, where loved ones gone.
On the resplendent height,
Clothed in the brightness of the dawn,
Dwell in supreme delight.
On the resplendent height,
Clothed in the brightness of the dawn,
Dwell in supreme delight.
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HYMN.
Upon the nations' heart,
A mighty burden lies;
Two hundred years of crime and tears,
Of anguish, groans and sighs.
A mighty burden lies;
Two hundred years of crime and tears,
Of anguish, groans and sighs.
How long, O Lord! how long!
Crushed, trampled, peeled and dumb;
Shall thy bound children suffer wrong,
And no deliverer come?
Crushed, trampled, peeled and dumb;
Shall thy bound children suffer wrong,
And no deliverer come?
The eternal years sweep on—
Age after age, goes by—
Still waits the slave the breaking dawn,
The day-spring from on high.
Age after age, goes by—
Still waits the slave the breaking dawn,
The day-spring from on high.
“How long, O Lord! how long!”
When shall that cry to Thee,
Be lost in freedom's glorious song;
And shouts of jubilee?
When shall that cry to Thee,
Be lost in freedom's glorious song;
And shouts of jubilee?
A swift, awakening thrill,
Send through the nation's heart;
Make quick the conscience, pure the will,
And love of right impart.
Send through the nation's heart;
Make quick the conscience, pure the will,
And love of right impart.
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Hasten, O Lord, the hour,
For which we wait and pray;
When Thy resistless breath of power,
Shell sweep the curse away.
For which we wait and pray;
When Thy resistless breath of power,
Shell sweep the curse away.
If men refuse, O God,
To set the captives free;
Break as of old the oppressors' rod,
And give them liberty.
To set the captives free;
Break as of old the oppressors' rod,
And give them liberty.
As Jesus from the tomb,
The buried Lazarus led;
Rend thou the slaves' deep night of gloom,
Oh, raise him from the dead.
The buried Lazarus led;
Rend thou the slaves' deep night of gloom,
Oh, raise him from the dead.
Written 1858.
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DEATH OF LINCOLN.
“Make way for liberty,” cried Winkelried,And gathered to his breast the Austrian spears.
Fired with fresh valor at the glorious deed,
O'er the dead hero rushed those mountaineers
To victory and freedom. Even so
Our dear, good Lincoln fell in freedom's cause.
And while our hearts are pierced with keenest woe,
Lo, the black night of slavery withdraws,
And liberty's bright dawn breaks o'er the land.
Four million bondmen, held in helpless thrall,
Loosed by his word, in natures manhood stand,
And the sweet sun of peace shines over all.
The blood that stained the martyr's simple robe
Woke the deep sympathies of half the globe.
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DROUGHT.
Not a cloud in the sky but a brassy haze,
Through which the sun glares hot and red,
Day after day, these long June days,
'Till the grass is withered and the flowers are dead.
Through which the sun glares hot and red,
Day after day, these long June days,
'Till the grass is withered and the flowers are dead.
I sit by my home and gaze away,
For some sign of rain in the burning sky—
Some mist, or cloud, or vapor gray,
Till the daylight fades on my weary eye.
For some sign of rain in the burning sky—
Some mist, or cloud, or vapor gray,
Till the daylight fades on my weary eye.
The birds that sang by my door have flown,
The bluebird, the oriole and wren,
Even the robin that steals my cherries has gone,
To the cooler shade o'er the brook in the glen.
The bluebird, the oriole and wren,
Even the robin that steals my cherries has gone,
To the cooler shade o'er the brook in the glen.
The maize plant droops in the mid day sun,
But rallies at eventide again;
Looking up to heaven when day is done,
Anxiously waiting and sighing for rain.
But rallies at eventide again;
Looking up to heaven when day is done,
Anxiously waiting and sighing for rain.
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From the bosom of earth goes up a sigh,
From every living thing a plaint;
The leaves on the shrubs are crisp and dry,
And the mighty woods look sick and faint.
From every living thing a plaint;
The leaves on the shrubs are crisp and dry,
And the mighty woods look sick and faint.
O! for the faith and prayer of Him,
Who bowed upon Carmel's mount of yore;
When rose on the far horizon's rim,
The little cloud with its priceless store.
Who bowed upon Carmel's mount of yore;
When rose on the far horizon's rim,
The little cloud with its priceless store.
“But those times of undoubting faith are past,”
Men say, “And the age of law has come,
Trust in the Lord is waning fast,
And His prophets of power are dead or dumb.”
Men say, “And the age of law has come,
Trust in the Lord is waning fast,
And His prophets of power are dead or dumb.”
Written June, 1871.
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WRITTEN AT NASSAU, N. P., FEBRUARY, 1872.
From forests brown with winter, from valleys clad in snow,
We sailed for the Bahamas, where the lime and orange grow,
Four days the ocean tempests, around our good ship rave,
The fifth we saw the palm trees in summer breezes wave.
With fainting hearts, yet thankful, we leave the stormy main,
Glad on the fair earth's bosom to plant our feet again.
O fair and lovely Island, with skies of tenderest hue,
Girt round with sparkling waters of amethyst and blue;
No frost winds blight your blossoms, no winter snows come here,
But one eternal summer encircles all the year.
Amid this bloom and verdure—airs like our August wind,
I cannot feel 'tis winter, at the home I left behind;
That there through leafless woodlands—o'er meadows bleak and brown,
The cold north winds are sweeping, and snows are sifting down;
Would then I leave forever my Northern home for this?
To seek on this green Island a home of purer bliss?
Oh no! ah no! far better that sterner clime of ours,
Which stirs the soul to action and quickens all its powers.
The stronger life for labor and swifter flow of blood,
Which bear this great world onward, toward the perfect good.
These bright and peaceful waters, in ruder, darker times,
Have witnessed deeds of daring, and scenes of bloody crimes.
O never be this beauty by bloodshed marred again,
But peace with all earth's nations forevermore remain.
And as the generations of men shall rise and fall,
Through all the passing ages, may love rule over all.
Here may the weak and sinking, with hopeful courage come,
And here the faint and weary still find a welcome home.
I know the lime and orange, blossom and ripen here;
I know that endless summer attends the smiling year;
But scenes of brighter splendor have met my raptured eye,
Where round my own loved dwelling, the green savannas lie;
There are my dear, my loved ones, far o'er the dark blue sea,
And thou my glorious country, my heart is still with thee.
We sailed for the Bahamas, where the lime and orange grow,
Four days the ocean tempests, around our good ship rave,
The fifth we saw the palm trees in summer breezes wave.
With fainting hearts, yet thankful, we leave the stormy main,
Glad on the fair earth's bosom to plant our feet again.
O fair and lovely Island, with skies of tenderest hue,
Girt round with sparkling waters of amethyst and blue;
No frost winds blight your blossoms, no winter snows come here,
But one eternal summer encircles all the year.
Amid this bloom and verdure—airs like our August wind,
137
That there through leafless woodlands—o'er meadows bleak and brown,
The cold north winds are sweeping, and snows are sifting down;
Would then I leave forever my Northern home for this?
To seek on this green Island a home of purer bliss?
Oh no! ah no! far better that sterner clime of ours,
Which stirs the soul to action and quickens all its powers.
The stronger life for labor and swifter flow of blood,
Which bear this great world onward, toward the perfect good.
These bright and peaceful waters, in ruder, darker times,
Have witnessed deeds of daring, and scenes of bloody crimes.
O never be this beauty by bloodshed marred again,
But peace with all earth's nations forevermore remain.
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Through all the passing ages, may love rule over all.
Here may the weak and sinking, with hopeful courage come,
And here the faint and weary still find a welcome home.
I know the lime and orange, blossom and ripen here;
I know that endless summer attends the smiling year;
But scenes of brighter splendor have met my raptured eye,
Where round my own loved dwelling, the green savannas lie;
There are my dear, my loved ones, far o'er the dark blue sea,
And thou my glorious country, my heart is still with thee.
ADDENDUM.
A sudden wail of sorrow across the deep has come,139
One beautiful and lovely, to whom my name was given,
With cheeks like summer roses, and eyes as blue as heaven;
And I am grieved to weeping, that one I thought to press,
Soon to this throbbing bosom, with many a sweet caress,
Is laid away in darkness beneath the wasting snow,
No more my smile to answer, no more my love to know.
No more his gentle footfall shall patter on the floor,
No more his call at morning, be heard beside my door.
His vacant chair at table, the bed wherein he lay
And breathed in helpless anguish his little life away,
His garments and the playthings with which he used to play;
All these are sad reminders of one that's gone for aye.
140
That smote our hearts with anguish, none but ourselves can know.
O God, our Heavenly Father, Thy love is full and free,
Show us Thy loving kindness, our trust is still in Thee.
141
AUTUMN.
Loveliest season of the year,
Meek and modest, brown and sere,
With a mild and quiet eye,
With a soft and sunny sky,
Treading gently o'er the glade,
On departed summer's shade,
Painting all the forest leaves
With the hues the rainbow weaves;
How I love thee in thy prime,
Golden blessed Autumn time.
Meek and modest, brown and sere,
With a mild and quiet eye,
With a soft and sunny sky,
Treading gently o'er the glade,
On departed summer's shade,
Painting all the forest leaves
With the hues the rainbow weaves;
How I love thee in thy prime,
Golden blessed Autumn time.
Village school-boy searching o'er
All the rustling forest's floor,
Gathers wild grapes from the tree,
Whitest nuts of hickory,
Hazel nut and walnut rare,
Yellow as the summer pear,
Making glad with shout and song,
All the woodland all day long;
And the squirrel glad and gay,
In the warm sun's setting ray,
Frisking round the old oak tree,
Gathers nuts as well as he.
Sauntering down the deep ravine,
Oft the dreaming youth is seen,
Watching shadows as they pass
O'er the falling leaves and grass,
Sitting by the streamlet's side,
Gazing on its restless tide,
Listening to its mellow note
Swelling from the wild swan's throat;
Sounding as she soars on high
Like a trumpet in the sky.
Gentle dreamer, wander on,
Till thy dream of life is done;
Let no darker shade be cast
On thy path, or ruder blast
Greet thee than the Autumn day
Throws around thy woodland way.
All the rustling forest's floor,
Gathers wild grapes from the tree,
Whitest nuts of hickory,
Hazel nut and walnut rare,
Yellow as the summer pear,
Making glad with shout and song,
All the woodland all day long;
And the squirrel glad and gay,
In the warm sun's setting ray,
Frisking round the old oak tree,
Gathers nuts as well as he.
Sauntering down the deep ravine,
Oft the dreaming youth is seen,
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O'er the falling leaves and grass,
Sitting by the streamlet's side,
Gazing on its restless tide,
Listening to its mellow note
Swelling from the wild swan's throat;
Sounding as she soars on high
Like a trumpet in the sky.
Gentle dreamer, wander on,
Till thy dream of life is done;
Let no darker shade be cast
On thy path, or ruder blast
Greet thee than the Autumn day
Throws around thy woodland way.
Now the farmer gathers in
Summer's fruits with merry din,
Plucking through the sunny days
Glistening ears of ripened maize;
Gathering from the orchard bough,
With its burden bending low,
Fruits as ruddy and as sleek
As the blooming maiden's cheek;
Fruits to cheer the taste and sight,
In the long, long winter night,
When round the blazing hearth,
Neighbors meet with cheerful mirth.
Summer's fruits with merry din,
Plucking through the sunny days
Glistening ears of ripened maize;
Gathering from the orchard bough,
With its burden bending low,
Fruits as ruddy and as sleek
As the blooming maiden's cheek;
Fruits to cheer the taste and sight,
In the long, long winter night,
When round the blazing hearth,
Neighbors meet with cheerful mirth.
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THREE SONNETS.
[I. I walk bewildered in the shadows here]
“I walk bewildered in the shadows here;Few are the friendly lights along the way;
'Mid doubt, uncertainty and chilling fear,
I strain my eye to catch the dawning day.
There are, upon whose path a broadening ray
Falls from the land to which their loved are gone,
A glorious stair to regions far away,
And angel spirits come and go thereon.
O God, my Father! rend the misty shroud
That overhangs me like the midnight air,
Or let some message from beyond the cloud
Reveal the fate, the life, that waits me there,
O let my faith be knowledge, blindness sight,
This dark uncertainty unclouded light.”
[II. 'Twas thus my friend, in earnest accents said]
'Twas thus my friend, in earnest accents said,Her gentle bosom heaving with a sigh.
A sudden glow her palid cheeks o'erspread,
A heavenly light came beaming from her eye,
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The glow, the light, were brighter than before;
“The morning dawns,” I heard her faintly cry,
And then her bosom rose and fell no more.
The halo and the brightness passed away;
Her hands were still, her lips had ceased to move;
Yet on her wan, unconscious features lay
The sweet, calm smile of perfect peace and love;
God for her spirit rent the misty shroud;
Her faith is changed to sight beyond the cloud.
[III. Friends weep around, believing she is dead]
Friends weep around, believing she is dead.'Tis but a trance—a syncope—no more.
The soul, the vital part, awhile has fled,
And treads enraptured the celestial floor.
For now a rustling sound is in the room;
Dim shadows pass the threshold and depart;
The light of hope dispels the funeral gloom,
And joy returns to many a sorrowing heart.
For look! her eyelids tremble, and a tear
Glides o'er the enamel of that stainless cheek;
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That, quivering, part as if about speak.
Her soft eyes open with a cry of pain,
And Dorcas sits among her friends again.
AUTUMNAL EVENINGS.
There is a lovely autumn eve, when all the winds are still,Save a low murmur through the vale and on the woody hill,
When groves are yellow, and the leaves are falling carelessly
Along the road side from the boughs of ash and linden tree,
When stars are few and fleecy clouds are floating through the sky,
On gales unfelt, unheard below, where night's dim shadows lie;
When from the distant lonely wood, the gray owl's whoop is heard,
Where perches o'er the mountain stream that solitary bird;
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The mellow apples, one by one, are dropping to the ground.
O sweetly then the mountain wind skims o'er the rustling corn,
And on the high blue heaven the moon hangs out her yellow horn;
Then pass life's pains and cares away, and pride and flattery's art,
And calm, pure feelings, in that hour slide gently on the heart.
And there's a wilder autumn eve that has a thrilling power,
The blood runs cold and the full heart beats wildly in that hour;
'Tis when the loud winds of the north are shrieking in the sky,
And the dry leaves upon his wings are whirling swiftly by,
When o'er the wide plain, bleak and sere, comes the heath fox's bay,
And 'tis answered by the startled cur that slumbered far away,
When the tall forest on the hill that overlooks the vale
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And the wide heavens are dark with clouds, and twinkling oft between
As they sweep rapidly along, the diamond stars are seen.
O, there's a power that overrules the rushing tempest's might,
And with His kindly presence fills the stillest, calmest night,
Who lifts the curtains of the dawn and gives the noontide birth,
And drops the gentle wing of sleep, upon the weary earth.
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LINES WITHOUT NAME.
“Long have I loved what I behold,
The night that calms, the day that cheers;
The common growth of mother earth
Suffices me—her tears, her mirth—
Her humblest mirth and tears.
—Wordsworth.
The night that calms, the day that cheers;
The common growth of mother earth
Suffices me—her tears, her mirth—
Her humblest mirth and tears.
—Wordsworth.
Old age is stealing o'er me fast, for wrinkled is my brow,
And here and there upon my head are gray hairs even now,
And soon will life be o'er with me, and I shall slumber then,
And other feet will follow on the track where mine have been.
And here and there upon my head are gray hairs even now,
And soon will life be o'er with me, and I shall slumber then,
And other feet will follow on the track where mine have been.
Though manhood's years of cares and fears, have not the glorious hue,
The thrill of joy and wild romance, my early childhood knew—
Yet 'twill be hard to leave thy scenes, O, beautiful green earth,
Still drest in all the loveliness that dawned upon thy birth.
The thrill of joy and wild romance, my early childhood knew—
Yet 'twill be hard to leave thy scenes, O, beautiful green earth,
Still drest in all the loveliness that dawned upon thy birth.
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How can I bid farewell to things that I have known so long,
To which my inmost heart is bound with fetters fast and strong!
The play-place of my early days, the streamlet by my door,
And all the pleasant haunts of youth I knew and loved before.
To which my inmost heart is bound with fetters fast and strong!
The play-place of my early days, the streamlet by my door,
And all the pleasant haunts of youth I knew and loved before.
The wide range o'er the mountain top, the homes of men around,
The deep untrodden woodland shades, the blooming orchard ground;
The ripple of the running brook, the music of the breeze,
That sighs along the grassy glade and whispers in the trees;
The deep untrodden woodland shades, the blooming orchard ground;
The ripple of the running brook, the music of the breeze,
That sighs along the grassy glade and whispers in the trees;
The spring that comes with song and bloom, to gladden all the plain,
The ruddy fruits that crown the hills in autumn's golden reign;
All these my yearning heart must leave, and pass from earth away,
Though dear the links that bind me here they cannot last for aye.
The ruddy fruits that crown the hills in autumn's golden reign;
All these my yearning heart must leave, and pass from earth away,
Though dear the links that bind me here they cannot last for aye.
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I've danced my children on my knee, and kissed their sleeping eyes.
And when they smiled, their smiles to me were bright as summer skies.
As time passed on, my love waxed strong, I felt a father's pride,
As they grew up in manly strength and beauty by my side;
And when they smiled, their smiles to me were bright as summer skies.
As time passed on, my love waxed strong, I felt a father's pride,
As they grew up in manly strength and beauty by my side;
And gladness sometimes lights my eye, to see them round my hearth,
The pillars of my fading age, fair forms and hearts of mirth,
But icy chills run o'er my frame, even now in life's calm noon,
To know my glass is wasting fast, and I must must leave them soon.
The pillars of my fading age, fair forms and hearts of mirth,
But icy chills run o'er my frame, even now in life's calm noon,
To know my glass is wasting fast, and I must must leave them soon.
O, I have lov'd from boyhood up, on this fair earth to look,
And many a lesson deep have learn'd from nature's open book,
Amidst her calm and lonely scenes, where all was silentness,
Strong thoughts have struggled in my breast, I cannot half express;
And childhood's mirth, and woman's smiles, and manhood's noble frame,
Are images from which arise, feelings of holier name.
Strong is my love for earth's glad scenes, and strong the ties that bind
My sinking spirit to the friends that I shall leave behind
And when at last the hour is come, to bow my head and die,
A tear for nature and for man, will tremble my eye.
And many a lesson deep have learn'd from nature's open book,
Amidst her calm and lonely scenes, where all was silentness,
Strong thoughts have struggled in my breast, I cannot half express;
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Are images from which arise, feelings of holier name.
Strong is my love for earth's glad scenes, and strong the ties that bind
My sinking spirit to the friends that I shall leave behind
And when at last the hour is come, to bow my head and die,
A tear for nature and for man, will tremble my eye.
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TO H.—1831.
The person to whom these lines were addressed was, at the time they were written, living at the then village of Springfield, Illinois, and the writer then resided at Jacksonville, and occasionally wrote verses for the Jacksonville paper, under the name of Prairie Bard, while H., whose real name I have forgotten, wrote poems in the Scotch dialect for the Sangamo Journal. He was an emigrant from the north of England, and I think lived at Springfield only a few months. In one of his poems he bantered me to write some verses in praise of the Mauvaiseterre, the principal stream in the neighborhood of Jacksonville, while he would do the same thing for the Sangamo river; and hence this poem to H. At that time what is now Sangamon was written Sangamo, as Sangamo County, the Sangamo Journal, Sangamo River, leaving off the terminal letter.
O, thou who dwell'st at Springfield city,The person to whom these lines were addressed was, at the time they were written, living at the then village of Springfield, Illinois, and the writer then resided at Jacksonville, and occasionally wrote verses for the Jacksonville paper, under the name of Prairie Bard, while H., whose real name I have forgotten, wrote poems in the Scotch dialect for the Sangamo Journal. He was an emigrant from the north of England, and I think lived at Springfield only a few months. In one of his poems he bantered me to write some verses in praise of the Mauvaiseterre, the principal stream in the neighborhood of Jacksonville, while he would do the same thing for the Sangamo river; and hence this poem to H. At that time what is now Sangamon was written Sangamo, as Sangamo County, the Sangamo Journal, Sangamo River, leaving off the terminal letter.
And charm'st us with thy weekly ditty.
Who o'er the wide, wide sea hast flown,—
To make our lovely land thine own:
Thou askest of a brother Bard
That which he deems severe and hard;
A task to which he will demur,—
A song in praise of Mauvaiseterre;
For he's been thinking all along,—
That neither stream is worthy of a song.
Though its smooth winding banks are rich.
Our Mauvaiseterre's a muddy ditch,
Save a slight ripple where the hills
Hem in its bed at Egypt's mills:
And then, methinks your Sagnamo
Has not a rock to break its flow;
But moves along with sluggish pace,
Without a dimple on its face;
No glades of blossoms ope beside it,
But forest shadows ever hide it.
Such streams as these, I'm bold to say,
Can never warm my simple lay.
Your silver Thames I ne'er have seen,
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Nor Grongar's summit “clothed with wood,”
Whose feet are deep in Towy's flood,
Where the eye moves o'er vale and hill,
“Till contemplation has her fill.”
Nor rocky Ouse, by Cowper sung,
That winds the pleasant hills among;
Nor Avon, where at night's calm noon,
The fairies danced beneath the moon,
“Nor banks nor braes of Bonny Doon;
Nor Ayr's, nor Thevi's crystal tide,
That Scotia's rugged steeps divide.
But then I know full many a stream
As worthy of potic theme;
As bright as beautiful and bland
Adorns my own beloved land.
O, who can stand by Hudson's shore,
And scan her bright blue bosom o'er,
And see not there a glorious view,
And fair as pencil ever drew,
Majestic mingled with the mild,
The rocky steep abrupt and wild;
Outstretched the smooth and level lawn,
The glades among the hills withdrawn;
The towns that by its waters spring,
And vessels borne on snowy wing.
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The ivied seat of ancient power,
With iron gates whose hinges clank,
Frowns o'er the beauty of its bank;
For in the pure, cool upper air
Hath nature built her temples there;
And there in hoary grandeur stand
Huge pillars fashioned by her hand,
But still a lovelier stream is found
Within New England's rocky bound,
With softer beauty spread around.
I've stood upon the mountain's brow
That overlooks the vale below;
Outspread a lovely region lay,
The river winding far away;
The village spires that brightly gleam
In the great sun's reflected beam;
The long dark rows of planted maize,
The herds that on the pastures graze;
And on the slopes the scattered flocks,
And torrents dashing down the rocks;
And gladness seemed the reigning queen,
Of that broad vale so bright and green,
And lesser streams, without name,
Unknown to poetry or to fame,
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And dash in tameless freedom by;
And rivulets and gushing rills,
That gladden my dear native hills:
And sweeter than all named before,
The fountain by mother's door.
I look upon the Mauvaiseterre,
And think of these bright streams afar;
I look, and turn away my eye,
And pass its wave unheeded by.
Haply in after years may rise,
A bard its loveliness to prize;
Whose bosom at its hard French name,
Will kindle with seraphic flame;
And who shall pour his rapturous lay
Along its devious, slimy way,
And shed a classic beauty o'er
The scenery of its weedy shore.
And here may dwell in coming ages,
Romantic youth and hoary sages;
And College sophs here try their art,
To gain with song the fair one's heart.
But I have naught of spmpathy,
O, Mauvaiseterre, for such as thee;
Thou canst not waken wild and strong,
The spirit of unstudied song.
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UPWARD, ONWARD.
Upward, Onward are our watchwords,
Though the winds blow good or ill;
Though the skies be calm or stormy,
These shall be our watchwords still.
Though the winds blow good or ill;
Though the skies be calm or stormy,
These shall be our watchwords still.
Upward, Onward in the battle.
Waged for freedom and the right;
Never resting, never weary,
Till a victory crowns the fight
Waged for freedom and the right;
Never resting, never weary,
Till a victory crowns the fight
Waking every morn to duty,
Ere the daylight fades away;
Let some deed for human progress,
Crown the labors of the day.
Ere the daylight fades away;
Let some deed for human progress,
Crown the labors of the day.
Upward, Onward, pressing forward,
'Till monoplies shall fall;
'Till the flag that floats above us
Equal rights proclaims to all.
'Till monoplies shall fall;
'Till the flag that floats above us
Equal rights proclaims to all.
Lo! a better day is dawning,
Brighter prospects ope before;
Spread your banner to the breezes,
Upward, Onward, evermore.
Brighter prospects ope before;
Spread your banner to the breezes,
Upward, Onward, evermore.
| Poems by John Howard Bryant | |