Poetry of the Farm and Rural Life Connecticut River reeds blown by the "Peasant Bard" |
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| 1. | I. MAPLE. |
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 | Poetry of the Farm and Rural Life |  |
I. MAPLE.
When withered leaves around my way
Drift in the fresh autumnal blast,
I view them, as they rustling play,
As Summer's phantoms flitting past.
In some still nook, or sheltering lee
Of roaring woods, they seem to me
When resting from their eddying flight,
To build departed Summer's urn;
Where Phœbus pours a saddened light
Like moonlight fanned to burn.
Drift in the fresh autumnal blast,
I view them, as they rustling play,
As Summer's phantoms flitting past.
In some still nook, or sheltering lee
Of roaring woods, they seem to me
When resting from their eddying flight,
To build departed Summer's urn;
Where Phœbus pours a saddened light
Like moonlight fanned to burn.
The rivulet lowers its babbling voice,
Past its brown banks runs dreamily;
It seems to take, as if from choice,
The melancholy minor key.
All nature's full of sympathy:
The winds and waters, woods and plains,
Together blend their dirge-like strains;
The lonely bird forbears to sing;
Grief-stifled seems each tuneful throat;
E'en darker grows the raven's wing,
And desert-like his note.
Past its brown banks runs dreamily;
It seems to take, as if from choice,
The melancholy minor key.
All nature's full of sympathy:
The winds and waters, woods and plains,
Together blend their dirge-like strains;
The lonely bird forbears to sing;
Grief-stifled seems each tuneful throat;
E'en darker grows the raven's wing,
And desert-like his note.
The herd-boy, keeping watch a-field
Beside the late outstanding grain,
Marks leaves in gusty circles wheeled
And scattered o'er the russet plain;
Or sees the wavy-line that floats
In the gray rack to flute-like notes;
Wild fowl are harrowing the sky,
The early harbingers of snow;
Far southward on his straining eye
All indistinct they grow.
Beside the late outstanding grain,
Marks leaves in gusty circles wheeled
And scattered o'er the russet plain;
Or sees the wavy-line that floats
In the gray rack to flute-like notes;
Wild fowl are harrowing the sky,
The early harbingers of snow;
Far southward on his straining eye
All indistinct they grow.
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The dying winds, as sets the sun,
Usher the gloaming and expire;
The frosty stars gleam, one by one,
Like ice reflecting distant fire.
The moon awaits her time to rise
To bathe with her cold light the skies;
The frost king creeps in stillness forth;
While shooting upward high and higher,
The nameless wizard of the north
Kindles his ghostly fire.
Usher the gloaming and expire;
The frosty stars gleam, one by one,
Like ice reflecting distant fire.
The moon awaits her time to rise
To bathe with her cold light the skies;
The frost king creeps in stillness forth;
While shooting upward high and higher,
The nameless wizard of the north
Kindles his ghostly fire.
The peasant homeward hieing now,
Belated, turns his thoughtful gaze,
And sees on high the starry “Plough”
Pale through the evanescent blaze.
Thoughts, sad yet pleasing, crowd his mind;
Thoughts formless half, and half defined,
Such as the bard and painter feel,
But fail to picture or to sing;
Thoughts that of genius fix the seal
And point her upward wing!
Belated, turns his thoughtful gaze,
And sees on high the starry “Plough”
Pale through the evanescent blaze.
Thoughts, sad yet pleasing, crowd his mind;
Thoughts formless half, and half defined,
Such as the bard and painter feel,
But fail to picture or to sing;
Thoughts that of genius fix the seal
And point her upward wing!
The hunter, camped beside the spring,
Where the red maple sheltering stands,
As low the welling waters sing,
And cheerful shine his blazing brands,
Moodily muses as his eye
Watches the flashing northern sky,
And dreams in Odin's distant hall
Hunters some kingly banquet share,
And he, one day, when Death shall call,
Shall mingle with them there.
Where the red maple sheltering stands,
As low the welling waters sing,
And cheerful shine his blazing brands,
Moodily muses as his eye
Watches the flashing northern sky,
And dreams in Odin's distant hall
Hunters some kingly banquet share,
And he, one day, when Death shall call,
Shall mingle with them there.
When withered leaves around my way
Drift in the fresh autumnal blast,
I look upon them as they play,
As Summer's phantoms flitting past.
In stilly nook, or sheltering lee
Of waving woods, they seem to me,
When gathering from their eddying flight,
To build departed Summer's urn,
Where Phœbus pours a mellowed light
Like moonlight fanned to burn.
Drift in the fresh autumnal blast,
I look upon them as they play,
As Summer's phantoms flitting past.
7
Of waving woods, they seem to me,
When gathering from their eddying flight,
To build departed Summer's urn,
Where Phœbus pours a mellowed light
Like moonlight fanned to burn.
| Poetry of the Farm and Rural Life | |