The poetical writings of Elizabeth Oakes Smith :: :: University of Virginia Library

“Whither away, thou merry brook,
Whither away so fast!
With dainty feet through the meadow green,
And a smile as you hurry past.”
The brook leaped on in idle mirth,
And dimpled with saucy glee;
The daisy kissed in lovingness,
And made with the willow free.

I heard its laugh adown the glen,
And over the rocky steep,
Away where the old tree's roots were bare
In the waters dark and deep;
The sunshine flashed upon its face,
And played with flickering leaf.
Well pleased to dally in its path,
Though the tarrying were brief.

“Now stay thy feet, O restless one,
Where droops the spreading tree,
And let thy liquid voice reveal
Thy story unto me.”

183

The flashing pebbles lightly rung,
As the gushing music fell,
The chiming music of the brook,
From out the woody dell.

“My mountain home was bleak and high
A rugged spot and drear;
With searching wind and raging storm,
And moonlight, cold and clear.
I longed for a greeting cheery as mine,
For a fond and answering look;
But none were in that solitude
To bless the little brook.

“The blended hum of pleasant sounds
Came up from the vale below,
And I wished that mine were a lowly lot,
To lapse, and sing as I go;
That gentle things, with loving eyes,
Along my path should glide,
And blossoms, in their loveliness,
Come nestling to my side.

“I leaped me down; my rainbow robe
Hung shivering to the sight,
And the thrill of freedom gave to me
New impulse of delight.
A joyous welcome the sunshine gave,
The bird and the swaying tree;
The spear-like grass and blossom start
With joy at sight of me.

184

“The swallow comes with its bit of clay,
When the busy spring is here,
And twittering bears the moistened gift,
A nest on the eaves to rear.
The twinkling feet of flock and herd
Have trodden a path to me,
And the fox and the squirrel come to drink
In the shade of the alder tree.

“The sunburnt child, with its rounded foot,
Comes hither with me to play,
And I feel the thrill of his lightsome heart,
As he dashes the merry spray.
I turn the mill with answering glee,
As the merry spokes go round,
And the gray rock takes the echo up,
Rejoicing in the sound.

“The old man bathes his scattered locks,
And drops me a silent tear;
For he sees a wrinkled, care-worn face
Look up from the waters clear.
Then I sing in his car the very song
He heard in years gone by,
The old man's heart is glad again,
And a joy lights up his eye.”

Enough, enough, thou homily brook;
I'll treasure thy teachings well,
And I will yield a heartfelt tear
Thy crystal drops to swell;

185

Will bear like thee a kindly love
For the lowly things of earth,
Remembering still that high and pure
Is the home of the spirit's birth.