University of Virginia Library

How strange it is to pace some olden haunt,
Unvisited since childhood's blithe desire
Led the same feet through half-familiar paths
To the lov'd spot for frolic or for rest,—
How strange to find in each grotesque detail
Of twisted trunk, or mossy boulder-stone,
A form laid up in corners of the brain,
And often ponder'd over! strange to feel
The early buoyancy of restless mirth
No longer forcing the o'er-venturous steps
To clamber vainly down the perilous gorge
In search of ferns and flowerets! Then the morn,
Glittering and cold, seem'd most delightful time
For these swift visits; now the quiet eve,
And noiseless ending of the afternoon,
Please most the calm and meditative mind.
Hence with full heart, in this wild bower, arch'd o'er
With twining ivy and the traveller's joy,
I sit this summer evening and review
The short May-day of passion and of thought
Men call my life, and ponder on the ways
Of God, who leads us by an inner voice
Oracular, through ways we dream'd not of,
And new-creates ambition in our souls,
And gives us power to fashion, or makes known
Our weakness to us;—lessons manifold
That pierce our hearts like lightning, and appear
To outward show in laughter or in tears.

O solemn ceaseless river, that dost flow
In darkness through the valley at my feet!
Judge me not arrogant if now at last,
After so many days, I seek again
To mingle my faint song of love and praise
With all the pastoral tribute of long years!
How, since the earliest dawn of life and warmth
In the young earth primæval, hast thou heard
Praises from all thy banks! Around thy source
Grey-headed hills bow down in mute amaze,
Reverent and hush'd, while here the obsequious woods
Bend o'er thy current, and the fragrant stars
Of blackthorn and of may fall noiselessly
Into thy breast as incense from the Spring.
Surely thou hast a spirit of keen life,
Whose amorous sway binds all the winds and flowers,
And brooding birds, and all things blithe and young,
Into a rapt fraternity of praise!
Alas! that human eyes should be so dull!
I only cannot see what every bird,
The very flowers, are glorified in seeing;—
I cannot hear when in melodious choir
The hymn of Nature rises;—all I feel
Is that the dew seems fresher by thy banks,
And that the music of thy twinkling stream
Makes my heart bound more gladly!

Yet perchance
It is my deeper love for thee that frames
These dreams of general worship; thou hast been
My sponsor into song, for thou didst take
My rhyming vows upon thee, when as yet
The faltering tongue lack'd skill to round a verse;
And, O majestic stream! didst teach me lore,
Whether of music, or of hue or form,
Such as no other teacher could have taught.

Hence, with a reverent heart and full of thanks
To Him who dower'd my childhood with such wealth
Of pure delights and natural influence,
I come to listen once again, O Dart!
To thy great voice beneath me in the glen;
And through my brain comes rushing with new awe
The tragic story of thy fierce revenge,
That chill'd my blood in earlier, younger years.
Cruel thou wert, O river! but not for that
Can I revoke my love; rather condemn
The heedlessness of those unhappy ones!
Short is the tale, but sad!—It was the spring,
When the bright heats of April had made warm
The heap'd-up snow around thy chilly springs,
Which melting in the sunshine, suddenly,
Along the streamlet-bed and through the glens,
The floods came fiercely dashing to the sea.
Two brothers, one a dweller in these vales,
The other late return'd from weary years
Under a tropic sun, had met at last,
With such a calm delight as grown men feel,
In the south city of the gleaming masts.
Now back again the elder brother brought
Another son home to the gray old dame
That spun and waited in her cottage home
(To wait, alas! till Heaven should give her peace);
They, weary with the endless burning moor,
Were resting on that meadow at my feet.
There, while they loll'd upon the close warm grass,
Hard by the mossy pillars of the bridge,
Half-dozing in the lassitude of heat,
And dreaming of the flow of happy years
That were to be, and peace, and calm repose,
And hum of bees, and distant low of kine,
And caw of rooks in solemn quiet elms,
And sweet sedge-warblers singing of true love,—
All flowing round the dulcitude of love,—
Suddenly, with a sharp tumultuous roar,
A gurgling rushing noise of many streams
Came down the wild ravine; and round the glen,
Frothy and brown, like a gigantic wall,
The flood came right upon them.

This strange tale,
True in the pity of a hundred hearts,
Came to my boyish ears ere yet the sight
Of human suffering taught me human love,
And made the spell of thy wild loveliness
A passion to me; beautiful thou wert,
And now I knew thee swift and strong to smite,
And weirdest admiration filled my heart.

And now adieu! within the hateful whirl
Of city-strife, and when the weariness
Of a slow circular life shall pain me most,
Thy cool luxuriance, and the lapping sound
Of currents rushing through the mossy stones,
Shall oft sustain me! O immortal stream!
Thy blessed memory helps me to sustain
A steady front to all the blows of Fate;
And now I leave thee, stronger for this hour
Of deep communion with the all-wise heart
Of Nature beating in this mossy valley.