Egeria, or, The Spirit of Nature and Other Poems ::

When youthful June strews earth with flowers,
And birds make musical the bowers;
When sound with sight appears to vie,
Which best shall charm us, earth or sky—
I love, sweet blossom of the wild,
Young summer's azure-vested child,
To see thee hang thy tender bells
In meadow slopes or forest dells.

II

'Mid feathery fern or spear-like grass,
Thou noddest to me as I pass;
And, memory's playmate as thou art,
Awakenest fancies of the heart,
Entwined with rural life and joy,
That please the man and charmed the boy;
And send me back, through clouds of years,
To childhood's blushes, smiles, and tears.

III

I tread the forest solitude,
Thou modest sapphire of the wood,—
And Solitude, no longer lone,
Is filled with visions all thine own:
With thoughts and dreams, each linked with thee
By some soft spell of memory,
Sweet to recall, and dear to hold—
My recollection's minted gold.

IV

I live my early life anew;
I tread, well pleased, the morning dew;
With childish voice I trill my rhyme,—
With tiny feet the stiles I climb,—
With little eyes that never tire,
I watch, examine, and admire;
And gather garlands as I run,
Or sit and weave them in the sun.

V

Anon by running brooks I lie,
To watch the white clouds sailing by;
Or, dazzled by the noontide beam,
I cast thy blossoms in the stream,
With curious gaze resolved to note
Their small mischances as they float—
Deciding, with a judgment proud,
Which sails the faster, flower or cloud.

VI

And other visions come at call—
The lover's walk at evening's fall;
The posy culled with pleasing care,
To grace a bosom fond and fair;
The seat beneath the apple-tree,
Or mid high clover on the lea;
All the bright foolishness of youth,
When earth was heaven and man was truth.

VII

These are thy gifts and liberal dower,
Gem of the wilds, ethereal flower;
I would not lose my love of thee,
For all the pomps of luxury;
Nor of thy sisters of the woods,
Companions of my varying moods;
All sweetly garrulous as thou,
Of past delights made present now.

VIII

Yet, mighty Art, to Nature true,
Can clothe thy form with beauty new.
Lo! by the artist's powerful spells,
Amid thy leaves a spirit dwells—
A spirit with a gentle face,
Imbued with melancholy grace,
And downeast eyes that seem to say,
“I love—I meditate—I pray.”

IX

Triumphant Art! the spirit fair
Was no creation—she was there:
Thou didst but see with keener eye,
What blind materialists deny.
A living spirit breathes in all,
To teach, enrapture, and enthral;
Each tree that waves, each flower that springs,
Speaks high and spiritual things.

X

And once by chisel, brush, or pen,
Evoked before the eyes of men,
No future spell can disenchant,
The floweret or its habitant:
The beauteous visions breathe and move,
Like creatures of our daily love;
And, linked with sympathies refined,
Become immortal as the mind.

University of Virginia Library

THE SPIRIT OF THE BLUE-BELL.

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