 | A Day in the Woods |  |
Come haste with us beneath the greenwood shade,
For we have songs to sing, and tales to tell;
And many a bashful youth, and modest maid,
Shall waken echoes in the flowery dell.
Come haste with us through glen and silent glade,
Where the deep brook's melodious murmurs swell,
For we have lays of love, and grief, and fear,
And legends old to charm the listening ear.
For we have songs to sing, and tales to tell;
And many a bashful youth, and modest maid,
Shall waken echoes in the flowery dell.
Come haste with us through glen and silent glade,
Where the deep brook's melodious murmurs swell,
For we have lays of love, and grief, and fear,
And legends old to charm the listening ear.
31
SONNET TO SUMMER.
Maiden! with sun-dyed locks, and brow of flowers,O! how I love thy laughing eyes to see!
Sweet-breathing summer! thou art dear to me.
What bliss to sit within thy leaf-roofed bowers,
And list the sleep-voiced bee, or patting showers,
Dropping on fragrant rose, or green-robed tree!
Wood-waking birds seem made alone for thee,
To welcome in the violet-captured hours.
The clouds above roll like soft forms of light,
And gold-steeped valleys sleep beneath thy rays;
While basking hills pillow thine image bright;
Deep brooks shine clearer 'neath thy skiey gaze,
And glide along in music through the night,
Singing for aye, with liquid tongues, thy praise.
56
THE VILLAGE MAID.
I met her in the blooming month
Of flower-laden Spring,
When budding trees were lightly robed,
And larks soared high to sing;
We wandered where the primrose grew
Deep in a silent glade,
And vowed that nought, save death, should part
Me and my village maid.
Of flower-laden Spring,
When budding trees were lightly robed,
And larks soared high to sing;
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Deep in a silent glade,
And vowed that nought, save death, should part
Me and my village maid.
When Summer came, with laughing days,
And soft blue-hanging skies,
Which threw a gladness all around,
As did her softer eyes,
Again we sought the twilight woods,
Where hazels formed a shade;
The ring-dove and the singing brook
Pleased my sweet village maid.
And soft blue-hanging skies,
Which threw a gladness all around,
As did her softer eyes,
Again we sought the twilight woods,
Where hazels formed a shade;
The ring-dove and the singing brook
Pleased my sweet village maid.
When Autumn came, in solemn gold,
And yellow leaves were strown,
'Twas then death marked my village maid
Alas! to be his own.
I 'tended her, by night and day,
And when the sportsman strayed
Along the silent harvest fields,
Death smote my village maid.
And yellow leaves were strown,
'Twas then death marked my village maid
Alas! to be his own.
I 'tended her, by night and day,
And when the sportsman strayed
Along the silent harvest fields,
Death smote my village maid.
Now Winter's come, with hollow voice;
I hear the howling wind
Ring through the savage, naked woods,
All gloomy, like my mind.
Oh, Spring! come not again to me;
By her I would be laid,
For what are birds or flowers to me,
Without my village maid?
I hear the howling wind
Ring through the savage, naked woods,
All gloomy, like my mind.
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By her I would be laid,
For what are birds or flowers to me,
Without my village maid?
60
THE NIGHT-WALK WITH THE DYING
It is no fiction I record,
No common tale I pen,
But misery—O! woe is me,
Alone from other men!
No common tale I pen,
But misery—O! woe is me,
Alone from other men!
Alone, alone! I've been alone,
Where no house you could see,—
Alone, upon a wide wild heath,
A dying man with me!
Where no house you could see,—
Alone, upon a wide wild heath,
A dying man with me!
And we set out at early morn;
The sun all glorious shone;—
We journeyed on, light-hearted men,
But I returned alone.
The sun all glorious shone;—
We journeyed on, light-hearted men,
But I returned alone.
I saw him take his fond wife's hand,
And kiss his little child,—
Joy beamed like sunshine from their eyes,
While hope serenely smiled.
And kiss his little child,—
Joy beamed like sunshine from their eyes,
While hope serenely smiled.
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I heard those last heart rending words,
That yet sound like a knell;—
“Good bye!” “good bye!” and on we went,
By many a dale and dell.
That yet sound like a knell;—
“Good bye!” “good bye!” and on we went,
By many a dale and dell.
Our steps were light as mountain doe's,—
The sun, the morn, the flowers,
Drove care from off his leaden throne,—
No hearts more blythe than ours.
The sun, the morn, the flowers,
Drove care from off his leaden throne,—
No hearts more blythe than ours.
Our course lay through sweet fertile fields,
Our path was crowned with trees;
The merry birds sang jovially,
And loudly hummed the bees.
Our path was crowned with trees;
The merry birds sang jovially,
And loudly hummed the bees.
The golden god stood in the sky,
As if he had unfurled
His brightest ray, that seemed to say,
Death dwells not in the world!
As if he had unfurled
His brightest ray, that seemed to say,
Death dwells not in the world!
He could not dwell amid those fields,
Where flowers were seen to bloom,
Nor bask on banks with woodbines crowned,
Ah, no! he loves the gloom!
Where flowers were seen to bloom,
Nor bask on banks with woodbines crowned,
Ah, no! he loves the gloom!
And who could deem, when eyes were bright,
And hope went whispering on,—
From street to street, from town to town,—
“The pest, the pest is gone?”
And hope went whispering on,—
From street to street, from town to town,—
“The pest, the pest is gone?”
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And who could deem, that saw those flowers
In blue and crimson wave,—
Or felt that health-winged morning breeze,
That they were near the grave?
In blue and crimson wave,—
Or felt that health-winged morning breeze,
That they were near the grave?
And who could deem, that heard those brooks,
Soft-rolling gurgle by;
And saw those little fishes glide,
That aught that day could die?
Soft-rolling gurgle by;
And saw those little fishes glide,
That aught that day could die?
That death had grasped his deadliest dart,
And rose with morning light,
With us to cross those fragrant fields,
And count our steps till night?
And rose with morning light,
With us to cross those fragrant fields,
And count our steps till night?
We felt as free as unchained winds,
As o'er that heath we strayed;
A shepherd boy lay on the grass,
And with his fond dog played.
As o'er that heath we strayed;
A shepherd boy lay on the grass,
And with his fond dog played.
The milk-maid smiled, and looked askance,
When asked “to be a bride,”
As she tript gaily with her pail,
And we walked by her side.
When asked “to be a bride,”
As she tript gaily with her pail,
And we walked by her side.
We could not deem we were alone,
When trees were green and gay,—
For nature hummed her thousand songs,
On that fair sunny day.
When trees were green and gay,—
For nature hummed her thousand songs,
On that fair sunny day.
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On, on, we went,—care was forgot,
In Summer's golden store;
'Tis when alone amid her wealth,
We feel no longer poor.
In Summer's golden store;
'Tis when alone amid her wealth,
We feel no longer poor.
At length we reached our journey's end,
Mine host brought out good cheer;—
Pledged us in home-brewed sparkling ale,
And cried, “You're welcome here.”
Mine host brought out good cheer;—
Pledged us in home-brewed sparkling ale,
And cried, “You're welcome here.”
Lo! the companion of my walk,
Th' untasted cup doth hold,
And looking thoughtful on the floor,
Shivers with inward cold.
Th' untasted cup doth hold,
And looking thoughtful on the floor,
Shivers with inward cold.
Said he, “I'll go down Abbey-lane,
And up by Newstead-wood,—
Give me ‘Childe Harold’ to peruse,
The walk will warm my blood.”
And up by Newstead-wood,—
Give me ‘Childe Harold’ to peruse,
The walk will warm my blood.”
No doubt he deemed the sun and flowers
His spirits would revive;—
In sooth it was a charming day,
All Nature seemed alive.
His spirits would revive;—
In sooth it was a charming day,
All Nature seemed alive.
And where that spire gazed on the sky
Childe Harold's corse was laid,—
And o'er the wood those towers were seen
Which Time's cold hand hath greyed.
Childe Harold's corse was laid,—
And o'er the wood those towers were seen
Which Time's cold hand hath greyed.
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And he now walked those far-famed fields
Where Byron oft had been,—
Trod the same twilight forest paths,
And deep dells darkly green.
Where Byron oft had been,—
Trod the same twilight forest paths,
And deep dells darkly green.
He came not back until the sun
Sunk down o'er Annesly hill;
His looks proclaimed his dreadful state,
He said, “My heart is chill.”
Sunk down o'er Annesly hill;
His looks proclaimed his dreadful state,
He said, “My heart is chill.”
I saw his sadly sunken face,
And marked each ghastly eye;
And spake—but then I knew not what,
And he made no reply.
And marked each ghastly eye;
And spake—but then I knew not what,
And he made no reply.
The sun had set, the sky looked black,
Our hostess beds prepared;—
“O, no!” said he, “I must go home,”
And wildly round he stared.
Our hostess beds prepared;—
“O, no!” said he, “I must go home,”
And wildly round he stared.
“I must go home,—I'm better now,—
But thirsty—give me drink:
Were I to stay away all night,
O! what would Mary think?”
But thirsty—give me drink:
Were I to stay away all night,
O! what would Mary think?”
I argued the long dreary miles,—
I heard the pelting rain,—
I spoke of darkness, and the heath,
Alas! 'twas all in vain.
I heard the pelting rain,—
I spoke of darkness, and the heath,
Alas! 'twas all in vain.
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“And canst thou walk six dreary miles,
So ill as thou dost seem?”
“I must,” he cried, “I will!—my wife!—
O! I have had a dream!
So ill as thou dost seem?”
“I must,” he cried, “I will!—my wife!—
O! I have had a dream!
“Though I am ill,—and very ill,
My wife will wait on me;
Fear not, we soon shall walk six miles,”—
So onward journeyed we.
My wife will wait on me;
Fear not, we soon shall walk six miles,”—
So onward journeyed we.
The night was dark, the rain fell fast,
His home then filled his mind,—
He walked as one who walks for life;
I followed close behind.
His home then filled his mind,—
He walked as one who walks for life;
I followed close behind.
On, on, we went, a dreary mile,
Adown a dark wild lane,—
Until he staggered to and fro,
And could not walk for pain.
Adown a dark wild lane,—
Until he staggered to and fro,
And could not walk for pain.
There was a house, a low lone house,
The last we had to pass,
Before we entered that wide heath,
Where fern o'ertops the grass.
The last we had to pass,
Before we entered that wide heath,
Where fern o'ertops the grass.
He bade me once more fetch him drink,
To cool his parched tongue;
I drew it from that cold deep well;
He o'er the white gate hung.
To cool his parched tongue;
I drew it from that cold deep well;
He o'er the white gate hung.
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The cottager came out to see,
And sadly shook his head,—
No doubt he deemed Death's hand was there,
But not a word he said.
And sadly shook his head,—
No doubt he deemed Death's hand was there,
But not a word he said.
And now upon that wide wild heath
None others could you see;
Alone, alone, we journeyed on,—
A dying man with me!
None others could you see;
Alone, alone, we journeyed on,—
A dying man with me!
Nor house nor solitary cot
On that lone heath did stand,—
The rush, the fern, and armed furze
Grew, emblems of the land.
On that lone heath did stand,—
The rush, the fern, and armed furze
Grew, emblems of the land.
Upon my arm he heavy hung,—
Away we went, tramp, tramp;
But, O! we had not journeyed far,
Before he cried, “The cramp!”
Away we went, tramp, tramp;
But, O! we had not journeyed far,
Before he cried, “The cramp!”
I kneh amid the golden-broom,
Among the forest flowers,
And rubbed his chilly knotted-limbs,—
The heath was drenched with showers.
Among the forest flowers,
And rubbed his chilly knotted-limbs,—
The heath was drenched with showers.
Then on we went, across the wild,
Or stopped as fresh pangs came;
Sometimes he muttered to himself
His far-off Mary's name.
Or stopped as fresh pangs came;
Sometimes he muttered to himself
His far-off Mary's name.
129
At length the moon broke through a cloud,
And o'er the wild plain shone,—
The rain drops gleamed on heather bells,
Like gems around a throne.
And o'er the wild plain shone,—
The rain drops gleamed on heather bells,
Like gems around a throne.
Said I, his gloomy thoughts to chase:
“The moon shines bright, dost see?”
He turned his eyes to look, then said,
“She'll smile no more on me.”
“The moon shines bright, dost see?”
He turned his eyes to look, then said,
“She'll smile no more on me.”
He stood and paused a little while,
But not a word spake he,—
And then upstarted, as men start
From idle reverie,
But not a word spake he,—
And then upstarted, as men start
From idle reverie,
And seized me firmly by the arm:
“Dost think that moon,” said he,
“Contains our souls when we are dead,
Or where can heaven be?”
“Dost think that moon,” said he,
“Contains our souls when we are dead,
Or where can heaven be?”
And then he muttered, “Wife and child!”
Ah me! I knew his fears;—
And glancing sidelong at his face,
Saw the fast-rolling tears.
Ah me! I knew his fears;—
And glancing sidelong at his face,
Saw the fast-rolling tears.
“And dost thou think we meet our kin
In heaven?—O God! this pain!”—
Then down I knelt on that wide heath,
And rubbed his limbs again.
In heaven?—O God! this pain!”—
Then down I knelt on that wide heath,
And rubbed his limbs again.
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“We must reach home, on—on,” he cried,
His look was wild and stern,—
He walked as if he'd tramp on Death,
Then fell amid the fern.—
His look was wild and stern,—
He walked as if he'd tramp on Death,
Then fell amid the fern.—
And there he lay, on that wild heath,
Among the heathery bloom;
The broad blue sky his canopy,
His couch, the furze and broom.
Among the heathery bloom;
The broad blue sky his canopy,
His couch, the furze and broom.
His hands were clenched, his lips were black,
His face was dark likewise;
His cheeks had fallen frightfully,
But O his ghastly eyes,
His face was dark likewise;
His cheeks had fallen frightfully,
But O his ghastly eyes,
Rolling upon the pale white moon,
Then glaringly on me!—
Stretched groaning on a wide wild heath,—
'Twas dreadful, but to see!
Then glaringly on me!—
Stretched groaning on a wide wild heath,—
'Twas dreadful, but to see!
Again I bore him from the ground,
Ah! deeply did he sigh,—
And bowed his head, and feebly said,
“But wait, I soon shall die!”
Ah! deeply did he sigh,—
And bowed his head, and feebly said,
“But wait, I soon shall die!”
He ground his teeth,—it was not rage,
But that deep writhing pain
That thickened his slow-pacing blood,
And racked his burning brain.
But that deep writhing pain
That thickened his slow-pacing blood,
And racked his burning brain.
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Two dreary miles, two dreary miles,
As yet we had but come;
And we four more must traverse o'er,
Before we reach his home.
As yet we had but come;
And we four more must traverse o'er,
Before we reach his home.
“And dost thou think, thou dying man,
With eyes so ghastly wild,
That thou shalt see thy waiting wife,
Or kiss thy listening child?
With eyes so ghastly wild,
That thou shalt see thy waiting wife,
Or kiss thy listening child?
“Ah, no! ah, no! thou dying man,
Death's near,—it cannot be,—
Thou shalt not kiss thy listening child,
Nor yet thy dear wife see.
Death's near,—it cannot be,—
Thou shalt not kiss thy listening child,
Nor yet thy dear wife see.
“Thy mother in yon village lives,
That from us yet doth lie
A dreary mile; she knoweth not,
Thou'rt coming there to die.”
That from us yet doth lie
A dreary mile; she knoweth not,
Thou'rt coming there to die.”
Tramp, tramp,—on, on, away went we,
O'er fern, and piercing goss;
We crushed the broom beneath our feet,
And trampled deep the moss.
O'er fern, and piercing goss;
We crushed the broom beneath our feet,
And trampled deep the moss.
We left that heath, o'er which at morn,
We had so blithely strayed;
But where were now the sun and flowers,
And fish that gladly played?
We had so blithely strayed;
But where were now the sun and flowers,
And fish that gladly played?
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As on I went, I thought awhile
Of tidings I must bear
To that lone widow, who for him,
Would let fall many a tear.
Of tidings I must bear
To that lone widow, who for him,
Would let fall many a tear.
Ah me! thought I, and thou wilt up
Like bird from bosky-bourn;
And gladly open wide thy door,
To welcome his return.
Like bird from bosky-bourn;
And gladly open wide thy door,
To welcome his return.
And yet I must the sad news tell,
My heart was beating sore,
And O! my hand struck tremblingly,
The panels of that door.
My heart was beating sore,
And O! my hand struck tremblingly,
The panels of that door.
What could it mean?—all still within,
Loudly I knocked again;
A woman from a window looked,
And cried, “You knock in vain.”
Loudly I knocked again;
A woman from a window looked,
And cried, “You knock in vain.”
“You knock in vain!” what could she mean?
I stood in the moonlight,—
“You knock in vain, there's no one there,—
That woman died last night.
I stood in the moonlight,—
“You knock in vain, there's no one there,—
That woman died last night.
“Has not her husband come?” said she;
The tears gushed from my eyes;
“Ah, no!” said I, “he'll come no more,
For low in death he lies.”
The tears gushed from my eyes;
“Ah, no!” said I, “he'll come no more,
For low in death he lies.”
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“Oh God!” she cried, the window closed,
But no more sleep had she,—
I heard her husband say, “Oh God!”
There was no soul with me.
But no more sleep had she,—
I heard her husband say, “Oh God!”
There was no soul with me.
And Death had all things cleared away,—
All fears how I should tell
My tidings in the softest way,
And what to him befell.
All fears how I should tell
My tidings in the softest way,
And what to him befell.
All pensively, I sought my couch,
But ah! no rest could find:
The heath,—the moon,—the dying man,
Alone absorbed my mind.
But ah! no rest could find:
The heath,—the moon,—the dying man,
Alone absorbed my mind.
Alone! alone! I've been alone,
Where no house you could see;
Alone, upon a wide wild heath,
And a dying man with me.
Where no house you could see;
Alone, upon a wide wild heath,
And a dying man with me.
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THE DYING WIDOW.
“Those cold white curtain-folds displace—
That form I would no longer see;
They have assumed my husband's face,
And all night long it looked at me:
I wished it not to go away,
Yet trembled while it did remain;
I closed my eyes, and tried to pray—
Alas! I tried in vain.
That form I would no longer see;
They have assumed my husband's face,
And all night long it looked at me:
I wished it not to go away,
Yet trembled while it did remain;
I closed my eyes, and tried to pray—
Alas! I tried in vain.
“I know my head is very weak,
I've seen what fancy can create;
I long have felt too low to speak,—
Oh! I have thought too much of late—
I have a few requests to make:
Just wipe these blinding tears away;—
I know your love, and for my sake
You will them all obey.
I've seen what fancy can create;
I long have felt too low to speak,—
Oh! I have thought too much of late—
I have a few requests to make:
Just wipe these blinding tears away;—
I know your love, and for my sake
You will them all obey.
“My child has scarce a month been dead,
My husband has been dead but five;
What dreary hours since then have fled!
I wonder I am yet alive.
My child! through him Death aimed the blow,
And from that hour I did decline;
His coffin, when my head lies low,
I would have placed on mine.
My husband has been dead but five;
What dreary hours since then have fled!
I wonder I am yet alive.
273
And from that hour I did decline;
His coffin, when my head lies low,
I would have placed on mine.
“Those letters which my husband sent
Before he perished in the deep;—
What hours in reading them I've spent,
Whole nights, in which I could not sleep:
Oh! they are worn with many a tear,
Scarce fit for other eyes to see;
But oft when sad they did me cheer,—
Pray bury them with me.
Before he perished in the deep;—
What hours in reading them I've spent,
Whole nights, in which I could not sleep:
Oh! they are worn with many a tear,
Scarce fit for other eyes to see;
But oft when sad they did me cheer,—
Pray bury them with me.
“This little cap my Henry wore,
The very day before he died;
And I shall never kiss it more—
When dead you'll place it by my side;
I know these thoughts are weak, but oh!
What will a vacant heart not crave?
And as none else can love them so,
I'll bear them to my grave.
The very day before he died;
And I shall never kiss it more—
When dead you'll place it by my side;
I know these thoughts are weak, but oh!
What will a vacant heart not crave?
And as none else can love them so,
I'll bear them to my grave.
“The miniature that still I wear,
When dead I would not have removed:
'Tis on my heart—oh leave it there,
To find its way to where I loved;
My husband threw it round my neck,
Long, long before he called me bride;
And I was told that 'midst the wreck
He kissed mine ere he died.
When dead I would not have removed:
'Tis on my heart—oh leave it there,
To find its way to where I loved;
My husband threw it round my neck,
Long, long before he called me bride;
And I was told that 'midst the wreck
He kissed mine ere he died.
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“There's little that I care for now,
Except this simple wedding ring;
I faithfully have kept my vow,
And feel not an accusing sting:
I never yet have laid it by
A moment since my bridal day;
Where he first placed it let it lie:
Oh! take it not away!
Except this simple wedding ring;
I faithfully have kept my vow,
And feel not an accusing sting:
I never yet have laid it by
A moment since my bridal day;
Where he first placed it let it lie:
Oh! take it not away!
“Now wrap me in my wedding gown,
You scarce can think how cold I feel;
And smooth my ruffled pillow down:
Oh! how my clouded senses reel!
Great God! support me to the last!
Oh, let more air into the room:
The struggle now is nearly past,
Husband and child! I come!”
You scarce can think how cold I feel;
And smooth my ruffled pillow down:
Oh! how my clouded senses reel!
Great God! support me to the last!
Oh, let more air into the room:
The struggle now is nearly past,
Husband and child! I come!”
285
THE OLD ENGLISH WOOD.
What booted it to traverse o'er
Plain, forest, river? Man nor brute,
Nor dint of hoof, nor print of foot,
Lay in the wild luxuriant soil;
No sign of travail—none of toil.
Byron.
Plain, forest, river? Man nor brute,
Nor dint of hoof, nor print of foot,
Lay in the wild luxuriant soil;
No sign of travail—none of toil.
Byron.
With cloudy wings outstretched in deathly gloom
Came shady Silence, leading sullen Night
Mantled in darkness dreary as the tomb,
Whose sable shield resists the piercing sight,
And mocks the efforts of excluded light,
Waiting in vain to gild the pitchy vault;
So, brooding o'er the forest's leafy height,
In murky clouds, marching with dark assault,
Came ebon Night, no morn to bid her black steeds halt.
Came shady Silence, leading sullen Night
Mantled in darkness dreary as the tomb,
Whose sable shield resists the piercing sight,
And mocks the efforts of excluded light,
Waiting in vain to gild the pitchy vault;
So, brooding o'er the forest's leafy height,
In murky clouds, marching with dark assault,
Came ebon Night, no morn to bid her black steeds halt.
Hark! from yon wood is heard the wolf's long howl,
Loud echoes deepen—o'er the savage plain
The listening fox halts on his midnight prowl,
Then, gliding cautiously, proceeds again;
Oft turning round, although he turns in vain,
Increasing darkness hides each moving foe;
Green leaves resound with drops of dancing rain;
At intervals hoarse winds in wild gusts blow,
While tall trees bend and sigh like men in deepest woe.
Loud echoes deepen—o'er the savage plain
The listening fox halts on his midnight prowl,
Then, gliding cautiously, proceeds again;
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Increasing darkness hides each moving foe;
Green leaves resound with drops of dancing rain;
At intervals hoarse winds in wild gusts blow,
While tall trees bend and sigh like men in deepest woe.
The startled raven quits her lofty nest,
And circles round the huge broad-branching oak,
Where her young nestlings closely gathered rest,
Stretching their beaks, roused by her harsh deep croak;
While howling wolves have ravenously broke
The caverned wood, across the heath they stray
Impelled by hunger; rage appears to choke
Their clamorous yell—anon they bound away,
Sweeping the level plain full speed in quest of prey.
And circles round the huge broad-branching oak,
Where her young nestlings closely gathered rest,
Stretching their beaks, roused by her harsh deep croak;
While howling wolves have ravenously broke
The caverned wood, across the heath they stray
Impelled by hunger; rage appears to choke
Their clamorous yell—anon they bound away,
Sweeping the level plain full speed in quest of prey.
The wolf's stern howl, joined with the raven's cry,
Rouses the wild deer from his shady lair;
From snow-white thorns bright pendant rain-drops fly;
Round the deep glen in vain his brown eyes glare,
Impenetrable gloom resists his stare.
Now! now! he flies, he clears the frowning wood,
Sweeps by the wondering, timid, trembling hare,
Brushes the blossom, shakes the tender bud,
Gains the extended plain, and swims the gurgling flood.
Rouses the wild deer from his shady lair;
From snow-white thorns bright pendant rain-drops fly;
Round the deep glen in vain his brown eyes glare,
Impenetrable gloom resists his stare.
Now! now! he flies, he clears the frowning wood,
Sweeps by the wondering, timid, trembling hare,
Brushes the blossom, shakes the tender bud,
Gains the extended plain, and swims the gurgling flood.
Majestic grandeur stamped that solemn scene,
For weary miles an outstretched forest lay,
But seldom trod by things of mortal mien;
Here Nature sat enthroned in wild array,
Profusely decked, with firs and witching bay;
Here broad oaks threw afar their shady arms
O'er creeping brambles, which unguided stray
Around the trunk, where loving ivy swarms,
And playful squirrels climb, rocked safe from all alarms.
For weary miles an outstretched forest lay,
But seldom trod by things of mortal mien;
Here Nature sat enthroned in wild array,
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Here broad oaks threw afar their shady arms
O'er creeping brambles, which unguided stray
Around the trunk, where loving ivy swarms,
And playful squirrels climb, rocked safe from all alarms.
Here quivering aspens kissed the whispering gale,
And hawthorns blossomed, hid in sunless shade;
The mourning ring-dove cooed her doleful tale;
The holly green its shining leaves displayed;
The branching birch o'erhung the flowery glade;
The towering elm sheltered the noisy rook,
The hazel in rich foliage stood arrayed;
The willow trembled o'er the wimpling brook,
Whose bright, smooth, mirrored face tall whistling reeds o'erlook.
And hawthorns blossomed, hid in sunless shade;
The mourning ring-dove cooed her doleful tale;
The holly green its shining leaves displayed;
The branching birch o'erhung the flowery glade;
The towering elm sheltered the noisy rook,
The hazel in rich foliage stood arrayed;
The willow trembled o'er the wimpling brook,
Whose bright, smooth, mirrored face tall whistling reeds o'erlook.
The sullen crabtree flourished 'neath the beech;
Above, the toppling wild pine reared its head,
As though the lowering clouds it fain would reach,
So proudly high those lofty arms were spread,
Whose rustling leaves the winds profusely shed.
Luxuriant box stood robed in gloomy hue,
And cypress nodded o'er the glen's dark bed,
Where stately ash o'ertopped the bow-famed yew,
Bursting in silent grandeur on the astonished view.
Above, the toppling wild pine reared its head,
As though the lowering clouds it fain would reach,
So proudly high those lofty arms were spread,
Whose rustling leaves the winds profusely shed.
Luxuriant box stood robed in gloomy hue,
And cypress nodded o'er the glen's dark bed,
Where stately ash o'ertopped the bow-famed yew,
Bursting in silent grandeur on the astonished view.
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The woods, the glades, and dells were sprinkled round
With healing herbs, and variegated flowers;
The savage forest then no lordling owned,
No studied art bedecked her native bowers;
Her rugged silent breast inhaled the showers,
And blushing roses shed their beauteous bloom;
The circling wood-bine o'er the whitethorn towers.
They live and die amid the forest gloom,
Like maiden beauty snatched untimely to the tomb.
With healing herbs, and variegated flowers;
The savage forest then no lordling owned,
No studied art bedecked her native bowers;
Her rugged silent breast inhaled the showers,
And blushing roses shed their beauteous bloom;
The circling wood-bine o'er the whitethorn towers.
They live and die amid the forest gloom,
Like maiden beauty snatched untimely to the tomb.
Ill-scented hen-bane o'er the gromel hung,
And humble chick-weed 'neath wild rockets spread;
'Mid noisome fox-glove and the serpents'-tongue
The purple true-love reared its shining head.
There hoary wood-sage pleasing odours shed
O'er richly tinted golden maiden-hair;
And spreading dove's-foot garbed in glaring red,
And cuckoo flowers—that like some modest fair,
Bear a slight crimson blush beneath the unwelcome stare.
And humble chick-weed 'neath wild rockets spread;
'Mid noisome fox-glove and the serpents'-tongue
The purple true-love reared its shining head.
There hoary wood-sage pleasing odours shed
O'er richly tinted golden maiden-hair;
And spreading dove's-foot garbed in glaring red,
And cuckoo flowers—that like some modest fair,
Bear a slight crimson blush beneath the unwelcome stare.
Above the endive's flower of heavenly blue
Spread the rough leaves of deadly dark nightshade;
Around a golden gleam bright kingcups threw;
Primroses were in long pale ranks arrayed,
And spotted cowslips nodded in the glade;
The modest lily shed her feeble light,
The thistle's white locks o'er the groundsel strayed,
Where knots of tall fair daisies, robed in white,
Gleamed through the sullen ranks of cloudy-columned Night.
Spread the rough leaves of deadly dark nightshade;
Around a golden gleam bright kingcups threw;
Primroses were in long pale ranks arrayed,
And spotted cowslips nodded in the glade;
The modest lily shed her feeble light,
The thistle's white locks o'er the groundsel strayed,
Where knots of tall fair daisies, robed in white,
Gleamed through the sullen ranks of cloudy-columned Night.
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There silver-grass in rank luxuriance grew,
And broad docks paved the broader sloping dale;
The wild vine o'er the thorn its green arms threw,
Whose leafy wings flew streaming in the gale,
Or o'er the violet spread an emerald sail:
Around tall shady orpines proudly rise,
And branching hemlocks thickly stud the vale,
Screening the dazzling broom's deep yellow eyes,
That 'neath the shady plant in armed ambush lies.
And broad docks paved the broader sloping dale;
The wild vine o'er the thorn its green arms threw,
Whose leafy wings flew streaming in the gale,
Or o'er the violet spread an emerald sail:
Around tall shady orpines proudly rise,
And branching hemlocks thickly stud the vale,
Screening the dazzling broom's deep yellow eyes,
That 'neath the shady plant in armed ambush lies.
Along the shelving banks grew scented thyme,
And rag-wort with expanded woolly leaves;
There yellow toad-flux up the mallows climb,
And dark-leaved eye-bright to the tutson cleaves,
Where the ingenious gossamer oft weaves
The dew-strung woof, which rides the sweeping breeze;
Above the towering cummin tries to heave
Its seedy head, shunned by the humming bees,
Who spread at day their pinions o'er the broad dwarf trees.
And rag-wort with expanded woolly leaves;
There yellow toad-flux up the mallows climb,
And dark-leaved eye-bright to the tutson cleaves,
Where the ingenious gossamer oft weaves
The dew-strung woof, which rides the sweeping breeze;
Above the towering cummin tries to heave
Its seedy head, shunned by the humming bees,
Who spread at day their pinions o'er the broad dwarf trees.
No habitation graced that rugged scene,
No pathway bore the track of man or steed;
Dark trees the dell from streaming sunbeams screen,
Where hungry wolves on slaughtered wild deer feed,
And otters dive beneath the trembling reed:
No cultivation here smoothed Nature's face,
No nodding corn, nor hedge-engirded mead,
Across this savage scene the eye could trace;
Diana here alone might lead the sylvan chase.
No pathway bore the track of man or steed;
Dark trees the dell from streaming sunbeams screen,
Where hungry wolves on slaughtered wild deer feed,
And otters dive beneath the trembling reed:
No cultivation here smoothed Nature's face,
No nodding corn, nor hedge-engirded mead,
Across this savage scene the eye could trace;
Diana here alone might lead the sylvan chase.
316
READING SHAKSPEARE.
Far in a wood's sad solitary gloom,
Two maidens sat beneath an aged tree,
In leafy summer's sweet expanding bloom:
A brook rolled by in mournful minstrelsy,
Bordered with sweetest flowers, and mosses curled;—
There they communed with him whose fame yet fills the world.
Two maidens sat beneath an aged tree,
In leafy summer's sweet expanding bloom:
A brook rolled by in mournful minstrelsy,
Bordered with sweetest flowers, and mosses curled;—
There they communed with him whose fame yet fills the world.
And as the stream stole murmuringly along,
Their kindled fancies with its music rose;
And their ears caught Ophelia's dying song,
Down the deep waters sinking to a close;
A pensive willow, drooping from the land,
Lower appeared to bend, grasped by her pale thin hand.
Their kindled fancies with its music rose;
And their ears caught Ophelia's dying song,
Down the deep waters sinking to a close;
A pensive willow, drooping from the land,
Lower appeared to bend, grasped by her pale thin hand.
And huge fantastic trunks, gnarled, old, and grey,
Assumed the hearth-hag forms in that dim scene;
The blending boughs, the while, shut out the day,
And formed a cave, where lips, of livid green—
Such seemed the leaves—were muttering mystic tones;
The pebbled brook, too, mocked the cauldron's bubbling groans.
Assumed the hearth-hag forms in that dim scene;
The blending boughs, the while, shut out the day,
And formed a cave, where lips, of livid green—
Such seemed the leaves—were muttering mystic tones;
The pebbled brook, too, mocked the cauldron's bubbling groans.
317
And fairy visions floated gently by,—
A merry train, that haunted greenwood dells;
Or, as they willed it, swept through earth and sky;
Or made their homes within the wild-flower bells;
Or down the silvery star-beams loved to glide;
Or on the moonlight-waves in water lilies ride.
A merry train, that haunted greenwood dells;
Or, as they willed it, swept through earth and sky;
Or made their homes within the wild-flower bells;
Or down the silvery star-beams loved to glide;
Or on the moonlight-waves in water lilies ride.
And giant shadows past in long array,
The mighty phantoms of a thousand years;—
Spirits that filled the globe with pale dismay,
And deluged cities deep in blood and tears:
Egypt, and Troy, and scenes of early ages,
That will outlive all time in his immortal pages.
The mighty phantoms of a thousand years;—
Spirits that filled the globe with pale dismay,
And deluged cities deep in blood and tears:
Egypt, and Troy, and scenes of early ages,
That will outlive all time in his immortal pages.
Battles and banners swept before their eyes,
And many a sceptred king and stately queen;
Sorrow, and care, and tears, and heavy sighs,
Beneath the imperial purple robes were seen;
And lovely nymphs, with gems and roses crowned,
To dulcet music moved, in many a mazy round.
And many a sceptred king and stately queen;
Sorrow, and care, and tears, and heavy sighs,
Beneath the imperial purple robes were seen;
And lovely nymphs, with gems and roses crowned,
To dulcet music moved, in many a mazy round.
And mask, and revel glided through the wood,
And slow processions stole along the glades;
And the tall flowers that bent across the flood
Were changed to waving plumes and gleaming blades;
And shout, and drum, and trumpet's fearful clang,
Rent the still air, and through the echoing forest rang.
And slow processions stole along the glades;
And the tall flowers that bent across the flood
Were changed to waving plumes and gleaming blades;
And shout, and drum, and trumpet's fearful clang,
Rent the still air, and through the echoing forest rang.
318
Shakspeare unlocked man's heart, laid bare a world,
Distilled its crimes and beauties, and then flew
To his own mighty mind, and from it hurled
A new creation: forms that never grew
Beneath a mother's eye, before him moved,
And, as he chose, they lived, and wept, and laughed, and loved.
Distilled its crimes and beauties, and then flew
To his own mighty mind, and from it hurled
A new creation: forms that never grew
Beneath a mother's eye, before him moved,
And, as he chose, they lived, and wept, and laughed, and loved.
319
TO THE NIGHTINGALE.
By heaven, sweet bird! thine is a lovely song,
And well accordeth with these moonlight hours;
The green old trees thou warblest now among
Seem listening silent as the folded flowers;
A mute lipped audience all, who bow profound,
And kiss the whispering wind, that bears such gentle sound.
And well accordeth with these moonlight hours;
The green old trees thou warblest now among
Seem listening silent as the folded flowers;
A mute lipped audience all, who bow profound,
And kiss the whispering wind, that bears such gentle sound.
What countless years, grey on the scroll of time,
Hath thy rich music charmed the Dædel earth;
When Eden's rosy vales were free from crime,
And long before the dark-browed Cain had birth,
Thy song was heard,—bringing to Eve repose,
When her long sun-beam locks drooped o'er the thornless rose.
Hath thy rich music charmed the Dædel earth;
When Eden's rosy vales were free from crime,
And long before the dark-browed Cain had birth,
Thy song was heard,—bringing to Eve repose,
When her long sun-beam locks drooped o'er the thornless rose.
And angel forms that trod th' enamelled green,
Have often halted by the tiger's lair,
Harkening to thee; or doubtless might be seen
By some lone dell, or glade that opened fair:
Or bird-like pausing o'er the palm-tree high,
Ere their expanded wings swept through the silent sky.
Have often halted by the tiger's lair,
Harkening to thee; or doubtless might be seen
By some lone dell, or glade that opened fair:
Or bird-like pausing o'er the palm-tree high,
Ere their expanded wings swept through the silent sky.
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Now all is still: the river's distant roll,
Low murmuring onward makes a wailing moan;
The silvery-footed dew hath downward stole,
And decked the bramble like an eastern throne:
The moon-beams sleep among the dreamy trees,
Like halcyons' pillowed on the wide and waveless seas.
Low murmuring onward makes a wailing moan;
The silvery-footed dew hath downward stole,
And decked the bramble like an eastern throne:
The moon-beams sleep among the dreamy trees,
Like halcyons' pillowed on the wide and waveless seas.
That thou wert once a woman I believe,
Or such deep music never had been thine;
Poor bird! thou doubtless hadst much cause to grieve,
And vowed a vow at melody's sweet shrine,
Before the echoing altar, that all night
Harmonious thou wouldst watch, and warble back the light.
Or such deep music never had been thine;
Poor bird! thou doubtless hadst much cause to grieve,
And vowed a vow at melody's sweet shrine,
Before the echoing altar, that all night
Harmonious thou wouldst watch, and warble back the light.
The moon, the stars, darkness, the oldest gloom,
Are all familiar with thy witching lay;
The brook, the trees, the bud, the opening bloom,
The ringing wood, the first faint streak of day,
Have paused to hear thee; e'en the thunder grim,
Hath hovered on its cloud till thou didst close thine hymn.
Are all familiar with thy witching lay;
The brook, the trees, the bud, the opening bloom,
The ringing wood, the first faint streak of day,
Have paused to hear thee; e'en the thunder grim,
Hath hovered on its cloud till thou didst close thine hymn.
And I have heard thee, when my heart was sad,
And strangely thy soft notes did suit my woe;
Rising or falling, sorrowful or glad,
Just as the feeling seemed to come or go;
In darkness, in old forests, wild and lone,
I oft have listened to thee till the break of dawn.
And strangely thy soft notes did suit my woe;
Rising or falling, sorrowful or glad,
Just as the feeling seemed to come or go;
In darkness, in old forests, wild and lone,
I oft have listened to thee till the break of dawn.
335
SONG.
My Mary plucked a blushing rose,
To plant upon her lily breast;
The sweet flower bowed its crimson head;
And fondly pressed its snowy nest;
The silken leaves were gently stirred
As love, her heaving bosom shook,
Like the white plumage of a dove,
That coos beside some breezy brook.
To plant upon her lily breast;
The sweet flower bowed its crimson head;
And fondly pressed its snowy nest;
The silken leaves were gently stirred
As love, her heaving bosom shook,
Like the white plumage of a dove,
That coos beside some breezy brook.
O had I been that fragrant rose,
Which on her angel-bosom blushed;
Or revelled 'mid those love-winged sighs,
Whose breathing music none had hush'd,
Lived on the tumult of her heart,
And caught her eye in tranquil rest;
Or slept, where lay that cradled rose,
Then had I been for ever blest.
Which on her angel-bosom blushed;
Or revelled 'mid those love-winged sighs,
Whose breathing music none had hush'd,
Lived on the tumult of her heart,
And caught her eye in tranquil rest;
Or slept, where lay that cradled rose,
Then had I been for ever blest.
336
SONG.
Wave on, thou dark-green aged thorn,
In solemn silence wave;
Beneath thy shade we meet no more;
My Mary's in her grave!
Come, Death, and bear me to her tomb,
Beside yon wood-crowned hill,
Wave on, thou dark-green aged thorn,
I see thee, and turn chill.
In solemn silence wave;
Beneath thy shade we meet no more;
My Mary's in her grave!
Come, Death, and bear me to her tomb,
Beside yon wood-crowned hill,
Wave on, thou dark-green aged thorn,
I see thee, and turn chill.
Shine on, ye bright sky-cradled stars,
Ye bring to mind her eyes,
And oft have shone on her fair face
When no moon climbed the skies:
And thee, thou lonely nightingale,
O how thou makest me thrill,
Thou warbledst so when Mary liv'd;
I hear thee, and turn chill.
Ye bring to mind her eyes,
And oft have shone on her fair face
When no moon climbed the skies:
And thee, thou lonely nightingale,
O how thou makest me thrill,
Thou warbledst so when Mary liv'd;
I hear thee, and turn chill.
Weep on, ye sweet bell-folded flowers,
I love those tears ye shed;
It is not dew that gems your eyes,
O no! ye know she's dead;
Although ye sigh not deep like me,
Ye silently instil
A lesson of sad speechless grief—
I read it, and turn chill.
I love those tears ye shed;
It is not dew that gems your eyes,
O no! ye know she's dead;
Although ye sigh not deep like me,
Ye silently instil
A lesson of sad speechless grief—
I read it, and turn chill.
338
And thee, thou well remember'd stile!
'Twas here we used to part—
Our good-night-kiss was always here;
But thou wilt break my heart.
I shiver 'neath the breath of night,
That moans so cold and shrill;
In Mary's grave alone there's rest,
I know it, and turn chill.
'Twas here we used to part—
Our good-night-kiss was always here;
But thou wilt break my heart.
I shiver 'neath the breath of night,
That moans so cold and shrill;
In Mary's grave alone there's rest,
I know it, and turn chill.
| A Day in the Woods | |