In the deep glen or the close shade of pines,- 'Tis pleasant to behold the wreaths of smoke Roll up among the maples of the hill,
Where the shrill sound of youthful voices wakes The shriller echo, as the clear pure lymph, That from the wounded trees, in twinkling drops, Falls, mid the golden brightness of the morn, Is gathered in with brimming pails, and oft, Wielded by sturdy hands, the stroke of axe Makes the woods ring. Along the quiet air, Come and float calmly off the soft light clouds, Such as you see in summer, and the winds
Scarce stir the branches. Lodged in sunny cleft, Where the cold breezes come not, blooms alone The little wind-flower, whose just opened eye Is blue as the spring heaven it gazes at— Startling the loiterer in the naked groves With unexpected beauty, for the time
Of blossoms and green leaves is yet afar. And ere it comes, the encountering winds shall oft Muster their wrath again, and rapid clouds Shade heaven, and bounding on the frozen earth Shall fall their volleyed stores rounded like hail, And white like snow, and the loud North again Shall buffet the vexed forest in his rage.
BENEATH the forest's skirts I rest,
Whose branching pines rise dark and high, And hear the breezes of the West
Among the threaded foliage sigh.
Sweet Zephyr! why that sound of woe? Is not thy home among the flowers?
Do not the bright June roses blow, To meet thy kiss at morning hours?
And lo! thy glorious realm outspread— Yon stretching valleys, green and gay, And yon free hill-tops, o'er whose head The loose white clouds are borne away.
And there the full broad river runs,
And many a fount wells fresh and sweet, To cool thee when the mid-day suns
Have made thee faint beneath their heat.
Thou wind of joy, and youth, and love;
Spirit of the new-wakened year!
The sun in his blue realm above
Smooths a bright path when thou art here.
In lawns the murmuring bee is heard, The wooing ring-dove in the shade; On thy soft breath, the new-fledged bird Takes wing, half happy, half afraid.
Ah! thou art like our wayward race ;— When not a shade of pain or ill Dims the bright smile of Nature's face,
Thou lovest to sigh and murmur still.
EREWHILE, on England's pleasant shores, our sires Left not their churchyards unadorned with shades Or blossoms; and indulgent to the strong And natural dread of man's last home, the grave, Its frost and silence-they disposed around, To soothe the melancholy spirit that dwelt Too sadly on life's close, the forms and hues Of vegetable beauty.-There the yew, Green even amid the snows of winter, told Of immortality, and gracefully
The willow, a perpetual mourner, drooped; And there the gadding woodbine crept about, And there the ancient ivy. From the spot Where the sweet maiden, in her blossoming years Cut off, was laid with streaming eyes, and hands That trembled as they placed her there, the rose Sprung modest, on bowed stalk, and better spoke Her graces, than the proudest monument.
There children set about their playmate's grave
On the infant's little bed,
Wet at its planting with maternal tears,
Emblem of early sweetness, early death,
Nestled the lowly primrose. Childless dames,
And maids that would not raise the reddened eye- Orphans, from whose young lids the light of joy Fled early, silent lovers, who had given All that they lived for to the arms of earth, Came often, o'er the recent graves to strew Their offerings, rue, and rosemary, and flowers.
The pilgrim bands who passed the sea to keep Their Sabbaths in the eye of God alone, In his wide temple of the wilderness,
Brought not these simple customs of the heart With them. It might be, while they laid their dead By the vast solemn skirts of the old groves,
And the fresh virgin soil poured forth strange flowers About their graves; and the familiar shades Of their own native isle, and wonted blooms, And herbs were wanting, which the pious hand Might plant or scatter there, these gentle rites Passed out of use. Now they are scarcely known, And rarely in our borders may you meet The tall larch, sighing in the burying-place, Or willow, trailing low its boughs to hide
« AnteriorContinuar » |