Thirty poems
.0^ 'o, ♦TXT* /V y"^*. 'O, ». i » « ^ '^^ 0 * 0 " • *V A' *• L'^'^ ' *;«-o^ 'oK o- ^^°^ .«>o^. v^. V"^^\<v <^ THIRTY POEMS WILLIAM CULLEN BKYANT 'I NEW TOEK: D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 443 & 445 BROADWAY. 16 LITTLE BRITAIN. M.DCCC.LXIV. $u^ oof/ >, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, by D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York. TO THE KEADER. The author has attempted no other classifi- cation of the poems in this volume than that of allowing them to follow each other according to the order of time in which they were writ- ten. It has seemed to him that this arrange- ment is as satisfactory as any other, since, at different periods of life, an author's style and habits of thought may be supposed to undergo very considerable modifications. One poem 4 TO THE BEADEE. forms an exception to tMs order of succession, and should have appeared in an earlier collec- tion. Three others have abeadj appeared in an illustrated edition of the author's poems. New York, December^ 1863. CONTENTS. Poems. Page The Planting of the Apple Tree, ... 9 The Snow Shower, 14 A Eain Dream, 18 Kobert of Lincoln, ...... 23 The Twenty-Seventh of March, ... 28 An Invitation to the Country, .... 32 Song for New- Year's Eve, . . . . 85 The Wind and Stream, 38 The Lost Bird. — From the Spanish of Carolina Coronado, 40 The Fight Journey of a Eiver, ... 43 6 CONTENTS. Poems. Page The Life that Is, 49 Song. — " These Prairies Glow with Flowers," 53 ASick-Bed, 55 The Song of the Sower, 59 The New and the Old, 70 The Cloud on the Way, 73 The Tides, 78 Italy, 81 A Day Dream, 85 The Euins of Italica. — ^From the Spanish of Rioja, 90 Waiting by the Gate, 96 Not Yet, ....... 101 Our Country's Call, 104 The Constellations, 108 The Third of November, 1861, . . .112 The Mother's Hymn, 116 Sella, 118 The Fifth Book of Homer's Odyssey.— Transla- ted, 150 The Little People of the Snow, . . .184 The Poet, ....... 207 Notes, 211 POEMS. THE PLANTING OF THE APPLE TKEE. Come, let us plant the apple tree. Cleave the tough greensward with the spade; Wide let its hollow bed be made ; There gently lay the roots, and there Sift the dark mould with kindly care. And press it o'er them tenderly, As, round the sleeping infant's feet We softly fold the cradle sheet ; So plant we the apple tree. What plant we in this apple tree ? Buds, which the breath of summer days Shall lengthen into leafy sprays ; 1* 10 P0EM8. Boughs where the thrush, with crimson breast, Shall haunt and sing and hide her nest ; We plant, upon the sunny lea, A shadow for the noontide hour, A shelter from the summer shower, When we plant the apple tree. What plant we in this apple tree ? Sweets for a hundred flowery springs, To load the May-wind's restless wings, When, from the orchard row, he pours Its fragrance through our open doors ; A world of blossoms for the bee, Flowers for the sick girl's silent room, For the glad infant sprigs of bloom. We plant with the apple tree. What plant we in this apple tree ? Fruits that shall swell, in sunny June, And redden in the August noon. THE PLANTING OF THE APPLE TREE. 11 And drop, when gentle airs come by, That fan the blue September sky, While children come, with cries of glee, And seek them where the fragrant grass Betrays their bed to those who pass, At the foot of the apple tree. And when, above this apple tree. The winter stars are quivering bright. And winds go howling through the night. Girls, whose yoang eyes o'erflow with mii'th, Shall peel its fruit by cottage hearth. And guests in prouder homes shall see, Heaped with the grape of Cintra's vine, And golden orange of the line. The fruit of the apple tree. The fruitage of this apple tree "Winds, and our flag of stripe and star Shall bear to coasts that lie afar, 12 POEMS. Where men shall wonder at the view, And ask in what fair groves they grew ; And sojourners beyond the sea Shall think of childhood's careless day, And long, long hours of summer play, In the shade of the apple tree. Each year shall give this apple tree A. broader flush of roseate bloom, A deeper maze of verdurous gloom. And loosen, when the frost-clouds lower. The crisp brown leaves in thicker shower. The years shall come and pass, but we Shall hear no longer, where we lie, The summer's songs, the autumn's sigh, In the boughs of the apple tree. And time shall waste this apple tree. Oh, when its aged branches throw Thin shadows on the ground below, THE PLANTING OF THE APPLE TREE. 13 Shall fraud and force and iron will Oppress tlie weak and helpless still ? What shall the tasks of mercy be, Amid the toils, the strifes, the tears Of those who live when length of years, Is wasting this apple tree ? " Who planted this old apple tree ? " The children of that distant day Thus to some aged man shall say ; And gazing on its mossy stem, The gray-haired man shall answer them : " A poet of the land was he, Born in the rude but good old times ; 'Tis said he made some quaint old rhymes On planting the apple tree." THE SNOW-SHOWER. STAiifD here by mj side and tnm, I pray, On the lake below thy gentle eyes ; The clouds hang over it, heavy and gray, And dark and silent the water lies ; And ont of that frozen mist the snow In wavering flakes begins to flow ; Flake after flake, They sink in the dark and silent lake. See how in a living swarm they come From the chambers beyond that misty veil Some hover awhile in air, and some Eush prone from the sky like summer hail. THE SNOW-SHOWER. 15 All, dropping swiftly or settling slow, Meet, and are still in the depths below ; Flake after flake Dissolved in the dark and silent lake. Here delicate snow-stars, out of the cloud. Come floating downward in airy play, Like spangles dropped from the glistening crowd That whiten by night the milky way ; There broader and burlier masses fall ; The sullen water buries them all — Flake after flake — All drowned in the dark and silent lake. And some, as on tender wings they glide From their chilly birth-cloud, dim and gray, Are joined in their fall, and, side by side. Come clinging along their unsteady way ; 16 POEMS. As friend with friend, or husband with wife Makes hand in hand the passage of life ; Each mated flake Soon sinks in the dark and silent lake. Lo ! while we are gazing, in swifter haste Stream down the snows, till the air is white, As, myriads by myriads madly chased, They fling themselves from their shadowy height. The fair, frail creatures of middle sky, What speed they make, with their grave so nigh; Flake after flake, To lie in the dark and silent lake ! I see in thy gentle eyes a tear ; They turn to me in sorrowful thought ; Thou thinkest of friends, the good and dear, Who were for a time and now are not ; THE SNOW-BHOWEK. 17 Like these fair children of cloud and frost, That glisten a moment and then are lost, Flake after flake — All lost in the dark and silent lake. Yet look again, for the clouds divide ; A gleam of blue on the water lies ; And far away, on the mountain-side, A sunbeam falls from the opening skies. But the hurrying host that flew between The cloud and the water, no more is seen ; Flake after flake. At rest in the dark and silent lake. A EAIlSr DEEAM. These strifes, these tumiilts of the noisy world, Where Fraud, the coward, tracks his prey by stealth. And Strength, the ruffian, glories in his guilt, Oppress the heart with sadness. Oh, my friend, In what serener mood we look upon The gloomiest aspects of the elements Among the woods and fields ! Let us awhile, As the slow wind is rolling up the storm, In fancy leave this maze of dusty streets. For ever shaken by the importunate jar Of commerce, and upon the darkening air Look from the shelter of our rural home. A RAIN DEE AM. 19 Who is not awed that listens to the Rain, Sending his voice before him ? Mighty Rain ! The upland steeps are shrouded by thy mists ; Thy shadow fills the hollow vale ; the pools 'No longer glimmer, and the silvery streams Darken to veins of lead at thy approach. Oh, mighty Rain ! already thou art here ; And every roof is beaten by thy streams, And, as thou passest, every glassy spring Grows rough, and every leaf in all the woods Is struck, and quivers. All the hill-tops slake Their thirst from thee ; a thousand languishing fields, A thousand fainting gardens, are refreshed ; A thousand idle rivulets start to speed. And with the graver murmur of the storm Blend their light voices as they hurry on. Thou fill'st the circle of the atmosphere Alone ; there is no living thing abroad, No bird to wing the air nor beast to walk The field : the squirrel in the forest seeks 20 POEMS. His hollow tree ; the marmot of the field Has scampered to his den ; the butterfly- Hides under her broad leaf ; the insect crowds That made the sunshine populous, lie close In their mysterious shelters, whence the sun Will summon them again. The mighty Eain Holds the vast empire of the sky alone. I shut my eyes, and see, as in a dream. The friendly clouds drop down spring violets And summer columbines, and all the flowers That tuft the woodland floor, or overarch The streamlet : — spiky grass for genial June, Brown harvests for the waiting husbandman, And for the woods a deluge of fresh leaves. I see these myriad drops that slake the dust. Gathered in glorious streams, or rolling blue In billows on the lake or on the deep And bearing navies. I behold them change To threads of crystal as they sink in earth And leave its stains behind, to rise again In pleasant nooks of verdure, where the child, A KAIN DREAM. 21 Thirsty with play, in both his little hands Shall take the cool, clear water, raising it To wet his pretty lips. To-morrow noon How proudly will the water-lily ride The brimming pool, o'erlooking, like a queen, Her circle of broad leaves. In lonely wastes. When next the sunshine makes them beautiful, Gay troops of butterflies shall light to drink At the replenished hollows of the rock. Now slowly falls the dull blank night, and still. All through the starless hours, the mighty Kain Smites with perpetual sound the forest leaves, And beats the matted grass, and still the earth Drinks the unstinted bounty of the clouds — Drinks for her cottage wells, her woodland brooks — Drinks for the springing trout, the toiling bee And brooding bird — drinks for her tender flowers, ■ Tall oaks, and all the herbage of her hills. 22 POEMS. A melanclioly sound is in the air, A deep sigli in the distance, a shrill wail Around my dwelling. 'Tis the wind of night ; A lonely wanderer between earth and cloud, In the black shadow and the chilly mist. Along the streaming mountain side, and through The dripping woods, and o'er the plashy fields, Roaming and sorrowing still, like one who makes The journey of life alone, and nowhere meets A welcome or a friend, and still goes on In darkness. Yet awhile, a little while, And he shall toss the glittering leaves in play, And dally with the flowers, and gaily lift The slender herbs, pressed low by weight of rain. And drive, in joyous triumph, through the sky, White clouds, the laggard remnants of the storm. EGBERT OF LINCOLIST. MejRrily swinging on briar and weed, IN'ear to the nest of his little dame, Over the mountain-side or mead, Robert of Lincoln is telKng his name : Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-Hnk, Spink, spank, spink ; Snug and safe is that nest of ours, Hidden among the summer flowers. Chee, chee, chee. Robert of Lincoln is gaily drest, "Wearing a bright black wedding coat ; White are his shoulders and white his crest, Hear him call in his merry note : 24: POEMS. Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; Look, wliat a nice new coat is mine. Sure there was never a bird so fine. Cbee, cbee, chee. Eobert of Lincoln's Quaker wife, Pretty and quiet, with, plain brown wings, Passing at home a patient life. Broods in the grass while her husband sings Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; Brood, kind creature ; you need not fear Thieves and robbers while I am here. Chee, chee, chee. Modest and shy as a nun is she ; One weak chirp is her only note. Braggart and prince of braggarts is he, Pouring boasts from his little throat : ROBERT OF LINCOLN. 25 Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; Never was I afraid of man ; Catcli me, cowardly knaves, if you can. Chee, chee, cliee. Six wHte eggs on a bed of hay. Flecked witb pnrple, a pretty sight ! There as the mother sits all day, Robert is singing with all his might : Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; Nice, good wife, that never goes out. Keeping house while I frolic about. Chee, chee, chee. Soon as the little ones chip the shell Six wide mouths are open for food ; Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well, Gathering seeds for the hungry brood. 2 26 POEMS. Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; This new life is likely to be Hard for a gay young fellow like me. Chee, cbee, cbee. Kobert of Lincoln at length is made Sober with work, and silent with care ; Off is his holiday garment laid, Half forgotten that merry air, Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; Nobody knows but my mate and I Where our nest and our nestlings lie. Chee, chee, chee. Summer wanes ; the children are grown ; Fun and frolic no more he knows ; Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum croUe ; Off he flies, and we sing as he goes : BOBERT OF LINCOLN. 27 Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; When you can pipe that merry old strain, Eobert of Lincohi, come back again. Chee, chee, chee. THE TWENTY-SEYENTH OF MAECH. Oh, gentle one, thy birthday sun shonld rise Amid a chorus of the merriest birds That ever sang the stars out of the sky In a June morning. Rivulets should send A voice of gladness from their winding paths, Deep in o'erarching grass, where playful winds, Stirring the loaded stems should shower the, dew Upon the glassy water. Newly blown Eoses, by thousands, to the garden walks Should tempt the loitering moth and diligent bee. The longest, brightest day in all the year THE TWENTY-SEVENTH OF MABOH. 29 Should be the day on which thy cheerful eyes First opened on the earth, to make thy haunts Fairer and gladder for thy kindly looks. Thus might a poet say ; but I must bring A birthday offering of an humbler strain, And yet it may not please thee less. I hold That 'twas the fitting season for thy birth When March, just ready to depart, begins To soften into April. Then we have The delicatest and most welcome flowers, And yet they take least heed of bitter wind And lowering sky. The periwinkle then. In an hour's sunshiae, lifts her azure blooms Beside the cottage door ; within the woods Tufts of ground-laurel, creeping underneath The leaves of the last summer, send their sweets Up to the chilly air, and, by the oak, The squirrel-cups, a graceful company. Hide in their bells a soft aerial blue — Sweet flowers, that nestle in the humblest nooks, 30 POEMS. And yet witMn whose smallest bud is wrapt A world of promise I Still the north wind breathes His frostj and still the sky sheds snow and sleet ; Yet ever, when the snn looks forth again, The flowers smile np to him from their low seats. Well hast thou borne the bleak March day of life. Its storms and its keen winds to thee have been Most kindly tempered, and through all its gloom There has been warmth and sunshine in thy heart ; The griefs of life to thee have been like snows, That light upon the fields in early spring. Making them greener. In its milder hours, The smile of this pale season, thou hast seen, The glorious bloom of June, and in the note Of early bird, that comes a messenger From climes of endless verdure, thou hast heard THE TWENTT-SEVENTH OF IklAECH. 31 The choir that fills the summer woods with song. Now be the hours that yet remain to thee Stormy or sunny, sympathy and love, That inextinguishably dwell within Thy heart, shall give a beauty and a light To the most desolate moments, like the glow Of a bright fireside in the wildest day ; And kindly words and offices of good Shall wait upon thy steps, as thou goest on. Where God shall lead thee, till thou reach the gates Of a more genial season, and thy path Be lost to human eye among the bowers And living fountains of a brighter land. Written March, 1866. AN INYITATIOI^ TO THE COUNTEY. Already, close by our summer dwelling, The Easter sparrow repeats her song ; A merr J warbler, she chides the blossoms — The idle blossoms that sleep so long. The blue-bird chants, from the elm's long branches, A hymn to welcome the budding year. The south wind wanders from field to forest, And softly whispers : the Spring is here. Come, daughter mine, from the gloomy city. Before those lays from the elm have ceased ; The violet breathes, by our door, as sweetly As in the air of her native East. AN INVITATION TO THE COUNTBY. 33 Though many a flower in the wood is waking, The daffodil is our doorside queen ; She pushes upward the sward abeady, To spot with sunshine the early green. "No lays so joyous as these are warbled From wiry prison in maiden's bower ; 'No pampered bloom of the greenhouse cham- ber Has half the charm of the lawn's first flower. Yet these sweet sounds of the early season. And these fair sights of its sunny days Are only sweet when we fondly listen, And only fair when we fondly gaze. There is no glory in star or blossom. Till looked upon by a loving eye ; There is no fragrance in April breezes, Till breathed with joy as they wander by. 2* 34: POEMS. Comej Julia dear, for the sprouting willows. The opening flowers, and the gleaming brooks, And hollows, green in the sun, are waiting Their dower of beauty from thy glad looks. A SOE'a FOE NEW YEAR'S EYE. Stat yet, my friends, a moment stay — Stay till the good old year, So long companion of our way, Shakes hands, and leaves ns here. Oh stay, oh stay. One little hour, and then away. The year, whose hopes were high and strong, Has now no hopes to wake ; Yet one hour more of jest and song For his familiar sake. Oh stay, oh stay, One mirthful hour, and then away. 36 POEMS. The kindly year, his liberal hands Have lavished all his store. And shall we turn from where he stands, Because he gives no more? Oh stay, oh stay, One grateful hotir, and then away. Days brightly came and calmly went, While yet he was our guest ; How cheerfully the week was spent ! How sweet the seventh day's rest ! Oh stay, oh stay. One golden hour, and then away. Dear friends were with us, some who sleep Beneath the coffin lid : What pleasant memories we keep Of all they said and did ! Oh stay, oh stay, One tender hour, and then away. 37 Even while we sing he smiles his last And leaves our sphere behind. The good old year is with the past ; Oh be the new as kind ! Oh staj, oh stay, One parting strain, and then away. THE WraD AND STKEAM. A BKOOK came stealing from the ground ; You scarcely saw its silvery gleam Among the herbs that hung around The borders of that winding stream, The pretty stream, the placid stream, The softly gliding, bashful stream. A breeze came wandering from the sky. Light as the whispers of a dream ; He put the o'erhanging grasses by. And softly stooped to kiss the stream, The pretty stream, the flattered stream. The shy, yet unreluctant stream. THE WIND A2JD STREAM. 39 The water, as the wind passed o'er, Shot upward many a glancing beam, Dimpled and quivered more and more. And tripped along, a livelier stream. The flattered stream, the simpering stream, The fond, delighted, silly stream. Away the airy wanderer flew To where the fields with blossoms teem, To sparkling springs and rivers blue. And left alone that little stream. The flattered stream, the cheated stream, The sad, forsaken, lonely stream. That careless wind came never back ; He wanders yet the fields I deem, But, on its melancholy track. Complaining went that little stream. The cheated stream, the hopeless stream, The ever-murmuring, mourning stream. THE LOST BIRD. From the Spanish of Oaeouna Coeoitado de Pbbby. My bird lias flown away, Far out of sight has flown, I know not where. Look in your lawn, I pray. Ye maidens, kind and fair. And see if my beloved bird be there. TTis eyes are full of light ; The eagle of the rock has such an eye ; And plumes, exceeding bright. THE LOST BIBD. 41 Kound his smooth temples lie, And sweet his voice and tender as a sigh. Look where the grass is gay With summer blossoms, haply there he cowers ; •And search, from spray to spray, The leafy laurel bowers, For well he loves the laurels and the flowers. Find him, but do not dwell, With eyes too fond, on the fair form you see, "Not love his song too well ; Send him, at once, to me, Or leave him to the air and liberty. For only from my hand He takes the seed into his golden beak. And all unwiped shall stand The tears that wet my cheek, Till I have found the wanderer I seek. 42 POEMS. My sight is darkened o'er, Whene'er I miss Ms eyes, wMcli are my day, And when I hear no more The music of his lay. My heart in utter sadness faints away. THE NIGHT JOUENEY OF A KIYEK. Oh Eiver, gentle Eiver ! gliding on In silence underneatli tliis starless sky ! Thine is a ministry that never rests Even while the living slumber. For a time The meddler, man, hath left the elements In peace ; the ploughman breaks the clods no more; The miner labors not, with steel and fii'e, To rend the rock, and he that hews the stone, And he that fells the forest, he that guides The loaded wain, and the poor animal That drags it, have forgotten, for a time, Their toils, and share the quiet of the earth. •Thou pausest not in thine allotted task, 44 POEMS. oil darkling River ! Through the night I hear Thj wavelets rippling on the pebbly beach ; I hear thy current stir the rusthng sedge, That skirts thy bed ; thou intermittest not Thine everlasting journey, drawing on A silvery train from many a woodland spidng, And mountain brook. The dweller by thy side, Who moored his little boat upon thy beach. Though all the waters that upbore it then Have slid away o'er night, shall find, at morn. Thy channel filled with waters freshly drawn From distant cliffs and hollows where the rill Comes up amid the water-flags. All night Thou givest moisture to the thirsty roots Of the lithe willow and o'erhanging plane. And cherishest the herbage of thy bank. Spotted with little flowers, and sendest up Perpetually, the vapors from thy face. To steep the hills with dew, or darken heaven With drifting clouds, that trail the shadowy shower. THE NIGHT JOURNEY OF A RIVER. 45 Oh Kiver ! darkling Kiver ! what a voice Is that thou utterest while all else is still — The ancient voice that, centuries ago, Sounded between thy hills, while Eome was yet A weedy solitude by Tiber's stream. How many, at this hour, along thy course. Slumber to thine eternal murmm^ings. That mingle with the utterance of their dreams ! At dead of night the child awakes and hears Thy soft, familiar dashings, and is soothed, And sleeps again. An airy multitude Of little echoes, all unheai'd by day. Faintly repeat, till morning, after thee. The story of thine endless goings forth. Yet there are those who lie beside thy bed For whom thou once didst rear the bowers that screen Thy margin, and didst water the green fields ; And now there is no night so still that they Can hear thy lapse ; their slumbers, were thy voice 4:6 POEMS. Louder than ocean's, it could never break. For tliem tlie early violet no more Opens upon thy bank, nor, for their eyes, Glitter the crimson pictures of the clouds, Upon thy bosom, when the sun goes down. Their memories are abroad, the memories Of those who last were gathered to the earth. Lingering withiu the homes in which they sat. Hovering above the paths in which they walked. Haunting them like a presence. Even now They visit many a dreamer in the forms They walked in, ere at last they wore the shroud. And eyes there are which will not close to dream. For weeping and for thinking of the grave, The new-made grave, and the pale one within. These memories and these sorrows all shall fade, And pass away, and fresher memories And newer sorrows come and dwell awhile, Beside thy borders, and, in turn, depart. THE NIGHT JOTJENEY OF A EIVEB. 47 On glide thy waters, till at last they flow Beneath the windows of the populous town, And all night long give back the gleam of lamps. And glimmer with the trains of light that stream From halls where dancers whirl. A dimmer ray Touches thy surface from the silent room In which they tend the sick, or gather round The dying ; and a slender, steady beam Comes from the little chamber, in the roof Where, with a feverous crimson on her cheek, The solitary damsel, dyiag, too. Plies the quick needle till the stars grow pale. There, close beside the haunts of revel, stand The blank, unlighted windows, where the poor, In hunger and in darkness, wake till mom. There, drowsily, on the half conscious ear Of the dull watchman, pacing on the wharf. Falls the soft ripple of the waves that strike On the moored bark ; but guiltier listeners 48 POEMS. Are nigh, tlie prowlers of the night, who steal From shadowy nook to shadowy nook, and start If other sounds than thine are in the air. Oh, glide away from those abodes, that bring Pollution to thy channel and make foul Thy once clear current; summon thy quick waves And dimpling eddies ; linger not, but haste. With all thy waters, haste thee to the deep, There to be tossed by shifting winds and rocked By that mysterious force which lives within The sea's immensity, and wields the weight Of its abysses, swaying to and fro The billowy mass, until the stain, at length, Shall wholly pass away, and thou regain The crystal brightness of thy mountain springs. THE LIFE THAT IS. Thou, who so long hast pressed the couch of pain, Oh welcome, welcome back to life's free breath — To life's free breath and day's sweet light again, From the chill shadows of the gate of death. For thou hadst reached the twilight bound be- tween The world of spirits and this grosser sphere ; Dimly by thee the things of earth were seen. And faintly fell earth's voices on thine ear. 3 50 POEMS. And now, how gladly we behold, at last, The wonted smile returning to thy brow ; The very wind's low whisper, breathing past, In the light leaves, is music to thee now. Thou wert not weary of thy lot ; the earth Was ever good and pleasant in thy siglit ; Still clung thy loves abont the household hearth. And sweet was every day's returning light. Then welcome back to all thou would'st not leave. To this grand march of seasons, days and hours ; The glory of the morn, the glow of eve. The beauty of the streams, and stars, and flowers ; To eyes on which thine own delight to rest ; To voices which it is thy joy to hear; THE LIFE THAT IS. 51 To the kind toils that ever pleased thee best, The willing tasks of love, that made life dear. ( "Welcome to grasp of friendly hands ; to prayers Offered where crowds in reverent worship come, Or softly breathed amid the tender cares And loving inmates of thy quiet home. Then bring'st no tidings of the better land. Even from its verge ; the mysteries opened there Are what the faithful heart may understand In its still depths, yet words may not de- clare. And well I deem, that, from the brighter side Of life's dim border, some o'erflowing rays Streamed from the inner glory, shall abide Upon thy spirit through the coming days. 52 POEMS. Twice wert thou given me; once in thy fair prime, Fresh from the fields of youth, when first we met. And all the blossoms of that hopeful time Clustered and glowed where'er thy steps were set. And now, in thy ripe autumn, once again Given back to fervent prayers and yearnings strong, From the drear realm of sickness and of pain. When we had watched, and feared, and trembled long. Now may we keep thee from the balmy air And radiant walks of heaven a little space. Where He, who went before thee to prepare For His meek followers, shall assign thy place. Gastellamare, May^ 1858. SONG. " These Praieies Glow with Flowebs." These prairies glow with flowers. These groves are tall and fair, The sweet lay of the mocking bird Kings in the morning air ; And yet I pine to see My native hill once more, And hear the sparrow's friendly chirp Beside its cottage door. And he, for whom I left My native hill and brook, Alas, I sometimes think I trace A coldness in his look. 64: POEMS. If I have lost his love I know my heart will break ; And haply, they I left for him Will sorrow for my sake. A SICK-BED. Long hast tlion watched my bed, And smoothed the pillow oft For this poor, aching head, With touches kind and soft. Oh ! smooth it yet again, As softly as before ; Once — only once — and then I need thy hand no more. Yet here I may not stay, "Where I so long have lain, 66 POEMS. Througli many a restless day, And many a night of pain. But bear me gently fortli Beneatli the open sky, Where, on the pleasant earth, Till night the sunbeams lie. There, through the coming days, I shall not look to thee My weary side to raise, And shift it tenderly. There sweetly shall I sleep ; Nor wilt thou need to bring And put to my hot lip Cool water from the spring ; Nor wet the kerchief laid ^ Upon my burning brow ; Nor from my eyelids shade The light that wounds them now ; A SICK-BED. 57 Nor watch that none shall tread. With noisy footstep, nigh ; Nor listen by my bed, To hear my faintest sigh. And feign a look of cheer, And words of comfort speak, Yet turn to hide the tear That gathers on thy cheek. Beside me, where I rest. Thy loving hands will set The flowers that please me best : Moss-rose and violet. Then to the sleep I crave Resign me, till I see The face of Him who gave His life for thee and me. Yet, with the setting sun, Come, now and then, at eve, 3* 58 POEMS. And think of me as one For whom thou should'st not grieve ; "Who, when the kind release From sin and suffering came. Passed to the appointed peace In murmnring thy name. Leave at mj side a space, Where thon shalt come, at last, To find a resting place, "When many years are past. THE SONG OF THE SOWER The maples redden in the sun ; In autumn gold the beeches stand ; Rest, faithful plough, thy work is done Upon the teeming land. Bordered with trees whose gay leaves fly On every breath that sweeps the sky, The fresh dark acres farrowed lie, And ask the sower's hand. Loose the tired steer and let him go To pasture where the gentians blow. And we, who till the grateful ground. Fling we the golden shower around. 60 POEMS. n. Fling wide the generous grain ; we fling O'er tlie dark mould the green of spring. For thick the emerald blades shall grow, When first the March winds melt the snow, And to the sleeping flowers, below, The early bluebirds sing. Fling wide the grain ; we give the fields The ears that nod in summer's gale. The shining stems that summer gilds, The harvest that o'erflows the vale, And swells, an amber sea, between The full-leaved woods, its shores of green. Hark ! from the murmuring clods I hear Glad voices of the coming year ; The song of him who binds the grain, The shout of those that load the wain, And from the distant grange there comes The clatter of the thresher's flail. And steadily the millstone hums Down in the willowy vale. THE SONG OF THE SOWER. 61 m. Fling wide the golden shower ; we trust The strength of armies to the dust, This peaceful lea may haply yield Its harvest for the tented field. Ha ! feel ye not your fingers thrill. As o'er them, in the yellow grains, Glide the warm drops of blood that fill For mortal strife, the warrior's veins ; Such as, on Solferino's day. Slaked the brown sand and flowed away ; — Flowed till the herds, on Mincio's brink. Snuffed the red stream and feared to drink ;- Blood that in deeper pools shall lie. On the sad earth, as time grows gray. When men by deadlier arts shall die, And deeper darkness blot the sky Above the thundering fray ; And realms, that hear the battle cry, Shall sicken with dismay; )25 POEMS. And chieftains to the war shall lead Whole nations, with the tempest's speed, To perish in a day ; — Till man, by love and mercy taught, Shall rue ^/ie wreck his fury wrought. And lay the sword away. Oh strew, with pausing, shuddering hand, The seed upon the helpless land. As if, at every step, ye cast The pelting hail and riving blast. IV. l^ay, strew, with free and joyous sweep, The seed upon the expecting soil ; For hence the plenteous year shall heap The garners of the men who toil. Strew the bright seed for those who tear The matted sward with spade and share. And those whose sounding axes gleam Beside the lonely forest stream, Till its broad banks lie bare ; THE SONG OF THE SOWEK. 63 And him wlio breaks the quarry-ledge, With hammer-blows, plied quick and strong, And him who, with the steady sledge, Smites the shrill anvil all day long. Sprinkle the furrow's even trace For those whose toiling hands uprear The roof-trees of our swarming race, By grove and plain, by stream and mere ; Who forth, from crowded city, lead The lengthening street, and overlay Green orchard plot and grassy mead With pavement of the murmuring way. Cast, with full hands, the harvest cast, For the brave men that climb the mast, When to the billow and the blast It swings and stoops, with fearful strain. And bind the fluttering mainsail fast, Till the tossed bark shall sit, again. Safe as a seabird in the main. 64 POEMS. V. Fling wide the grain for those who throw The clanking shuttle to and fro, In the long row of humming rooms, And into ponderous masses wind The web that, from a thousand looms, Comes forth to clothe mankind. Strew, with free sweep, the grain for them. By whom the busy thread. Along the garment's even hem And winding seam is led ; A pallid sisterhood, that keep The lonely lamp alight. In strife with weariness and sleep. Beyond the middle night. Large part be theirs in what the year Shall ripen for the reaper here. VI. StiU, strew, with joyous hand, the wheat On the soft mould beneath our feet. THE SONG OF THE SO WEE. 65 For even now I seem To hear a sound that lightly rings From murmuring harp and viol's strings, As in a summer dream. The welcome of the wedding guest, The bridegrooom's look of bashful pride, The faint smile of the pallid bride, And bridemaid's blush at matron's jest, And dance and song and generous dower Are in the shining grains we shower. vn. Scatter the wheat for shipwrecked men. Who, hunger-worn, rejoice again In the sweet safety of the shore. And wanderers, lost in woodlands drear. Whose pulses bound with joy to hear The herd's light bell once more. Freely the golden spray be shed For him whose heart, when night comes down On the close alleys of the town, Is faint for lack of bread. QQ POEMS. In chill roof chambers, bleak and bare, Or the damp cellar's stifling air, She who now sees, in mute despair, Her children pine for food. Shall feel the dews of gladness start To lids long tearless, and shall part The sweet loaf, with a grateful heart, Among her thin, pale brood. Dear, kindly Earth, whose breast we till ! Oh, for thy famished children, fill. Where'er the sower walks. Fill the rich ears that shade the mould "With grain for grain, a hundredfold, To bend the sturdy stalks. vm. Strew silently the fruitful seed, As softly o'er the tilth ye tread, For hands that delicately knead The consecrated bread. THE SONG OF THE SOWER. 67 The mystic loaf that crowns the board, When, round the table of their Lord, Within a thousand temples set, In memory of the bitter death Of him who taught at Nazareth, His followers are met, And thoughtful eyes with tears are wet, As of tbe Holy One they think. The glory of whose rising, yet Makes bright the grave's mysterious brink. IX. Erethren, tbe sower's task is done. The seed is in its winter bed. Now let the dark brown mould be spread, To hide it from the sun. And leave it to the kindly care Of the still earth and brooding air. As when the mother, from her breast, Lays the hushed babe apart to rest, And shades its eyes and waits to see How sweet its waking smile will be. 68 POEMS. The tempest now may smite, the sleet All night on the drowned fmrow beat, And winds that, from the clondy hold, Of winter breathe the bitter cold. Stiffen to stone the mellow mould. Yet safe shall lie the wheat ; Till, out of heaven's unmeasured blue. Shall walk again the genial year. To wake with warmth and nurse with dew, The germs we lay to slumber here. X. Oh blessed harvest yet to be ! Abide thou with the love that keeps, In its warm bosom, tenderly. The life which wakes and that which sleeps. The love that leads the willing spheres Along the unending track of years, And watches o'er the sparrow's nest. Shall brood above thy winter rest, THE SONG OF THE SOWER. 69 And raise tliee from the dust, to hold ! Light whisperings with the winds of May, And fill thy spikes with living gold, From summer's yellow ray, Then, as thy garners give thee forth. On what glad errands shalt thon go, Wherever, o'er the waiting earth, Eoads wind and rivers flow. The ancient East shall welcome thee To mighty marts beyond the sea. And they who dwell where palm groves sound To summer winds the whole year round. Shall watch, in gladness, from the shore, The sails that bring thy glistening store. THE NEW AND THE OLD. New are tlie leaves on the oaken spray, New the blades of the silky grass ; Flowers, that were buds but yesterday. Peep from the ground where'er I pass. These gay idlers, the butterflies. Broke, to-day, from their winter shroud. These soft airs, that winnow the skies. Blow, just born, from the soft, white cloud. Gushing fresh in the little streams What a prattle the waters make ! THE NEW AND THE OLD. 71 Even tlie sun, with his tender beams, Seems as yoimg as the flowers they wake. Childi-en are wading, with cheerful cries, In the shoals of the sparkling brook. Laughing maidens, with soft, young eyes, "Walk or sit in the shady nook. What am I doing, thus alone, In the glory of nature here. Silver-haired, like a snow-flake thrown On the greens of the springing year ? Only for brows unploughed by care. Eyes that glisten with hope and mirth. Cheeks unwrinkled, and unblanched hair, Shines this holiday of the earth. Under the grass, with the clammy clay. Lie in darkness the last year's flowers, 72 POEMS. Bom of a light tliat has passed awaj, Dews long dried, and forgotten showers. " Under the grass is the fitting home," So they whisper, " for such as thou, When the winter of life is come, Chilling the blood, and frosting the brow." THE CLOUD ON THE WAY. See before us, in our journey, broods a mist upon the ground ; Thitber leads the path we walk in, blending with that gloomy bound. Never eye hath pierced its shadows to the mys- tery they screen ; Those who once have passed witliin it never more on earth are seen. Now it seems to stoop beside us, now at seem- ing distance lowers. Leaving banks that tempt us onward bright with summer-green and flowers, 4 74 POEMS. Yet it blots the way forever ; there our journey ends at last ; Into that dark cloud we enter, and are gathered to the past. Thon who, in this flinty pathway, leading through a stranger-land, Passest down the rocky valley, walking with me hand in hand, Which of us shall be the soonest folded to that dim Unknown ? Which shall leave the other walking in this flinty path alone ? Even now I see thee shudder, and thy cheek is white with fear. And thou clingest to my side as comes that darkness sweeping near. " Here," thou say'st, " the path is rugged, sown with thorns that wound the feet ; But the sheltered glens are lovely, and the riv- ulet's song is sweet ; Roses breathe from tangled thickets ; lilies bend from ledges brown ; THE CLOUD ON THE WAY. 75 Pleasantly between the pelting showers the sun- shine gushes down ; Dear a-re those who walk beside us, they whose looks and voices make All this rugged region cheerfal, till I love it for their sake. Far be yet the hour that takes me where that chilly shadow lies, From the things I know and love and from the sight of loving eyes." So thou murmurest, fearful one : but see, we tread a rougher way ; Fainter glow the gleams of sunshine that upon the dark rocks play ; Rude winds strew the faded flowers upon the crags o'er which we pass ; Banks of verdure, when we reach them, hiss with tufts of withered grass. One by one we miss the voices which we loved so well to hear ; One by one the kindly faces in that shadow dis- appear. 76 POEMS. Yet upon the mist before us -^x thine eyes with closer view ; See, beneath its sullen skirts, the rosy morning glimmers through. One whose feet the thorns have wounded passed that baiTier and came back, "With a glory on His footsteps lighting yet the dreary track. Boldly enter where He entered ; all that seems but darkness here, When thou hast passed beyond it, haply shall be crystal-clear. Viewed from that serener realm, the walks of human life may lie, Like the page of some familiar volume, open to thine eye ; Haply, from the overhanging shadow, thou may'st stretch an unseen hand, To support the wavering steps that print with blood the rugged land. Haply, leaning o'er the pilgrim, all unweeting thou art near. THE CLOUD ON THE WAY. 77 Thou may'st whisper words of warning or of comfort in his ear, Till, beyond the border where that brooding mystery bars the sight, Those whom thou hast fondly cherished stand with thee in peace and light. THE TIDES. The moon is at her Ml, and, riding high, Eloods the calm fields with light. The airs that hover in the summer sky- Are all asleep to-night. There comes no voice from the great woodlands round That mnrmnred all the day ; Beneath the shadow of their boughs, the ground Is not more still than thej. THE TIDES. 79 But ever heaves and moans the restless Deep ; His rising tides I hear, Afar I see the glimmering billows leap ; I see them breaking near. Each wave springs upward, climbing toward the fair Pure light that sits on high — Springs eagerly, and faintly sinks, to where The mother waters lie. Upward again it swells ; the moonbeams show, Again, its glimmering crest ; Again it feels the fatal weight below, And sinks, but not to rest. Again and yet again ; until the Deep Eecalls his brood of waves ; And, with a sullen moan, abashed, they creep Back to his inner caves. 80 POEMS. Brief respite ! they shall rush from that recess "With noise and tumult soon, And fling themselves, with unavailing stress. Up toward the placid moon. Oh, restless Sea, that, in thy prison here, Dost struggle and complain ; Through the slow centuries yearning to be near To that fair orb in vain ; The glorious source of light and heat must warm Thy billows from on high, And change them to the cloudy trains that form The curtains of the sky. Then only may they leave the waste of brine In which they welter here. And rise above the hills of earth, and shine In a serener sphere. ITALY. YoiCES from the mountains speak ; Apennines to Alps reply ; Yale to vale and peak to peak Toss an old remembered cry ; Italy Shall be free ! Such the mighty shout that fills AH the passes of her hills. All the old Italian lakes Quiver at that quickening word ; Como with a thrill awakes ; Garda to her depths is stirred ; 4* 82 POEMS. Mid the steeps Where he sleeps, Dreaming of the elder years, Startled Thrasjmenus hears. Sweeping Amo, swelling Po, Murmur freedom to their meads. Tiber swift and Liris slow Send strange whispers from their reeds. Italy Shall be free, Sing the glittering brooks that slide, Toward the sea, from Etna's side. Long ago was Gracchus slain ; Brutus perished long ago ; Yet the living roots remain Whence the shoots of greatness grow. Yet again, God-like men, ITALY. 83 Sprung from that heroic stem. Call the land to rise with them. They who haunt the swarming street, They who chase the mountain boar, Or, where cliff and billow meet, Prune the vine or pull the oar, With a stroke Break their yoke ; Slaves but yestereve were they — Freemen with the dawning day. Looking in his children's eyes, While his own with gladness flash, " These," the Umbrian father cries, " Ne'er shall crouch beneath the lash 1 These shall ne'er Brook to wear Chains whose cruel links are twined Round the crushed and withering mind." 84 POEMS. Monarchs ! ye whose armies stand Harnessed for tlie battle-field ! Pause, and from the lifted hand Drop the bolts of war ye wield. Stand aloof While the proof Of the people's might is given ; Leave their kings to them and heaven. Stand aloof, and see the oppressed Chase the oppressor, pale with fear, As the fresh winds of the west Blow the misty valleys clear. Stand and see Italy Cast the gyves she wears no more To the gulfs that steep her shore. A DAY DEEAM. A DAY dream by the dark blue deep ; Was it a dream, or something more ? I sat where Posilippo's steep, With its gray shelves, o'erhung the shore. On ruined Eoman walls around The poppy flaunted, for 'twas May ; And at my feet, with gentle sound, Broke the light billows of the bay. 3 POEMS. I sat and watched the eternal flow Of those smooth billows toward the shore, While quiyering lines of light below, Kan with them on the ocean floor. Till, from the deep, there seemed to rise White arms upon the waves outspread. Young faces, lit with soft blue eyes, And smooth, round cheeks, just touched with red. Their long, fair tresses, tinged with gold. 