Poems | Page 4

the forest; and the bounding deer
Fled at the
glancing plume, and the gaunt wolf yelled near;
XXVIII.
And where his willing waves yon bright blue bay
Sends up, to kiss
his decorated brim,
And cradles, in his soft embrace, the gay
Young
group of grassy islands born of him,
And crowding nigh, or in the

distance dim,
Lifts the white throng of sails, that bear or bring
The
commerce of the world;--with tawny limb,
And belt and beads in
sunlight glistening,
The savage urged his skiff like wild bird on the
wing.
XXIX.
Then all this youthful paradise around,
And all the broad and
boundless mainland, lay
Cooled by the interminable wood, that
frowned
O'er mount and vale, where never summer ray
Glanced, till
the strong tornado broke his way
Through the gray giants of the
sylvan wild;
Yet many a sheltered glade, with blossoms gay,

Beneath the showery sky and sunshine mild,
Within the shaggy arms
of that dark forest smiled.
XXX.
There stood the Indian hamlet, there the lake
Spread its blue sheet
that flashed with many an oar,
Where the brown otter plunged him
from the brake,
And the deer drank: as the light gale flew o'er,
The
twinkling maize-field rustled on the shore;
And while that spot, so
wild, and lone, and fair,
A look of glad and guiltless beauty wore,

And peace was on the earth and in the air,
The warrior lit the pile, and
bound his captive there:
XXXI.
Not unavenged--the foeman, from the wood,
Beheld the deed, and
when the midnight shade
Was stillest, gorged his battle-axe with
blood;
All died--the wailing babe--the shrieking maid--
And in the
flood of fire that scathed the glade,
The roofs went down; but deep
the silence grew,
When on the dewy woods the day-beam played;

No more the cabin smokes rose wreathed and blue,
And ever, by their
lake, lay moored the light canoe.

XXXII.
Look now abroad--another race has filled
These populous
borders--wide the wood recedes,
And towns shoot up, and fertile
realms are tilled:
The land is full of harvests and green meads;

Streams numberless, that many a fountain feeds,
Shine,
disembowered, and give to sun and breeze
Their virgin waters; the
full region leads
New colonies forth, that toward the western seas

Spread, like a rapid flame among the autumnal trees.
XXXIII.
Here the free spirit of mankind, at length,
Throws its last fetters off;
and who shall place
A limit to the giant's unchained strength,
Or
curb his swiftness in the forward race!
Far, like the cornet's way
through infinite space
Stretches the long untravelled path of light,

Into the depths of ages: we may trace,
Distant, the brightening glory
of its flight,
Till the receding rays are lost to human sight.
XXXIV
Europe is given a prey to sterner fates,
And writhes in shackles;
strong the arms that chain
To earth her struggling multitude of states;

She too is strong, and might not chafe in vain
Against them, but
might cast to earth the train
That trample her, and break their iron net.

Yes, she shall look on brighter days and gain
The meed of worthier
deeds; the moment set
To rescue and raise up, draws near--but is not
yet.
XXXV.
But thou, my country, thou shalt never fall,
Save with thy
children--thy maternal care,
Thy lavish love, thy blessings showered
on all--
These are thy fetters--seas and stormy air
Are the wide
barrier of thy borders, where,
Among thy gallant sons that guard thee

well,
Thou laugh'st at enemies: who shall then declare
The date of
thy deep-founded strength, or tell
How happy, in thy lap, the sons of
men shall dwell.
THANATOPSIS.
To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible
forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a
voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she
glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And healing sympathy,
that steals away
Their sharpness, e're he is aware. When thoughts

Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad
images
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless
darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick
at heart;--
Go forth, under the open sky, and list
To Nature's
teachings, while from all around--
Earth and her waters, and the
depths of air,--
Comes a still voice--Yet a few days, and thee
The
all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course; nor yet in the
cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears,
Nor in
the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourished
thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,
And,
lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt
thou go
To mix for ever with the elements,
To be a brother to the
insensible rock
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain

Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots
abroad, and pierce thy mould.
Yet not to thine eternal resting-place
Shalt thou retire alone--nor
couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down

With patriarchs of the infant world--with kings,
The powerful of the
earth--the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,

All in one mighty sepulchre.--The hills
Rock-ribbed and ancient