Poems of Nature, part 3, Reminiscent Poems | Page 6

rule, thy poised mind;?Thy Reason, at the frown or beck?Of Conscience, loose or bind.
No dreamer thou, but real all,--?Strong manhood crowning vigorous youth;?Life made by duty epical?And rhythmic with the truth.
So shall that life the fruitage yield?Which trees of healing only give,?And green-leafed in the Eternal field?Of God, forever live!?1853.
A MEMORY
Here, while the loom of Winter weaves?The shroud of flowers and fountains,?I think of thee and summer eves?Among the Northern mountains.
When thunder tolled the twilight's close,?And winds the lake were rude on,?And thou wert singing, Ca' the Yowes,?The bonny yowes of Cluden!
When, close and closer, hushing breath,?Our circle narrowed round thee,?And smiles and tears made up the wreath?Wherewith our silence crowned thee;
And, strangers all, we felt the ties?Of sisters and of brothers;?Ah! whose of all those kindly eyes?Now smile upon another's?
The sport of Time, who still apart?The waifs of life is flinging;?Oh, nevermore shall heart to heart?Draw nearer for that singing!
Yet when the panes are frosty-starred,?And twilight's fire is gleaming,?I hear the songs of Scotland's bard?Sound softly through my dreaming!
A song that lends to winter snows?The glow of summer weather,--?Again I hear thee ca' the yowes?To Cluden's hills of heather?1854.
MY DREAM.
In my dream, methought I trod,?Yesternight, a mountain road;?Narrow as Al Sirat's span,?High as eagle's flight, it ran.
Overhead, a roof of cloud?With its weight of thunder bowed;?Underneath, to left and right,?Blankness and abysmal night.
Here and there a wild-flower blushed,?Now and then a bird-song gushed;?Now and then, through rifts of shade,?Stars shone out, and sunbeams played.
But the goodly company,?Walking in that path with me,?One by one the brink o'erslid,?One by one the darkness hid.
Some with wailing and lament,?Some with cheerful courage went;?But, of all who smiled or mourned,?Never one to us returned.
Anxiously, with eye and ear,?Questioning that shadow drear,?Never hand in token stirred,?Never answering voice I heard!
Steeper, darker!--lo! I felt?From my feet the pathway melt.?Swallowed by the black despair,?And the hungry jaws of air,
Past the stony-throated caves,?Strangled by the wash of waves,?Past the splintered crags, I sank?On a green and flowery bank,--
Soft as fall of thistle-down,?Lightly as a cloud is blown,?Soothingly as childhood pressed?To the bosom of its rest.
Of the sharp-horned rocks instead,?Green the grassy meadows spread,?Bright with waters singing by?Trees that propped a golden sky.
Painless, trustful, sorrow-free,?Old lost faces welcomed me,?With whose sweetness of content?Still expectant hope was blent.
Waking while the dawning gray?Slowly brightened into day,?Pondering that vision fled,?Thus unto myself I said:--
"Steep and hung with clouds of strife?Is our narrow path of life;?And our death the dreaded fall?Through the dark, awaiting all.
"So, with painful steps we climb?Up the dizzy ways of time,?Ever in the shadow shed?By the forecast of our dread.
"Dread of mystery solved alone,?Of the untried and unknown;?Yet the end thereof may seem?Like the falling of my dream.
"And this heart-consuming care,?All our fears of here or there,?Change and absence, loss and death,?Prove but simple lack of faith."
Thou, O Most Compassionate!?Who didst stoop to our estate,?Drinking of the cup we drain,?Treading in our path of pain,--
Through the doubt and mystery,?Grant to us thy steps to see,?And the grace to draw from thence?Larger hope and confidence.
Show thy vacant tomb, and let,?As of old, the angels sit,?Whispering, by its open door?"Fear not! He hath gone before!"?1855.
THE BAREFOOT BOY.
Blessings on thee, little man,?Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan?With thy turned-up pantaloons,?And thy merry whistled tunes;?With thy red lip, redder still?Kissed by strawberries on the hill;?With the sunshine on thy face,?Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace;?From my heart I give thee joy,--?I was once a barefoot boy!
Prince thou art,--the grown-up man?Only is republican.?Let the million-dollared ride!?Barefoot, trudging at his side,?Thou hast more than he can buy?In the reach of ear and eye,--?Outward sunshine, inward joy?Blessings on thee, barefoot boy!
Oh for boyhood's painless play,?Sleep that wakes in laughing day,?Health that mocks the doctor's rules,?Knowledge never learned of schools,?Of the wild bee's morning chase,?Of the wild-flower's time and place,?Flight of fowl and habitude?Of the tenants of the wood;?How the tortoise bears his shell,?How the woodchuck digs his cell,?And the ground-mole sinks his well;?How the robin feeds her young,?How the oriole's nest is hung;?Where the whitest lilies blow,?Where the freshest berries grow,?Where the ground-nut trails its vine,?Where the wood-grape's clusters shine;?Of the black wasp's cunning way,?Mason of his walls of clay,?And the architectural plans?Of gray hornet artisans!?For, eschewing books and tasks,?Nature answers all he asks,?Hand in hand with her he walks,?Face to face with her he talks,?Part and parcel of her joy,--?Blessings on the barefoot boy!
Oh for boyhood's time of June,?Crowding years in one brief moon,?When all things I heard or saw,?Me, their master, waited for.?I was rich in flowers and trees,?Humming-birds and honey-bees;?For my sport the squirrel played,?Plied the snouted mole his spade;?For my taste the blackberry cone?Purpled over hedge and stone;?Laughed the brook for my delight?Through the day and through the night,?Whispering at the garden wall,?Talked with me from fall to fall;?Mine the sand-rimmed