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

a place in Truth's domains,
He asked the
title-deeds.
"He saw the old-time's groves and shrines
In the long distance fair
and dim;
And heard, like sound of far-off pines,
The
century-mellowed hymn!
"He dared not mock the Dervish whirl,
The Brahmin's rite, the
Lama's spell;
God knew the heart; Devotion's pearl
Might sanctify
the shell.
"While others trod the altar stairs
He faltered like the publican;
And,
while they praised as saints, his prayers
Were those of sinful man.
"For, awed by Sinai's Mount of Law,
The trembling faith alone
sufficed,
That, through its cloud and flame, he saw
The sweet, sad
face of Christ!
"And listening, with his forehead bowed,
Heard the Divine
compassion fill
The pauses of the trump and cloud
With whispers
small and still.
"The words he spake, the thoughts he penned,
Are mortal as his hand
and brain,
But, if they served the Master's end,
He has not lived in
vain!"
Heaven make thee better than thy name,
Child of my friends!--For
thee I crave
What riches never bought, nor fame
To mortal longing
gave.
I pray the prayer of Plato old:
God make thee beautiful within,
And
let thine eyes the good behold
In everything save sin!

Imagination held in check
To serve, not 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