Songs Out of Doors | Page 2

note--?See, there he flits--the Yellow-throat;?A living sunbeam, tipped with wings,?A spark of light that shines and sings?_"Witchery--witchery--witchery."_
You prophet with a pleasant name,?If out of Mary-land you came,?You know the way that thither goes?Where Mary's lovely garden grows:?Fly swiftly back to her, I pray,?And try to call her down this way,?_"Witchery--witchery--witchery."_
Tell her to leave her cockle-shells,?And all her little silver bells?That blossom into melody,?And all her maids less fair than she.?She does not need these pretty things,?For everywhere she comes, she brings?_"Witchery--witchery--witchery."_
The woods are greening overhead,?And flowers adorn each mossy bed;?The waters babble as they run--?One thing is lacking, only one:?If Mary were but here to-day,?I would believe your charming lay,?_"Witchery--witchery--witchery."_
Along the shady road I look--?Who's coming now across the brook??A woodland maid, all robed in white--?The leaves dance round her with delight,?The stream laughs out beneath her feet--?Sing, merry bird, the charm's complete,?"_Witchery--witchery--witchery!_"
1895.
THE WHIP-POOR-WILL
Do you remember, father,--?It seems so long ago,--?The day we fished together?Along the Pocono??At dusk I waited for you,?Beside the lumber-mill,?And there I heard a hidden bird?That chanted, "whip-poor-will,"?"_Whippoorwill! whippoorwill!_"?Sad and shrill,--"_whippoorwill!_"
The place was all deserted;?The mill-wheel hung at rest;?The lonely star of evening?Was throbbing in the west;?The veil of night was falling;?The winds were folded still;?And everywhere the trembling air?Re-echoed "whip-poor-will!"?"_Whippoorwill! whippoorwill!_"?Sad and shrill,--"_whippoorwill!_"
You seemed so long in coming,?I felt so much alone;?The wide, dark world was round me,?And life was all unknown;?The hand of sorrow touched me,?And made my senses thrill?With all the pain that haunts the strain?Of mournful whip-poor-will.?"_Whippoorwill! whippoorwill!_"?Sad and shrill,--"_whippoorwill!_"
What knew I then of trouble??An idle little lad,?I had not learned the lessons?That make men wise and sad.?I dreamed of grief and parting,?And something seemed to fill?My heart with tears, while in my ears?Resounded "whip-poor-will."?"_Whippoorwill! whippoorwill!_"?Sad and shrill,--"_whippoorwill!_"
'Twas but a cloud of sadness,?That lightly passed away;?But I have learned the meaning?Of sorrow, since that day.?For nevermore at twilight,?Beside the silent mill,?I'll wait for you, in the falling dew,?And hear the whip-poor-will.?"_Whippoorwill! whippoorwill!_"?Sad and shrill,--"_whippoorwill!_"
But if you still remember?In that fair land of light,?The pains and fears that touch us?Along this edge of night,?I think all earthly grieving,?And all our mortal ill,?To you must seem like a sad boy's dream?Who hears the whip-poor-will.?"_Whippoorwill! whippoorwill!_"?A passing thrill,--"_whippoorwill!_"
1894.
WINGS OF A DOVE
I
At sunset, when the rosy light was dying?Far down the pathway of the west,?I saw a lonely dove in silence flying,
To be at rest.
Pilgrim of air, I cried, could I but borrow?Thy wandering wings, thy freedom blest,?I'd fly away from every careful sorrow,
And find my rest.
II
But when the filmy veil of dusk was falling,?Home flew the dove to seek his nest,?Deep in the forest where his mate was calling
To love and rest.
Peace, heart of mine! no longer sigh to wander;?Lose not thy life in barren quest.?There are no happy islands over yonder;
Come home and rest.
1874.
THE HERMIT THRUSH
O wonderful! How liquid clear?The molten gold of that ethereal tone,?Floating and falling through the wood alone,?A hermit-hymn poured out for God to hear!
_O holy, holy! holy! Hyaline,?Long light, low light, glory of eventide!?Love far away, far up,--love divine!?Little love, too, for ever, ever near,?Warm love, earth love, tender love of mine,?In the leafy dark where you hide,?You are mine,--mine,--mine!_
Ah, my belov��d, do you feel with me?The hidden virtue of that melody,?The rapture and the purity of love,?The heavenly joy that can not find the word?
Then, while we wait again to hear the bird,?Come very near to me, and do not move,--?Now, hermit of the woodland, fill anew?The cool, green cup of air with harmony,?And we will drink the wine of love with you.
May, 1908.
SEA-GULLS OF MANHATTAN
Children of the elemental mother,?Born upon some lonely island shore?Where the wrinkled ripples run and whisper,?Where the crested billows plunge and roar;?Long-winged, tireless roamers and adventurers,?Fearless breasters of the wind and sea,?In the far-off solitary places?I have seen you floating wild and free!
Here the high-built cities rise around you;?Here the cliffs that tower east and west,?Honeycombed with human habitations,?Have no hiding for the sea-bird's nest:?Here the river flows begrimed and troubled;?Here the hurrying, panting vessels fume,?Restless, up and down the watery highway,?While a thousand chimneys vomit gloom.
Toil and tumult, conflict and confusion,?Clank and clamour of the vast machine?Human hands have built for human bondage--?Yet amid it all you float serene;?Circling, soaring, sailing, swooping lightly?Down to glean your harvest from the wave;?In your heritage of air and water,?You have kept the freedom Nature gave.
Even so the wild-woods of Manhattan?Saw your wheeling flocks of white and gray;?Even so you fluttered, followed, floated,?Round the _Half-Moon_ creeping up the bay;?Even so your voices creaked and chattered,?Laughing shrilly o'er the tidal rips,?While your black and beady eyes were glistening?Round the sullen British prison-ships.
Children of the elemental mother,?Fearless floaters 'mid the double blue,?From the crowded boats that cross the ferries?Many a longing heart goes out to you.?Though the cities climb and close around us,?Something tells us that our souls