The whispering woods and fragrant breeze
That stirred the grass in verdant seas
On billowy slope,
And glistening crag in sunlit sky,
'Mid snowy clouds piled mountains high,
Were joys to me;
My path was o'er the prairie wide,
Or here on grander mountain side,
To choose, all free.
The rose that waved in morning air,
That spread its dewy fragrance there
In careless bloom,
Gave to my heart its ruddiest hue,
O'er my glad life its color threw,
And sweet perfume.
Now changed the scene and changed the eyes
That here once looked on glowing skies
Where summer smiled;
These riven trees and wind-swept plain
Now show the winter's dread domain-
The rocks rise black from storm-packed snow,
All checked the river's pleasant flow,
Vanished the bloom;
These dreary wastes of frozen plain
Reflect my bosom's life again,
Now lonesome gloom.
The buoyant hopes and busy life
Have ended all in hateful strife
And thwarted aim.
The world's rude contact kills the rose,
No more its radiant color shows
False roads to fame.
Backward amid the twilight glow
Some lingering spots yet brightly show
On hard roads won
Where still some grand peaks mark the way,
Touched by the light of parting day
But here thick clouds the mountains hide,
The dim horizon, bleak and wide,
No pathway shows.
And rising gusts and darkening sky
Tell of "the night that cometh" nigh
The brief day's close.
(Ascribed by the N. Y. Evening Post to General John C. Fremont.)
LOVE, give me one of thy dear hands to hold,
Take thou my tired head upon thy breast,
Then sing me that sweet song we loved of old,
The dear, soft song about our little nest.
We knew the song before the nest was ours;
We sang the song when first the nest we found;
We loved the song in happy after-hours
When peace came to us and content profound
Then sing that olden song to me to-night,
While I, reclining on thy faithful breast,
See happy visions in the frail firelight,
And my whole soul is satisfied with rest.
Better than all our bygone dreams of bliss
Are deep content and rest secure as this.
What though we missed love's golden summer-time,
His autumn fruits were ripe when we had leave
To enter joy's wide vineyard in our prime,
Good guerdon for our waiting to receive.
Love gave us no frail pledge of summer flowers,
But side by side we reaped the harvest field;
Now side by side we pass the winter hours,
And day by day new blessings are revealed.
The heyday of our youth, its roseate glow,
Its high desires and cravings manifold,
The raptures and delights of long ago,
Have passed; but we have truer joys to hold.
Sing me the dear old song about the nest,
Our blessed home, our little ark of rest.
This is still the same old homestead
Where I brought you long ago,
When the hair was bright with sunshine
That is now like winter's snow.
Let us talk about the babies,
As we sit here all alone;
Such a merry troop of youngsters,
How we lost them one by one.
Jack, the first of all our party,
Came to us one winter's night.
Jack, you said, should be a parson,
Long before he saw the light.
Do you see the great cathedral,
Filled the transept and the nave,
Hear the organ gladly pealing,
Watch the silken hangings wave?
See the priest in robes of office,
With the altar at his back,
Would you think that gifted preacher
Could be our own little Jack?
Then, a girl with curly tresses
Used to climb upon my knee Like a little fairy princess, Ruling at the age of three.
With the years there came a wedding -
How your fond heart swelled with pride
When the lord of all the country
Chose your baby for his bride!
Watch that stately carriage coming,
And the form reclining there,
Would you think that brilliant lady
Could be our own little Clare?
Then, the last, a blue-eyed youngster, —
I can hear him prattling now,
Such a strong and sturdy fellow,
With his broad and honest brow.
How he used to love his mother!
Ah! I see your trembling lip!
He is far off on the water,
Captain of a royal ship.
See the bronze upon his forehead,
Hear the voice of stern command,
That's the boy who clung so fondly
To his mother's gentle hand.
Ah! my wife, we 've lost the babies,
Ours so long and ours alone.
What are we to those great people,
Stately men and women grown?
Seldom do we even see them;
Yes, a bitter tear-drop starts
As we sit here in the firelight,
Lonely hearth and lonely hearts.
All their lives are full without us;
They'll stop long enough one day
Just to lay us in the churchyard,
Then they'll each go on his way.
WHEN the morning fair and sweet
Glimmers through the dusky pane,
For the tread of pattering feet,
Ah! I list in vain.
Not an echo haunts the hall
Oh, each gladsome, light footfall;
Not an echo wakes the stair
Silence, silence everywhere;
They are gone!
When I leave my sleepless bed,
Passing from the chambered gloom,
No red cheek and flower-like head
Lift to me their bloom;
Only darkness in the hall
Lingers like a clouded pall;
Round the threshold, o'er the stair-
Darkness, darkness everywhere;
They are gone!
When from out the toilsome mart,
Hopeless, weary, I return,
Oh, these wasting fires at heart
How they burn - they burn!
Passionate grief seemed sunk in dearth,
But beside my ruined hearth
All the anguish, all the pain,
Bursts in flaming woe again —
They are gone!
When the twilight hour comes down,
Of all hours the calmest, best,
Hovering like an angel's crown
O'er the day's unrest,
Whence this alien, brooding air?
Whence this whisper of despair?
'Tis but Heartbreak's hollow tone
Muttering, "Canst thou live alone?
They are gone!"
Gone! In silences of night
Hapless hands I stretch to find
Vacant spaces left and right,
Vacant as the wind.
While a mother's moan is heard,
Low, as if some wounded bird,
Sore of wing and sore of breast,
Wailed above her shattered nest:
All are gone!
WHEN she undid her hair at night,
About the time for lying down,
She came and knelt. I was so small,
There in my bed, her curls did fall
All over me, light gold and brown.
I fell asleep amid her prayers.
Her fair young face (far off it seems),
Her girlish voice, her kisses sweet,
The patter of her busy feet,
Passed with me into charming dreams.
And when I woke at merry morn,
Through her gold hair I saw the sun
Flame strong, shine glad, and glorify
The great, good world. Oh, never can I
Forget her words, "My darling one!"
Ah! checkered years since then have crept
Past her and me, and we have known
Some sorrow and much tempered joy.
Far into manhood stands her boy,
And her gold hair snow-white is blown.
The world has changed by slow degrees,
And as old days recede, alas!
So much of trouble have the new,
Those rare, far joys grow dim seen through
Sad times as through a darkened glass.
But just this morning when I woke,
How lovingly my lips were kissed!
How chaste and clear the sunlight shone
On mother's hair, like gold-dust sown
Athwart thin clouds of silver mist!
WORN Voyagers, who watch for land
Across the endless wastes of sea,
Who gaze before and on each hand,
Why look ye not to what ye flee?
The stars by which the sailors steer
Not always rise before the prow;
Though forward nought but clouds appear,
Behind, they may be breaking now.
|