Poetical Works of William Cullen Bryant Part 30

'Twas noon, 'twas summer: I beheld Woods darkening in the flush of day, And that bright rivulet spread and swelled, A mighty stream, with creek and bay.

And here was love, and there was strife, And mirthful shouts, and wrathful cries, And strong men, struggling as for life, With knotted limbs and angry eyes.

Now stooped the sun--the shades grew thin; The rustling paths were piled with leaves, And sunburnt groups were gathering in, From the shorn field, its fruits and sheaves.

The river heaved with sullen sounds; The chilly wind was sad with moans; Black hea.r.s.es pa.s.sed, and burial-grounds Grew thick with monumental stones.

Still waned the day; the wind that chased The jagged clouds blew chiller yet; The woods were stripped, the fields were waste; The wintry sun was near his set.

And of the young, and strong, and fair, A lonely remnant, gray and weak, Lingered, and s.h.i.+vered to the air Of that bleak sh.o.r.e and water bleak.

Ah! age is drear, and death is cold!

I turned to thee, for thou wert near, And saw thee withered, bowed, and old, And woke all faint with sudden fear.

'Twas thus I heard the dreamer say, And bade her clear her clouded brow; "For thou and I, since childhood's day, Have walked in such a dream till now.

"Watch we in calmness, as they rise, The changes of that rapid dream, And note its lessons, till our eyes Shall open in the morning beam."

THE ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM.

Here are old trees, tall oaks, and gnarled pines, That stream with gray-green mosses; here the ground Was never trenched by spade, and flowers spring up Unsown, and die ungathered. It is sweet To linger here, among the flitting birds And leaping squirrels, wandering brooks, and winds That shake the leaves, and scatter, as they pa.s.s, A fragrance from the cedars, thickly set With pale-blue berries. In these peaceful shades-- Peaceful, unpruned, immeasurably old-- My thoughts go up the long dim path of years, Back to the earliest days of liberty.

O FREEDOM! thou art not, as poets dream, A fair young girl, with light and delicate limbs, And wavy tresses gus.h.i.+ng from the cap With which the Roman master crowned his slave When he took off the gyves. A bearded man, Armed to the teeth, art thou; one mailed hand Grasps the broad s.h.i.+eld, and one the sword; thy brow, Glorious in beauty though it be, is scarred With tokens of old wars; thy ma.s.sive limbs Are strong with struggling. Power at thee has launched His bolts, and with his lightnings smitten thee; They could not quench the life thou hast from heaven; Merciless Power has dug thy dungeon deep, And his swart armorers, by a thousand fires, Have forged thy chain; yet, while he deems thee bound, The links are s.h.i.+vered, and the prison-walls Fall outward; terribly thou springest forth, As springs the flame above a burning pile, And shoutest to the nations, who return Thy shoutings, while the pale oppressor flies.

Thy birthright was not given by human hands: Thou wert twin-born with man. In pleasant fields, While yet our race was few, thou sat'st with him, To tend the quiet flock and watch the stars, And teach the reed to utter simple airs.

Thou by his side, amid the tangled wood, Didst war upon the panther and the wolf, His only foes; and thou with him didst draw The earliest furrow on the mountain-side, Soft with the deluge. Tyranny himself, Thy enemy, although of reverend look, h.o.a.ry with many years, and far obeyed, Is later born than thou; and as he meets The grave defiance of thine elder eye, The usurper trembles in his fastnesses.

Thou shalt wax stronger with the lapse of years But he shall fade into a feebler age-- Feebler, yet subtler. He shall weave his snares And spring them on thy careless steps, and clap His withered hands, and from their ambush call His hordes to fall upon thee. He shall send Quaint maskers, wearing fair and gallant forms To catch thy gaze, and uttering graceful words To charm thy ear; while his sly imps, by stealth, Twine round thee threads of steel, light thread on thread That grow to fetters; or bind down thy arms With chains concealed in chaplets. Oh! not yet Mayst thou unbrace thy corslet, nor lay by Thy sword; nor yet, O Freedom! close thy lids In slumber; for thine enemy never sleeps, And thou must watch and combat till the day Of the new earth and heaven. But wouldst thou rest Awhile from tumult and the frauds of men, These old and friendly solitudes invite Thy visit. They, while yet the forest-trees Were young upon the unviolated earth, And yet the moss-stains on the rock were new, Beheld thy glorious childhood, and rejoiced.

THE MAIDEN'S SORROW.

Seven long years has the desert rain Dropped on the clods that hide thy face; Seven long years of sorrow and pain I have thought of thy burial-place;

Thought of thy fate in the distant West, Dying with none that loved thee near, They who flung the earth on thy breast Turned from the spot without a tear.

There, I think, on that lonely grave, Violets spring in the soft May shower; There, in the summer breezes, wave Crimson phlox and moccasin-flower.

There the turtles alight, and there Feeds with her fawn the timid doe; There, when the winter woods are bare, Walks the wolf on the crackling snow.

Soon wilt thou wipe my tears away; All my task upon earth is done; My poor father, old and gray, Slumbers beneath the churchyard stone.

In the dreams of my lonely bed, Ever thy form before me seems, All night long I talk with the dead, All day long I think of my dreams.

This deep wound that bleeds and aches, This long pain, a sleepless pain-- When the Father my spirit takes, I shall feel it no more again.

THE RETURN OF YOUTH.

My friend, thou sorrowest for thy golden prime, For thy fair youthful years too swift of flight; Thou musest, with wet eyes, upon the time Of cheerful hopes that filled the world with light--

Years when thy heart was bold, thy hand was strong, And quick the thought that moved thy tongue to speak, And willing faith was thine, and scorn of wrong Summoned the sudden crimson to thy cheek.

Thou lookest forward on the coming days, Shuddering to feel their shadow o'er thee creep; A path, thick-set with changes and decays, Slopes downward to the place of common sleep; And they who walked with thee in life's first stage, Leave one by one thy side, and, waiting near, Thou seest the sad companions of thy age-- Dull love of rest, and weariness and fear.

Yet grieve thou not, nor think thy youth is gone, Nor deem that glorious season e'er could die.

Thy pleasant youth, a little while withdrawn, Waits on the horizon of a brighter sky; Waits, like the morn, that folds her wings and hides Till the slow stars bring back her dawning hour; Waits, like the vanished spring, that slumbering bides Her own sweet time to waken bud and flower.

There shall he welcome thee, when thou shalt stand On his bright morning hills, with smiles more sweet Than when at first he took thee by the hand, Through the fair earth to lead thy tender feet.

He shall bring back, but brighter, broader still, Life's early glory to thine eyes again, Shall clothe thy spirit with new strength, and fill Thy leaping heart with warmer love than then.

Hast thou not glimpses, in the twilight here, Of mountains where immortal morn prevails?

Comes there not, through the silence, to thine ear A gentle rustling of the morning gales; A murmur, wafted from that glorious sh.o.r.e, Of streams that water banks forever fair, And voices of the loved ones gone before, More musical in that celestial air?

A HYMN OF THE SEA.

The sea is mighty, but a mightier sways His restless billows. Thou, whose hands have scooped His boundless gulfs and built his sh.o.r.e, thy breath, That moved in the beginning o'er his face, Moves o'er it evermore. The obedient waves To its strong motion roll, and rise and fall.

Still from that realm of rain thy cloud goes up, As at the first, to water the great earth, And keep her valleys green. A hundred realms Watch its broad shadow warping on the wind, And in the dropping shower, with gladness hear Thy promise of the harvest. I look forth Over the boundless blue, where joyously The bright crests of innumerable waves Glance to the sun at once, as when the hands Of a great mult.i.tude are upward flung In acclamation. I behold the s.h.i.+ps Gliding from cape to cape, from isle to isle, Or stemming toward far lands, or hastening home From the Old World. It is thy friendly breeze That bears them, with the riches of the land, And treasure of dear lives, till, in the port, The shouting seaman climbs and furls the sail.

But who shall bide thy tempest, who shall face The blast that wakes the fury of the sea?

O G.o.d! thy justice makes the world turn pale, When on the armed fleet, that royally Bears down the surges, carrying war, to smite Some city, or invade some thoughtless realm, Descends the fierce tornado. The vast hulks Are whirled like chaff upon the waves; the sails Fly, rent like webs of gossamer; the masts Are snapped asunder; downward from the decks, Downward are slung, into the fathomless gulf, Their cruel engines; and their hosts, arrayed In trappings of the battle-field, are whelmed By whirlpools, or dashed dead upon the rocks.

Then stand the nations still with awe, and pause A moment, from the b.l.o.o.d.y work of war.

These restless surges eat away the sh.o.r.es Of earth's old continents; the fertile plain Welters in shallows, headlands crumble down, And the tide drifts the sea-sand in the streets Of the drowned city. Thou, meanwhile, afar In the green chambers of the middle sea, Where broadest spread the waters and the line Sinks deepest, while no eye beholds thy work, Creator! thou dost teach the coral-worm To lay his mighty reefs. From age to age, He builds beneath the waters, till, at last, His bulwarks overtop the brine, and check The long wave rolling from the southern pole To break upon j.a.pan. Thou bidd'st the fires, That smoulder under ocean, heave on high The new-made mountains, and uplift their peaks, A place of refuge for the storm-driven bird.

The birds and wafting billows plant the rifts With herb and tree; sweet fountains gush; sweet airs Ripple the living lakes that, fringed with flowers, Are gathered in the hollows. Thou dost look On thy creation and p.r.o.nounce it good.

Its valleys, glorious in their summer green, Praise thee in silent beauty, and its woods, Swept by the murmuring winds of ocean, join The murmuring sh.o.r.es in a perpetual hymn.

NOON.

FROM AN UNFINISHED POEM.