Our Profession and Other Poems Part 10

Babbling buoyantly by banks and bushes, Laughingly onward you speed to the sea, While from your mossy sides, joyously gushes Fountains from Nature's bowl, healthful and free.

Naiads and Nymphs hold revels at midnight, Dancing to music that swells from your flow; Dryad and Faun peep out at the moonlight, Thro' rents in green curtains that over you grow.

Here would I pour my soul out in wooing The spirit that dwells in your charmed home; Here would I linger gladly, if knowing My waiting might lead it at last to come.

Let me while here with you catch the spirit Of peace and comfort abiding in you, Then will my Nature truly inherit A love for the beautiful, n.o.ble, and true.

THE STREAM'S STORY.

I sat me down in a forest old, Beside a low murmuring stream; I lent my ear to the tale it told, For 'twas more than fancy's dream;

It spoke of days when the earth was young, When it flowed more cheerfully, When its water sang the rocks among, As they danced down toward the sea.

"In the ancient days my banks were filled, Nor shrank I from heat or frost, For the shaded, moss-crowned earth then held The drops, so that none were lost.

"The old forest then stretched far away, And its sheltering arms embraced Sweet perfumed plants and flowerets gay, Whose lives long ago have ceased.

"For the st.u.r.dy woodman plied the blade And the forest soon lay low; Then the burning sun and the want of shade Soon shrank my full crystal flow.

"Now when the rain comes, my waters roar, And my spoils are sad to see, For the earth-vaults where I kept my store, Hold no surplus now for me.

"Man's greed for wealth has my beauty marred And robbed me of early joys, But I sing again, with hope restored, When I see the girls and boys

"Who come with their songs in merry May, O'er valley, hill, and plain, To plant young trees on this Arbor Day, So in joy I smile again."

To wander all day, by a purling stream That flows through some mossy dell, And watch its silvery waters gleam, And list to its music's swell As it dashes down some wild cascade, On its race to the wide, wide sea, With sweeter strains than old Orpheus played, Is supreme delight to me.

THE SECOND SUNDAY IN MAY.

Softly the breezes dance o'er the meadows, Wafting the perfume of sweet-scented May; Flecked are the green fields with suns.h.i.+ne and shadows, Telling so gently of earth's perfect day.

From moss-covered rocks whereon we are seated, Nature spreads scenes such as art cannot yield; With flowers of rare beauty our vision is greeted, Our ears, with the bird-notes of forest and field.

Dogwood with tints from pink to pure whiteness, Columbine crimson with pinnacled sheen, Pinks of carnation, and orchards in brightness, Vie with the meadows of velvety green.

The bobolink chatters in notes of perfection, The oriole sings a love-song to his mate, The whippoorwill clings to his perch for protection, The crow laughs ha! ha! when the evening grows late.

Squirrel and humming-bird flit by like spirits, Jack-in-the-pulpit stands ready to preach, The roll of the anthem the wood-choir inherits, Surpa.s.ses the harmony mortals can reach.

The song of the bird-note, the hum of the bee, The tinkling of waters, the bursting of leaves, The perfume of flowers, the blossoming tree, Are sermons from Nature the pulpit ne'er gives.

My soul sings with these, with these has communion, They lift me in thought to realms pure and bright; They speak of a Nature with which to have union Dispels all my sorrows and gives me delight.

Every sigh of the breeze, every note of wild bird, Every plant that springs up from earth's fertile sod, Are sermons of eloquence when rightly heard, That soothe me and bring me nearer to G.o.d.

NATURE'S CHILD.

I would rather dwell with Nature And be her favored child, To love plant, tree, and creature That live in forest wild; And feel the satisfaction That I can understand The beauty and attraction Of motives, n.o.ble, grand, That fas.h.i.+oned for man's pleasure This brilliant world of ours, Than possess the jeweled treasure Of all earth's kingly powers.

LAKE GEORGE, N. Y.

Beautiful, beautiful Horicon!

Over thy waters so blue, Suns.h.i.+ne and shadow in silence flit on, Painting fresh scenes on the ecstatic view.

Blue are the skies that kiss the green tops Of sentinel mountains grand, Pure are the waters descending in drops, Or rus.h.i.+ng in torrents from mountain to strand.

Like emerald crowns thy islands rise, And mirrored back are doubly seen Gray rocks of the mountains, the cloud-flecked skies, Gorgeous adornments, and fringes of green.

Silent and wild are the fairy sh.o.r.es Save song of the warbling bird, Or the glen wherein the cataract roars, Or the pine tree's branch by strong breezes stirred.

When sunset purples the dark ravine And throws crimson on thy breast, Soft-tinged are the hues that e'er lie between Thy sh.o.r.es and the peaks that rise in the west.

I see in my fancy days long past, I hear the brave soldier's song, The bugle that summoned hosts at its blast, Whose notes died in echoes the green sh.o.r.es along.

I see in the past ten-thousand oars, And a thousand boats so grand, As they leave the marge of thy southern sh.o.r.es To meet the French foes of Montcalm's command.

I see Abercrombie grandly brave With his fifteen thousand men, Glide swiftly, silently over the wave To contest from which many came not again.

Beautiful, beautiful Horicon!

How changed is the scene to-day, The pageant of war and carnage is gone Thy waters now bear the light-hearted and gay.

Who loves devoutly Nature wild, And sees in her a Master's hand, Will seldom be a wayward child Though foul temptations round him stand.

Magnetic forces draw him back From following low and slavish ways, His soul revolts at the attack That foe of Nature--Vice, displays.

THE THRUSH.