Poems by John Hay Part 12

In a Graveyard

In the dewy depths of the graveyard I lie in the tangled gra.s.s, And watch, in the sea of azure, The white cloud-islands pa.s.s.

The birds in the rustling branches Sing gayly overhead; Gray stones like sentinel spectres Are guarding the silent dead.

The early flowers sleep shaded In the cool green noonday glooms; The broken light falls shuddering On the cold white face of the tombs,

Without, the world is smiling In the infinite love of G.o.d, But the sunlight fails and falters When it falls on the churchyard sod.

On me the joyous rapture Of a heart's first love is shed, But it falls on my heart as coldly As sunlight on the dead.

The Prairie

The skies are blue above my head, The prairie green below, And flickering o'er the tufted gra.s.s The s.h.i.+fting shadows go, Vague-sailing, where the feathery clouds Fleck white the tranquil skies, Black javelins darting where aloft The whirring pheasant flies.

A glimmering plain in drowsy trance The dim horizon bounds, Where all the air is resonant With sleepy summer sounds, The life that sings among the flowers, The lisping of the breeze, The hot cicala's sultry cry, The murmurous dream of bees.

The b.u.t.terfly--a flying flower-- Wheels swift in flas.h.i.+ng rings, And flutters round his quiet kin, With brave flame-mottled wings.

The wild Pinks burst in crimson fire, The Phlox' bright cl.u.s.ters s.h.i.+ne, And Prairie-Cups are swinging free To spill their airy wine.

And lavishly beneath the sun, In liberal splendor rolled, The Fennel fills the dipping plain With floods of flowery gold; And widely weaves the Iron-Weed A woof of purple dyes Where Autumn's royal feet may tread When bankrupt Summer flies.

In verdurous tumult far away The prairie-billows gleam, Upon their crests in blessing rests The noontide's gracious beam.

Low quivering vapors steaming dim The level splendors break Where languid Lilies deck the rim Of some land-circled lake.

Far in the East like low-hung clouds The waving woodlands lie; Far in the West the glowing plain Melts warmly in the sky.

No accent wounds the reverent air, No footprint dints the sod,-- Lone in the light the prairie lies, Rapt in a dream of G.o.d

ILLINOIS, 1858.

Centennial

A hundred times the bells of Brown Have rung to sleep the idle summers, And still to-day clangs clamoring down A greeting to the welcome comers.

And far, like waves of morning, pours Her call, in airy ripples breaking, And wanders to the farthest sh.o.r.es, Her children's drowsy hearts awaking.

The wild vibration floats along, O'er heart-strings tense its magic plying, And wakes in every breast its song Of love and grat.i.tude undying.

My heart to meet the summons leaps At limit of its straining tether, Where the fresh western sunlight steeps In golden flame the prairie heather.

And others, happier, rise and fare To pa.s.s within the hallowed portal, And see the glory s.h.i.+ning there Shrined in her steadfast eyes immortal.

What though their eyes be dim and dull, Their heads be white in reverend blossom; Our mother's smile is beautiful As when she bore them on her bosom!

Her heavenly forehead bears no line Of Time's iconoclastic fingers, But o'er her form the grace divine Of deathless youth and wisdom lingers.

We fade and pa.s.s, grow faint and old, Till youth and joy and hope are banished, And still her beauty seems to fold The sum of all the glory vanished.

As while t.i.thonus faltered on The threshold of the Olympian dawnings, Aurora's front eternal shone With l.u.s.tre of the myriad mornings.

So joys that slip like dead leaves down, And hopes burnt out that die in ashes, Rise restless from their graves to crown Our mother's brow with fadeless flashes.

And lives wrapped in tradition's mist These honored halls to-day are haunting, And lips by lips long withered kissed The sagas of the past are chanting.

Scornful of absence' envious bar BROWN smiles upon the mystic meeting Of those her sons, who, sundered far, In brotherhood of heart are greeting;

Her wayward children wandering on Where setting stars are lowly burning, But still in wors.h.i.+p toward the dawn That gilds their souls' dear Mecca turning;

Or those who, armed for G.o.d's own fight, Stand by his word through fire and slaughter.

Or bear our banner's starry light Far-flas.h.i.+ng through the Gulf's blue water.

For where one strikes for light and truth The right to aid, the wrong redressing, The mother of his spirit's youth Sheds o'er his soul her silent blessing.

She gained her crown a gem of flame When KNEa.s.s fell dead in victory gory; New splendor blazed upon her name When IVES' young life went out in glory!

Thus bright forever may she keep Her fires of tolerant Freedom burning, Till War's red eyes are charmed to sleep And bells ring home the boys returning.

And may she shed her radiant truth In largess on ingenuous comers, And hold the bloom of gracious youth Through many a hundred tranquil summers!

A Winter Night

The winter wind is raving fierce and shrill And chides with angry moan the frosty skies, The white stars gaze with sleepless Gorgon eyes That freeze the earth in terror fixed and still We reck not of the wild night's gloom and chill, Housed from its rage, dear friend; and fancy flies, Lured by the hand of beckoning memories, Back to those summer evenings on the hill Where we together watched the sun go down Beyond the gold-washed uplands, while his fires Touched into glittering life the vanes and spires Piercing the purpling mists that veiled the town.

The wintry night thy voice and eyes beguile, Till wake the sleeping summers in thy smile.

Student-Song

When Youth's warm heart beats high, my friend, And Youth's blue sky is bright, And s.h.i.+nes in Youth's clear eye, my friend, Love's early dawning light, Let the free soul spurn care's control, And while the glad days s.h.i.+ne, We'll use their beams for Youth's gay dreams Of Love and Song and Wine.

Let not the bigot's frown, my friend, O'ercast thy brow with gloom, For Autumn's sober brown, my friend, Shall follow Summer's bloom.

Let smiles and sighs and loving eyes In changeful beauty s.h.i.+ne, And shed their beams on Youth's gay dreams Of Love and Song and Wine.

For in the weary years, my friend, That stretched before us lie, There'll be enough of tears, my friend, To dim the brightest eye.

So let them wait, and laugh at fate, While Youth's sweet moments s.h.i.+ne,-- Till memory gleams with golden dreams Of Love and Song and Wine.