Poems by Samuel G. Goodrich - LightNovelsOnl.com
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The Mountain Stream.
One summer morn, while yet the thrilling lay, Of the dew-loving lark was full and strong, Trampling the wild flowers in my careless way, Up the steep mountain-side I strode along-- My only guide, a brook whose joyous song, Seemed like a boy's light-hearted roundelay, As down it rushed, the leafy bowers among, Scattering o'er bud and bloom its pearly spray-- A beauteous semblance of life's opening day.
And looking back to that all-gladdening morn, When I was free and sportive as the stream-- When roses blushed with no suspected thorn, And fancy's sunlight gilded every dream-- While hope yet shed its sweet delusive beam, And disappointment still delayed to warn-- With fond regret, I still pursued the theme-- With clambering step still up the steep was borne, Too sad to smile, too pleased perchance to mourn.
And now I stood beside that rivulet's spring, That came unbidden with a bubbling bound-- And stealing forth, a gentle trembling thing, It seemed an infant fearing all around-- Yet clinging to its mother's breast--the ground.
But soon it bolder grew, and with a wing It went: its carol was a joyous sound, Making the silent woods responsive ring, And the far forest-echoes, sighing, sing.
And now I stood upon the mountain's height-- Like a wide map, the landscape lay unrolled-- There could I trace that rivulet's path of light, From the steep mountain to the sea of gold; Now leaping o'er the rocks like chamois bold,-- Now like a crouching hare concealed from sight,-- Now hid beneath the willow's bowering fold, As if they sought to stay its arrowy flight, Then give it forth again more swift and bright.
'Twas changeful--beautiful; now dark, now fair-- A tale of life, from childhood to the tomb-- Its birth-place near the skies, in mountain air, Where wild flowers throw around their sweet perfume, Like the blest thoughts that often brightly bloom, At home, beneath a mother's culturing care-- Its form now hid in shadows, such as gloom Our downward way--its grave in ocean, where It mingles with the wave--a dweller there!
And though that stream be hidden from the view, 'Tis yet preserved 'neath ocean's briny crest: That wide eternity of waves is true-- And as the planets anch.o.r.ed in their rest, The sparkling streamlet lives; and while unblest, The land-wave stagnant lingers--there the blue Tide holds the river stainless in its breast-- An image still of life, that sparkles through The starry deep of heaven, for ever new.
[Ill.u.s.tration: Vignette]
