Poems of Nature


Page 11 of 13



The rabbit leaps,
 The mouse out-creeps,
 The flag out-peeps
 Beside the brook;
 The ferret weeps,
 The marmot sleeps,
 The owlet keeps
 In his snug nook.
The apples thaw,
 The ravens caw,
 The squirrels gnaw
 The frozen fruit.{91}
 To their retreat
 I track the feet
 Of mice that eat
 The apple's root.
The snow-dust falls,
 The otter crawls,
 The partridge calls,
 Far in the wood.
 The traveller dreams,
 The tree-ice gleams,
 The blue-jay screams
 In angry mood.
The willows droop,
 The alders stoop,{92}
 The pheasants group
 Beneath the snow.
 The catkins green
 Cast o'er the scene
 A summer's sheen,
 A genial glow.
 {93}

THE CROW

Thou dusky spirit of the wood,
 Bird of an ancient brood,
 Flitting thy lonely way,
 A meteor in the summer's day,
 From wood to wood, from hill to hill,
 Low over forest, field, and rill,
 What wouldst thou say?
 Why shouldst thou haunt the day?
 What makes thy melancholy float?
 What bravery inspires thy throat,
 And bears thee up above the clouds,
 Over desponding human crowds,
 Which far below
 Lay thy haunts low?
 {94}

TO A STRAY FOWL

Poor bird! destined to lead thy life
 Far in the adventurous west,
 And here to be debarred to-night
 From thy accustomed nest;
 Must thou fall back upon old instinct now—
 Well-nigh extinct under man's fickle care?
 Did heaven bestow its quenchless inner light
 So long ago, for thy small want to-night?
 Why stand'st upon thy toes to crow so late?
 The moon is deaf to thy low feathered fate;
 Or dost thou think so to possess the night,
 And people the drear dark with thy brave sprite?
 And now with anxious eye thou look'st about,{95}
 While the relentless shade draws on its veil,
 For some sure shelter from approaching dews,
 And the insidious step of nightly foes.
 I fear imprisonment has dulled thy wit,
 Or ingrained servitude extinguished it—
 But no—dim memory of the days of yore,
 By Brahmapootra and the Jumna's shore,
 Where thy proud race flew swiftly o'er the heath,
 And sought its food the jungle's shade beneath,
 Has taught thy wings to seek yon friendly trees,
 As erst by Indus' bank and far Ganges.
 {96}

MOUNTAINS

With frontier strength ye stand your ground,
 With grand content ye circle round,
 Tumultuous silence for all sound,
 Ye distant nursery of rills,
 Monadnock, and the Peterborough hills;—
 Firm argument that never stirs,
 Outcircling the philosophers,—
 Like some vast fleet
 Sailing through rain and sleet,
 Through winter's cold and summer's heat;
 Still holding on upon your high emprise,
 Until ye find a shore amid the skies;
 Not skulking close to land,
 With cargo contraband;{97}
 For they who sent a venture out by ye
 Have set the Sun to see
 Their honesty.
 Ships of the line, each one,
 Ye westward run,
 Convoying clouds,
 Which cluster in your shrouds,
 Always before the gale,
 Under a press of sail,
 With weight of metal all untold;—
 I seem to feel ye in my firm seat here,
 Immeasurable depth of hold,
 And breadth of beam, and length of running gear.
Methinks ye take luxurious pleasure
 In your novel western leisure;{98}
 So cool your brows and freshly blue,
 As Time had nought for ye to do;
 For ye lie at your length,
 An unappropriated strength,
 Unhewn primeval timber
 For knees so stiff, for masts so limber,
 The stock of which new earths are made,
 One day to be our western trade,
 Fit for the stanchions of a world
 Which through the seas of space is hurled.
While we enjoy a lingering ray,
 Ye still o'ertop the western day,
 Reposing yonder on God's croft,
 Like solid stacks of hay.
 So bold a line as ne'er was writ
 On any page by human wit;{99}
 The forest glows as if
 An enemy's camp-fires shone
 Along the horizon,
 Or the day's funeral pyre
 Were lighted there;
 Edged with silver and with gold,
 The clouds hang o'er in damask fold,
 And with fresh depth of amber light
 The west is dight,
 Where still a few rays slant,
 That even Heaven seems extravagant.
 Watatic Hill
 Lies on the horizon's sill
 Like a child's toy left overnight,
 And other duds to left and right;
 On the earth's edge, mountains and trees
 Stand as they were on air graven,{100}
 Or as the vessels in a haven
 Await the morning breeze.
 I fancy even
 Through your defiles windeth the way to heaven;
 And yonder still, in spite of history's page,
 Linger the golden and the silver age;
 Upon the laboring gale
 The news of future centuries is brought,
 And of new dynasties of thought,
 From your remotest vale.
But special I remember thee,
 Wachusett, who like me
 Standest alone without society.
 Thy far blue eye,
 A remnant of the sky,
 Seen through the clearing of the gorge,{101}
 Or from the windows of the forge,
 Doth leaven all it passes by.
 Nothing is true,
 But stands 'tween me and you,
 Thou western pioneer,
 Who know'st not shame nor fear,
 By venturous spirit driven
 Under the eaves of heaven,
 And canst expand thee there,
 And breathe enough of air.
 Even beyond the West
 Thou migratest
 Into unclouded tracts,
 Without a pilgrim's axe,
 Cleaving thy road on high
 With thy well-tempered brow,
 And mak'st thyself a clearing in the sky.{102}
 Upholding heaven, holding down earth,
 Thy pastime from thy birth,
 Not steadied by the one, nor leaning on the other;—
 May I approve myself thy worthy brother!
 {103}

THE RESPECTABLE FOLKS



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