My rifle for thy feast shall bring The forest's leaping panther, I know, for thou hast told me, When our wide woods and mighty lawns Bloom to the April skies, The earth has no more gorgeous sight To show to human eyes. In meadows red with blossoms, All summer long, the bee Murmurs, and loads his yellow thighs, For thee, my love, and me. Or wouldst thou gaze at tokens Of ages long ago Our old oaks stream with mosses, And sprout with mistletoe; And mighty vines, like serpents, climb The giant sycamore; And trunks, o'erthrown for centuries, Cumber the forest floor; And in the great savanna, The solitary mound, Built by the elder world, o'erlooks The loneliness around. Come, thou hast not forgotten Thy pledge and promise quite, With many blushes murmured, Beneath the evening light. Come, the young violets crowd my door, And at my silent window-sill And the night-sparrow trills her song, THE GREEK BOY. GONE are the glorious Greeks of old, Their bones are mingled with the mould, The forms they hewed from living stone And, scattered with their ashes, show Yet fresh the myrtles there-the springs Gush brightly as of yore; Flowers blossom from the dust of kings, There nature moulds as nobly now, And copies still the martial form That braved Platea's battle storm. Boy! thy first looks were taught to seek Their heaven in Hellas' skies; Her airs have tinged thy dusky cheek, Her sunshine lit thine eyes; Thine ears have drunk the woodland strains Heard by old poets, and thy veins Swell with the blood of demigods, That slumber in thy country's sods. Now is thy nation free-though late- And Greece, decayed, dethroned, doth see The nations silent in its shade THE PAST. THOU unrelenting Past! Strong are the barriers round thy dark domain, And fetters, sure and fast, Hold all that enter thy unbreathing reign. Far in thy realm withdrawn Old empires sit in sullenness and gloom, And glorious ages gone Lie deep within the shadow of thy womb. Childhood, with all its mirth, Youth, Manhood, Age, that draws us to the ground, And last, Man's Life on earth, Glide to thy dim dominions, and are bound. Thou hast my better years, Thou hast my earlier friends-the good-the kind, Yielded to thee with tears The venerable form-the exalted mind. |