Puslapio vaizdai
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GREEN RIVER.

And sweetest the golden autumn day
In silence and sunshine glides away.

Yet fair as thou art, thou shunn'st to glide,
Beautiful stream! by the village side;
But windest away from haunts of men,
To quiet valley and shaded glen;

And forest, and meadow, and slope of hill,
Around thee, are lonely, lovely, and still.
Lonely-save when, by thy rippling tides,
From thicket to thicket the angler glides;
Or the simpler comes with basket and book,
For herbs of power on thy banks to look;
Or haply, some idle dreamer, like me,
To wander, and muse, and gaze on thee.
Still save the chirp of birds that feed
On the river cherry and seedy reed,
And thy own wild music gushing out
With mellow murmur and fairy shout,
From dawn, to the blush of another day
Like traveller singing along his way.

That fairy music I never hear,

Nor gaze on those waters so green and clear,
And mark them winding away from sight,
Darkened with shade or flashing with light,
While o'er them the vine to its thicket clings,
And the zephyr stoops to freshen his wings,
But I wish that fate had left me free

To wander these quiet haunts with thee,

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GREEN RIVER.

Till the eating cares of earth should depart,
And the peace of the scene pass into my heart;
And I envy thy stream, as it glides along,

Through its beautiful banks in a trance of song,

Though forced to drudge for the dregs of men, And scrawl strange words with the barbarous pen, And mingle among the jostling crowd,

Where the sons of strife are subtle and loud

I often come to this quiet place, .

To breathe the airs that ruffle thy face,

And gaze upon thee in silent dream,

For in thy lonely and lovely stream,
An image of that calm life appears,
That won my heart in my greener years.

TO A CLOUD.

BEAUTIFUL cloud! with folds so soft and fair,
Swimming in the pure quiet air!

Thy fleeces bathed in sunlight, while below
Thy shadow o'er the vale moves slow;
Where, midst their labour, pause the reaper train
As cool it comes along the grain.

Beautiful cloud! I would I were with thee

In thy calm way o'er land and sea :
To rest on thy unrolling skirts, and look
On Earth as on an open book;

On streams that tie her realms with silver bands,
And the long ways that seam her lands;
And hear her humming cities, and the sound
Of the great ocean breaking round.
Ay-I would sail upon thy air-borne car
To blooming regions distant far,
To where the sun of Andalusia shines

On his own olive-groves and vines,
Or the soft lights of Italy's bright sky
In smiles upon her ruins lie.

But I would woo the winds to let us rest

O'er Greece long fettered and oppressed,

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TO A CLOUD.

Whose sons at length have heard the call that comes
From the old battle-fields and tombs,

And risen, and drawn the sword, and on the foe
Have dealt the swift and desperate blow,
And the Othman power is cloven, and the stroke
Has touched its chains, and they are broke.
Ay, we would linger till the sunset there
Should come, to purple all the air,
And thou reflect upon the sacred ground
The ruddy radiance streaming round.

Bright meteor! for the summer noontide made !
Thy peerless beauty yet shall fade.

The sun, that fills with light each glistening fold,
Shall set, and leave thee dark and cold:

The blast shall rend thy skirts, or thou may'st frown
In the dark heaven when storms come down,

And weep in rain, till man's inquiring eye

Miss thee, forever from the sky.

AFTER A TEMPEST.

THE day had been a day of wind and storm;—
The wind was laid, the storm was overpast,—
And stooping from the zenith, bright and warm
Shone the great sun on the wide earth at last.
I stood upon the upland slope, and cast
My eye upon a broad and beauteous scene,

Where the vast plain lay girt by mountains vast,
And hills o'er hills lifted their heads of green,
With pleasant vales scooped out and villages between.

The rain-drops glistened on the trees around,

Whose shadows on the tall grass were not stirred, Save when a shower of diamonds, to the ground, Was shaken by the flight of startled bird;

For birds were warbling round, and bees were heard
About the flowers; the cheerful rivulet sung
And gossiped, as he hastened ocean-ward;

To the gray oak the squirrel, chiding, clung,
And chirping from the ground the grasshopper upsprung.

And from beneath the leaves that kept them dry

Flew many a glittering insect here and there,

And darted up and down the butterfly,

That seemed a living blossom of the air.

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