The hyacinthine boy, for whom

Morn well might break and April bloom, —
The gracious boy, who did adorn

The world whereinto he was born,
And by his countenance repay
The favor of the loving Day,

Has disappeared. from the Day's eye;
Far and wide she cannot find him;
My hopes pursue, they cannot bind him.
Returned this day, the south wind searches,
And finds young pines and budding birches;
But finds not the budding man;

Nature, who lost him, cannot remake him ;
Fate let him fall, Fate can't retake him;
Nature, Fate, Men, him seek in vain.

And whither now, my truant wise and sweet,

O, whither tend thy feet?

I had the right, few days ago,

Thy steps to watch, thy place to know;

How have I forfeited the right?

Hast thou forgot me in a new delight?

I hearken for thy household cheer,
O eloquent child!

Whose voice, an equal messenger,
Conveyed thy meaning mild.

What though the pains and joys
Whereof it spoke were toys

Fitting his age and ken,.

Yet fairest dames and bearded men,

Who heard the sweet request,

So gentle, wise, and grave,
Bended with joy to his behest,
And let the world's affairs go by,
Awhile to share his cordial game,
Or mend his wicker wagon-frame,
Still plotting how their hungry ear
That winsome voice again might hear;
For his lips could well pronounce
Words that were persuasions.

Gentlest guardians marked serene
His early hope, his liberal mien ;

Took counsel from his guiding eyes
To make this wisdom earthly wise.
Ah, vainly do these eyes recall
The school-march, each day's festival,
When every morn my bosom glowed
To watch the convoy on the road;
The babe in willow wagon closed,
With rolling eyes and face composed;
With children forward and behind,
Like Cupids studiously inclined;
And he the chieftain paced beside,

The centre of the troop allied,

With sunny face of sweet repose,
To guard the babe from fancied foes.

The little captain innocent

Took the eye with him as he went;
Each village senior paused to scan

And speak the lovely caravan.
From the window I look out
To mark thy beautiful parade,
Stately marching in cap and coat

To some tune by fairies played;

A music heard by thee alone

To works as noble led thee on.

Now Love and Pride, alas! in vain,
Up and down their glances strain.
The painted sled stands where it stood;
The kennel by the corded wood;
The gathered sticks to stanch the wall
Of the snow-tower, when snow should fall;
The ominous hole he dug in the sand,
And childhood's castles built or planned;
His daily haunts I well discern,

The poultry-yard, the shed, the barn,

And every inch of garden ground
Paced by the blessed feet around,

From the roadside to the brook

Whereinto he loved to look.

Step the meek birds where erst they ranged;

The wintry garden lies unchanged;

The brook into the stream runs on;

But the deep-eyed boy is gone.

On that shaded day,

Dark with more clouds than tempests are,
When thou didst yield thy innocent breath
In birdlike heavings unto death,

Night came, and Nature had not thee;

I said, 'We are mates in misery.'

The morrow dawned with needless glow;

Each snowbird chirped, each fowl must crow; Each tramper started; but the feet

Of the most beautiful and sweet

Of human youth had left the hill

And garden, - they were bound and still.

There's not a sparrow or a wren,

There's not a blade of autumn grain,
Which the four seasons do not tend,
And tides of life and increase lend;

And every chick of every bird,

And weed and rock-moss is preferred.

O ostrich-like forgetfulness!

O loss of larger in the less!

Was there no star that could be sent,
No watcher in the firmament,