Dusky sparrows in a crowd, Diving, darting northward free, Suddenly betook them all,
Every one to his hole in the wall, Or to his niche in the apple-tree. I greet with joy the choral trains Fresh from palms and Cuba's canes. Best gems of Nature's cabinet, With dews of tropic morning wet, Beloved of children, bards and Spring, O birds, your perfect virtues bring, Your song, your forms, your rhythmic flight, Your manners for the heart's delight, Nestle in hedge, or barn, or roof,
Here weave your chamber weather-proof, Forgive our harms, and condescend To man, as to a lubber friend,
And, generous, teach his awkward race Courage and probity and grace!
Poets praise that hidden wine Hid in milk we drew
At the barrier of Time, When our life was new.
We had eaten fairy fruit,
We were quick from head to foot, All the forms we looked on shone As with diamond dews thereon. What cared we for costly joys, The Museum's far-fetched toys? Gleam of sunshine on the wall Poured a deeper cheer than all The revels of the Carnival.
We a pine-grove did prefer To a marble theatre,
Could with gods on mallows dine, Nor cared for spices or for wine. Wreaths of mist and rainbow spanned, Arch on arch, the grimmest land; Whistle of a woodland bird Made the pulses dance,
Note of horn in valleys heard Filled the region with romance.
None can tell how sweet, How virtuous, the morning air; Every accent vibrates well;
Not alone the wood-bird's call,
Or shouting boys that chase their ball, Pass the height of minstrel skill, But the ploughman's thoughtless cry, Lowing oxen, sheep that bleat,
And the joiner's hammer-beat,
Softened are above their will,
Take tones from groves they wandered through
Or flutes which passing angels blew.
All grating discords melt,
No dissonant note is dealt,
And though thy voice be shrill
Like rasping file on steel,
Such is the temper of the air,
Echo waits with art and care, And will the faults of song repair.
So by remote Superior Lake, And by resounding Mackinac,
When northern storms the forest shake, And billows on the long beach break, The artful Air will separate
Note by note all sounds that grate, Smothering in her ample breast All but godlike words,
Reporting to the happy ear Only purified accords.
Strangely wrought from barking waves, Soft music daunts the Indian braves, - Convent-chanting which the child
Hears pealing from the panther's cave And the impenetrable wild.
Soft on the south-wind sleeps the haze : So on thy broad mystic van Lie the opal-colored days, And waft the miracle to man. Soothsayer of the eldest gods, Repairer of what harms betide, Revealer of the inmost powers Prometheus proffered, Jove denied ; Disclosing treasures more than true, Or in what far to-morrow due; Speaking by the tongues of flowers, By the ten-tongued laurel speaking, Singing by the oriole songs,
Heart of bird the man's heart seeking; Whispering hints of treasure hid
Under Morn's unlifted lid,
Islands looming just beyond
The dim horizon's utmost bound;
Who can, like thee, our rags upbraid,
Or taunt us with our hope decayed? Or who like thee persuade,
Making the splendor of the air,
The morn and sparkling dew, a snare?
Thy genius, wiles and blandishment?
There is no orator prevails
To beckon or persuade
Like thee the youth or maid:
Thy birds, thy songs, thy brooks, thy gales,
Thy blooms, thy kinds,
Thy echoes in the wilderness,
Soothe pain, and age, and love's distress, Fire fainting will, and build heroic minds.
For thou, O Spring! canst renovate All that high God did first create. Be still his arm and architect, Rebuild the ruin, mend defect; Chemist to vamp old worlds with new, Coat sea and sky with heavenlier blue, New tint the plumage of the birds, And slough decay from grazing herds, Sweep ruins from the scarped mountain, Cleanse the torrent at the fountain, Purge alpine air by towns defiled, Bring to fair mother fairer child, Not less renew the heart and brain, Scatter the sloth, wash out the stain, Make the aged eye sun-clear, To parting soul bring grandeur near. Under gentle types, my Spring Masks the might of Nature's king,
An energy that searches thorough
From Chaos to the dawning morrow;
Into all our human plight,
The soul's pilgrimage and flight;
In city or in solitude,
Step by step, lifts bad to good,
Without halting, without rest,
Lifting Better up to Best;
Planting seeds of knowledge pure,
DEDICATED TO MY FELLOW-TRAVELLERS IN AUGUST, 1858.
Wise and polite, and if I drew
Their several portraits, you would own Chaucer had no such worthy crew,
Nor Boccace in Decameron.
WE crossed Champlain to Keeseville with our friends, Thence, in strong country carts, rode up the forks Of the Ausable stream, intent to reach
The Adirondac lakes. At Martin's Beach
We chose our boats; each man a boat and guide, Ten men, ten guides, our company all told.
Next morn, we swept with oars the Saranac, With skies of benediction, to Round Lake, Where all the sacred mountains drew around us, Taháwus, Seaward, MacIntyre, Baldhead,
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