Poetical Works of William Cullen Bryant Part 23

The cloud has shed its waters, the brook comes swollen down; You see it by the lightning--a river wide and brown.

Around a struggling swimmer the eddies dash and roar, Till, seizing on a willow, he leaps upon the sh.o.r.e.

"Here am I cast by tempests far from your mountain-dell.

Amid our evening dances the bursting deluge fell.

Ye all, in cots and caverns, have 'scaped the water-spout, While me alone the tempest overwhelmed and hurried out.

"Farewell, with thy glad dwellers, green vale among the rocks!

Farewell the swift sweet moments, in which I watched thy flocks!

Why rocked they not my cradle in that delicious spot, That garden of the happy, where Heaven endures me not?

"Rose of the Alpine valley! I feel, in every vein, Thy soft touch on my fingers; oh, press them not again!

Bewitch me not, ye garlands, to tread that upward track, And thou, my cheerless mansion, receive thy master back."

THE SERENADE.

FROM THE SPANISH.

If slumber, sweet Lisena!

Have stolen o'er thine eyes, As night steals o'er the glory Of spring's transparent skies;

Wake, in thy scorn and beauty, And listen to the strain That murmurs my devotion, That mourns for thy disdain.

Here, by thy door at midnight, I pa.s.s the dreary hour, With plaintive sounds profaning The silence of thy bower;

A tale of sorrow cherished Too fondly to depart, Of wrong from love the flatterer And my own wayward heart.

Twice, o'er this vale, the seasons Have brought and borne away The January tempest, The genial wind of May;

Yet still my plaint is uttered, My tears and sighs are given To earth's unconscious waters, And wandering winds of heaven.

I saw, from this fair region, The smile of summer pa.s.s, And myriard frost-stars glitter Among the russet gra.s.s.

While winter seized the streamlets That fled along the ground, And fast in chains of crystal The truant murmurers bound.

I saw that to the forest The nightingales had flown, And every sweet-voiced fountain Had hushed its silver tone.

The maniac winds, divorcing The turtle from his mate, Raved through the leafy beeches, And left them desolate.

Now May, with life and music, The blooming valley fills, And rears her flowery arches For all the little rills.

The minstrel bird of evening Comes back on joyous wings, And, like the harp's soft murmur, Is heard the gush of springs.

And deep within the forest Are wedded turtles seen, Their nuptial chambers seeking, Their chambers close and green.

The rugged trees are mingling Their flowery sprays in love; The ivy climbs the laurel, To clasp the boughs above.

They change--but thou, Lisena, Art cold while I complain: Why to thy lover only Should spring return in vain?

A NORTHERN LEGEND.

FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND.

There sits a lovely maiden, The ocean murmuring nigh; She throws the hook, and watches; The fishes pa.s.s it by.

A ring, with a red jewel, Is sparkling on her hand; Upon the hook she binds it, And flings it from the land.

Uprises from the water A hand like ivory fair.

What gleams upon its finger?

The golden ring is there.

Uprises from the bottom A young and handsome knight; In golden scales he rises, That glitter in the light.

The maid is pale with terror-- "Nay, Knight of Ocean, nay, It was not thou I wanted; Let go the ring, I pray."

"Ah, maiden, not to fishes The bait of gold is thrown; Thy ring shall never leave me, And thou must be my own."

THE PARADISE OF TEARS.

FROM THE GERMAN OF N. MuELLER.

Beside the River of Tears, with branches low, And bitter leaves, the weeping-willows grow; The branches stream like the dishevelled hair Of women in the sadness of despair.

On rolls the stream with a perpetual sigh; The rocks moan wildly as it pa.s.ses by; Hyssop and wormwood border all the strand, And not a flower adorns the dreary land.

Then comes a child, whose face is like the sun, And dips the gloomy waters as they run, And waters all the region, and behold The ground is bright with blossoms manifold.

Where fall the tears of love the rose appears, And where the ground is bright with friends.h.i.+p's tears, Forget-me-not, and violets, heavenly blue, Spring, glittering with the cheerful drops like dew.

The souls of mourners, all whose tears are dried, Like swans, come gently floating down the tide, Walk up the golden sands by which it flows, And in that Paradise of Tears repose.

There every heart rejoins its kindred heart; There in a long embrace that none may part, Fulfilment meets desire, and that fair sh.o.r.e Beholds its dwellers happy evermore.

THE LADY OF CASTLE WINDECK.