Poetical Works of William Cullen Bryant Part 33

One calm sweet smile, in that shadowy sphere, From eyes that open on earth no more-- One warning word from a voice once dear-- How they rise in the memory o'er and o'er!

Far off from those hills that s.h.i.+ne with day, And fields that bloom in the heavenly gales The Land of Dreams goes stretching away To dimmer mountains and darker vales.

There lie the chambers of guilty delight, There walk the spectres of guilty fear, And soft low voices, that float through the night, Are whispering sin in the helpless ear.

Dear maid, in thy girlhood's opening flower, Scarce weaned from the love of childish play!

The tears on whose cheeks are but the shower That freshens the blooms of early May!

Thine eyes are closed, and over thy brow Pa.s.s thoughtful shadows and joyous gleams, And I know, by thy moving lips, that now Thy spirit strays in the Land of Dreams.

Light-hearted maiden, oh, heed thy feet!

O keep where that beam of Paradise falls: And only wander where thou mayst meet The blessed ones from its s.h.i.+ning walls!

So shalt thou come from the Land of Dreams, With love and peace to this world of strife: And the light which over that border streams Shall lie on the path of thy daily life.

THE BURIAL OF LOVE.

Two dark-eyed maids, at shut of day, Sat where a river rolled away, With calm sad brows and raven hair, And one was pale and both were fair.

Bring flowers, they sang, bring flowers unblown, Bring forest-blooms of name unknown; Bring budding sprays from wood and wild, To strew the bier of Love, the child.

Close softly, fondly, while ye weep, His eyes, that death may seem like sleep, And fold his hands in sign of rest, His waxen hands, across his breast.

And make his grave where violets hide, Where star-flowers strew the rivulet's side, And bluebirds in the misty spring Of cloudless skies and summer sing.

Place near him, as ye lay him low, His idle shafts, his loosened bow, The silken fillet that around His waggish eyes in sport he wound.

But we shall mourn him long, and miss His ready smile, his ready kiss, The patter of his little feet, Sweet frowns and stammered phrases sweet;

And graver looks, serene and high, A light of heaven in that young eye, All these shall haunt us till the heart Shall ache and ache--and tears will start.

The bow, the band shall fall to dust, The s.h.i.+ning arrows waste with rust, And all of Love that earth can claim, Be but a memory and a name.

Not thus his n.o.bler part shall dwell A prisoner in this narrow cell; But he whom now we hide from men, In the dark ground, shall live again:

Shall break these clods, a form of light, With n.o.bler mien and purer sight, And in the eternal glory stand, Highest and nearest G.o.d's right hand.

"THE MAY SUN SHEDS AN AMBER LIGHT."

The May sun sheds an amber light On new-leaved woods and lawns between; But she who, with a smile more bright, Welcomed and watched the springing green, Is in her grave, Low in her grave.

The fair white blossoms of the wood In groups beside the pathway stand; But one, the gentle and the good, Who cropped them with a fairer hand, Is in her grave, Low in her grave.

Upon the woodland's morning airs The small birds' mingled notes are flung; But she, whose voice, more sweet than theirs, Once bade me listen while they sung, Is in her grave, Low in her grave.

That music of the early year Brings tears of anguish to my eyes; My heart aches when the flowers appear; For then I think of her who lies Within her grave, Low in her grave.

THE VOICE OF AUTUMN.

There comes, from yonder height, A soft repining sound, Where forest-leaves are bright, And fall, like flakes of light, To the ground.

It is the autumn breeze, That, lightly floating on, Just skims the weedy leas, Just stirs the glowing trees, And is gone.

He moans by sedgy brook, And visits, with a sigh, The last pale flowers that look, From out their sunny nook, At the sky.

O'er shouting children flies That light October wind, And, kissing cheeks and eyes, He leaves their merry cries Far behind,

And wanders on to make That soft uneasy sound By distant wood and lake, Where distant fountains break From the ground.

No bower where maidens dwell Can win a moment's stay; Nor fair untrodden dell; He sweeps the upland swell, And away!

Mourn'st thou thy homeless state?

O soft, repining wind!

That early seek'st and late The rest it is thy fate Not to find.

Not on the mountain's breast, Not on the ocean's sh.o.r.e, In all the East and West: The wind that stops to rest Is no more.

By valleys, woods, and springs, No wonder thou shouldst grieve For all the glorious things Thou touchest with thy wings And must leave.

THE CONQUEROR'S GRAVE.

Within this lowly grave a Conqueror lies, And yet the monument proclaims it not, Nor round the sleeper's name hath chisel wrought The emblems of a fame that never dies,-- Ivy and amaranth, in a graceful sheaf, Twined with the laurel's fair, imperial leaf.

A simple name alone, To the great world unknown, Is graven here, and wild-flowers, rising round, Meek meadow-sweet and violets of the ground, Lean lovingly against the humble stone.

Here, in the quiet earth, they laid apart No man of iron mould and b.l.o.o.d.y hands, Who sought to wreak upon the cowering lands The pa.s.sions that consumed his restless heart; But one of tender spirit and delicate frame, Gentlest, in mien and mind, Of gentle womankind, Timidly shrinking from the breath of blame: One in whose eyes the smile of kindness made Its haunt, like flowers by sunny brooks in May, Yet at the thought of others' pain, a shade Of sweeter sadness chased the smile away.

Nor deem that when the hand that moulders here Was raised in menace, realms were chilled with fear, And armies mustered at the sign, as when Clouds rise on clouds before the rainy East-- Gray captains leading bands of veteran men And fiery youths to be the vulture's feast.

Not thus were waged the mighty wars that gave The victory to her who fills this grave: Alone her task was wrought, Alone the battle fought; Through that long strife her constant hope was staid On G.o.d alone, nor looked for other aid.

She met the hosts of Sorrow with a look That altered not beneath the frown they wore, And soon the lowering brood were tamed, and took, Meekly, her gentle rule, and frowned no more.

Her soft hand put aside the a.s.saults of wrath, And calmly broke in twain The fiery shafts of pain, And rent the nets of pa.s.sion from her path.

By that victorious hand despair was slain.

With love she vanquished hate and overcame Evil with good, in her Great Master's name.

Her glory is not of this shadowy state, Glory that with the fleeting season dies; But when she entered at the sapphire gate What joy was radiant in celestial eyes!