Choice Specimens of American Literature, and Literary Reader Part 60

The suns.h.i.+ne flashed on streams, Sparkled on leaves, and laughed on fields and woods.

All, all was life and motion, as all now Is sleep and quiet. Nature in her change Varies each day, as in the world of man She moulds the differing features. Yea, each leaf Is variant from its fellow. Yet her works Are blended in a glorious harmony, For thus G.o.d made his earth. Perchance His breath Was music when He spake it into life, Adding thereby another instrument To the innumerable choral orbs Sending the tribute of their grateful praise In ceaseless anthems towards His sacred throne.

From "Drawings and Tintings."

=_386._= THE FALLS OF THE MONGAUP.

Struggling along the mountain path, We hear, amid the gloom, Like a roused giant's voice of wrath, A deep-toned, sullen boom: Emerging on the platform high, Burst sudden to the startled eye Rocks, woods, and waters, wild and rude-- A scene of savage solitude.

Swift as an arrow from the bow; Headlong the torrent leaps, Then tumbling round, in dazzling snow And dizzy whirls it sweeps; Then, shooting through the narrow aisle Of this sublime cathedral pile, Amidst its vastness, dark and grim, It peals its everlasting hymn.

Pyramid on pyramid of rock Towers upward, wild and riven, As piled by t.i.tan hand, to mock The distant smiling heaven.

And where its blue streak is displayed, Branches their emerald net-work braid So high, the eagle in his flight Seems but a dot upon the sight.

Here column'd hemlocks point in air Their cone-like fringes green; Their trunks hang knotted, black and bare, Like spectres o'er the scene; Here lofty crag and deep abyss, And awe-inspiring precipice; There grottoes bright in wave-worn gloss, And carpeted with velvet moss.

No wandering ray e'er kissed with light This rock-walled sable pool, Spangled with foam-gems thick and white, And slumbering deep and cool; But where yon cataract roars down, Set by the sun, a rainbow crown Is dancing, o'er the das.h.i.+ng strife-- Hope glittering o'er the storm of life.

Beyond, the smooth and mirror'd sheet So gently steals along, The very ripples, murmuring sweet, Scarce drown the wild bee's song; The violet from the gra.s.sy side Dips its blue chalice in the tide; And, gliding o'er the leafy brink, The deer, unfrightened, stoops to drink.

Myriads of man's time-measured race Have vanished from the earth, Nor left a memory of their trace, Since first this scene had birth; These waters, thundering now along, Joined in Creation's matin-song; And only by their dial-trees Have known the lapse of centuries!

=_Laura M.H. Thurston, 1812-1842._= (Manual, P. 524.)

=_387._= LINES ON CROSSING THE ALLEGHANIES.

I hail thee, Valley of the West, For what thou yet shalt be!

I hail thee for the hopes that rest Upon thy destiny!

Here from this mountain height, I see Thy bright waves floating rapidly, Thine emerald fields outspread; And feel that in the book of fame, Proudly shall thy recorded name In later days be read.

Oh! brightly, brightly glow thy skies In Summer's sunny hours!

The green earth seems a paradise Arrayed in summer flowers!

But oh! there is a land afar, Whose skies to me all brighter are, Along the Atlantic sh.o.r.e!

For eyes beneath their radiant shrine In kindlier glances answered mine: Can these their light restore?

Upon the lofty bound I stand, That parts the East and West; Before me lies a fairy land; Behind--_a home of rest!_ _Here_, Hope her wild enchantment flings, Portrays all bright and lovely things, My footsteps to allure-- But _there_, in memory's light I see All that was once most dear to me-- My young heart's cynosure!

=_Francis S. Osgood, 1812-1850_= (Manual, p. 523.)

=_388._= "The Parting."

I looked not, I sighed not, I dared not betray The wild storm of feeling that strove to have way, For I knew that each sign of the sorrow _I_ felt _Her_ soul to fresh pity and pa.s.sion would melt, And calm was my voice, and averted my eyes, As I parted from all that in being I prize.

I pined but one moment that form to enfold.

Yet the hand that touched hers, like the marble was cold,-- I heard her voice falter a timid farewell, Nor trembled, though soft on my spirit it fell, And she knew not, she dreamed not, the anguish of soul Which only my pity for her could control.

It is over--the loveliest dream of delight That ever illumined a wanderer's night!

Yet one gleam of comfort will brighten my way, Though mournful and desolate ever I stray: It is this--that to her, to my idol, I spared The pang that her love could have softened and shared!

=_Harriet Beecher Stowe._= (Manual, p. 484.)

From the "Religious Poems."

=_389._= THE PEACE OF FAITH.

When winds are raging o'er the upper ocean, And billows wild contend with angry roar, 'Tis said, far down, beneath the wild commotion, That peaceful stillness reigneth evermore.

Far, far beneath, the noise of tempests dieth, And silver waves chime ever peacefully, And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er it flieth, Disturbs the Sabbath of that deeper sea.

So to the heart that knows Thy love, O Purest!

There is a temple, sacred evermore, And all the babble of life's angry voices Dies in hushed stillness at its peaceful door.

Far, far away, the roar of pa.s.sion dieth, And loving thoughts rise calm and peacefully, And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er it flieth, Disturbs that soul that dwells, O Lord, in Thee.

O Rest of rests! O Peace, serene, eternal!

Thou ever livest, and Thou changest never; And in the secret of Thy presence dwelleth Fullness of joy, for ever and for ever.

=_390._= "ONLY A YEAR."

One year ago,--a ringing voice, A clear blue eye, And cl.u.s.tering curls of sunny hair, Too fair to die.

Only a year,--no voice, no smile, No glance of eye, No cl.u.s.tering curls of golden hair, Fair but to die!

One year ago,--what loves, what schemes Far into life!

What joyous hopes, what high, resolves, What generous strife!

The silent picture on the wall, The burial stone, Of all that beauty, life, and joy Remain alone!

One year,--one year,--one little year, And so much gone!

And yet the even flow of life Moves calmly on.

The grave grows green, the flowers bloom fair, Above that head; No sorrowing tint of leaf or spray Says he is dead.

No pause or hush of merry birds That sing above, Tells us how coldly sleeps below The form we love.