For Titan was thy sire, and fair was she, And when, at length, thy gauzy wings grew strong, Abroad to gentle airs their folds were flung, Rose in the sky and bore thee soft along; Calm rose afar the city spires, and thence They seemed the perfumes of thy native fen. At length thy pinions fluttered in Broadway— Ah, there were fairy steps, and white necks kissed By wanton airs, and eyes whose killing ray 19 30 Shone through the snowy veils like stars through mist; And fresh as morn, on many a cheek and chin, Bloomed the bright blood through the transparent skin. Sure these were sights to touch an anchorite! Thou art a wayward being-well-come near, What sayst thou-slanderer!-rouge makes thee sick? And Rowland's Kalydor, if laid on thick, Poisons the thirsty wretch that bores for blood? Go! 'twas a just reward that met thy crime— But shun the sacrilege another time. That bloom was made to look at, not to touch; To worship, not approach, that radiant white; 50 And well might sudden vengeance light on such As dared, like thee, most impiously to bite. Thou shouldst have gazed at distance and admired, Thou 'rt welcome to the town-but why come here And thin will be the banquet drawn from me. 60 71 LINES ON REVISITING THE COUNTRY I STAND upon my native hills again, Broad, round, and green, that in the summer sky With garniture of waving grass and grain, Orchards, and beechen forests, basking lie, A lisping voice and glancing eyes are near, Gathers the blossoms of her fourth bright year; There plays a gladness o'er her fair young brow, 10 As breaks the varied scene upon her sight, For I have taught her, with delighted eye, To gaze upon the mountains-to behold, And clouds along its blue abysses rolled- Aye, flame thy fiercest, sun! thou canst not wake, The mountain wind! most spiritual thing of all He seems the breath of a celestial clime ! As if from heaven's wide-open gates did flow THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS 20 30 THE melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere. Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread. The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day. Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood In brighter light, and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood? Alas! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours. IO The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again. The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago, And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow; But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood, And the yellow sunflower by the brook in autumn beauty stood, Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague on men, And the brightness of their smile was gone from upland, glade, and glen. And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days will come, To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home; 20 When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still, And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore, And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more. And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died The fair meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side: BRYANT G In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the forests cast the leaf, And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief: Yet not unmeet it was that one, like that young friend of ours, 29 So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers. ROMERO WHEN Freedom, from the land of Spain, To wear the chain so lately riven; The blood of man shall make thee red : And I am sick at heart to know I wear it not who have been free; No oath of loyalty from me.' Romero chose a safe retreat, Where bleak Nevada's summits tower ΙΟ 20 He framed this rude but solemn strain : 29 |