THE YELLOW VIOLET

WHEN beechen buds begin to swell,

And woods the blue-bird's warble know, The yellow violet's modest bell

Peeps from the last year's leaves below.

Ere russet fields their green resume,
Sweet flower, I love, in forest bare,
To meet thee, when thy faint perfume
Alone is in the virgin air.

Of all her train, the hands of Spring
First plant thee in the watery mould,
And I have seen thee blossoming

Beside the snow-bank's edges cold.

Thy parent sun, who bade thee view
Pale skies, and chilling moisture sip,
Has bathed thee in his own bright hue,

And streaked with jet thy glowing lip.

Yet slight thy form, and low thy seat,
And earthward bent thy gentle eye,
Unapt the passing view to meet,
When loftier flowers are flaunting nigh.

Oft, in the sunless April day,

walk;

Thy early smile has stayed my
But midst the gorgeous blooms of May,
I passed thee on thy humble stalk.

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10

15

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So they, who climb to wealth, forget
The friends in darker fortunes tried.
I copied them
but I regret

That I should ape° the ways of pride.

And when again the genial hour
Awakes the painted tribes of light,

I'll not o'erlook the modest flower
That made the woods of April bright.

TO A WATERFOWL°

WHITHER, midst falling dew,

While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way?

Vainly the fowler's eye

Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,
As, darkly painted on the crimson sky,

Thy figure floats along.

Seek'st thou the plashy° brink

Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide,

Or where the rocking billows rise and sink
On the chafed ocean-side?

There is a Power whose care

Teaches thy way along that pathless coast
The desert and illimitable air

Lone wandering, but not lost.

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30

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10

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All day thy wings have fanned,

At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere,
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,
Though the dark night is near.

And soon that toil shall end;

Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest,
And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend,
Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest.

Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven

Hath swallowed up thy form; yet, in my heart
Deeply has sunk the lesson thou hast given,
And shall not soon depart.

He who, from zone to zone,

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Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, 30
In the long way that I must tread alone,
Will lead my steps aright.

GREEN RIVER

WHEN breezes are soft and skies are fair,
I steal an hour from study and care,
And hie me away to the woodland scene,
Where wanders the stream with waters of green,
As if the bright fringe of herbs on its brink
Had given their stain to the waves they drink;
And they, whose meadows it murmurs through,

5

So they, who climb to wealth, for

The friends in darker fortunes I copied them - but I regret That I should ape the ways

And when again the genial hour
Awakes the painted tribes of 1
I'll not o'erlook the modest flow
That made the woods of April

TO A WATERFOWL

WHITHER, midst falling dew,
While glow the heavens with the

Far, through their rosy depths, do
Thy solitary way?

Vainly the fowler's eye

Might mark thy distant flight to
As, darkly painted on the crimson
Thy figure floats along.

Seek'st thou the plashy brink
Of weedy lake, or marge of river
Or where the rocking billows rise
On the chafed ocean-side?

There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that path The desert and illimitable air

Lone wandering, but not lost.