Dreams and Days: Poems Part 2

Farthest away, I oftenest dreamed That I was with her. Then it seemed A single stride the ocean wide Had bridged, and brought me to her side.

O ye ho, boys. Spread her wings!

But though so near we're drawing, now, 'T is farther off--I know not how.

We sail and sail: we see no home.

Would that we into port were come!

O ye ho, boys. Spread her wings!

At night, the same stars o'er the mast: The mast sways round--however fast We fly--still sways and swings around One scanty circle's starry bound.

O ye ho, boys. Spread her wings!

Ah, many a month those stars have shone, And many a golden morn has flown, Since that so solemn, happy morn, When, I away, my babe was born.

O ye ho, boys. Spread her wings!

And, though so near we're drawing, now, 'T is farther off--I know not how:-- I would not aught amiss had come To babe or mother there, at home!

O ye ho, boys. Spread her wings!

'T is but a seeming: swiftly rush The seas, beneath. I hear the crush Of foamy ridges 'gainst the prow.

Longing outspeeds the breeze, I know.

O ye ho, boys. Spread her wings!

Patience, my mates! Though not this eve We cast our anchor, yet believe, If but the wind holds, short the run: We'll sail in with to-morrow's sun.

O ye ho, boys. Spread her wings!

Fair winds, boys: send her home!

O ye ho!

FIRST GLANCE

A budding mouth and warm blue eyes; A laughing face; and laughing hair,-- So ruddy was its rise From off that forehead fair;

Frank fervor in whate'er she said, And a shy grace when she was still; A bright, elastic tread; Enthusiastic will;

These wrought the magic of a maid As sweet and sad as the sun in spring;-- Joyous, yet half-afraid Her joyousness to sing.

BRIDE BROOK

Wide as the sky Time spreads his hand, And blindly over us there blows A swarm of years that fill the land, Then fade, and are as fallen snows.

Behold, the flakes rush thick and fast; Or are they years, that come between,-- When, peering back into the past, I search the legendary scene?

Nay. Marshaled down the open coast, Fearless of that low rampart's frown, The winter's white-winged, footless host Beleaguers ancient Saybrook town.

And when the settlers wake they stare On woods half-buried, white and green, A smothered world, an empty air: Never had such deep drifts been seen!

But "Snow lies light upon my heart!

An thou," said merry Jonathan Rudd, "Wilt wed me, winter shall depart, And love like spring for us shall bud."

"Nay, how," said Mary, "may that be?

No minister nor magistrate Is here, to join us solemnly; And snow-banks bar us, every gate."

"Winthrop at Pequot Harbor lies,"

He laughed. And with the morrow's sun He faced the deputy's dark eyes: "How soon, sir, may the rite be done?"

"At Saybrook? There the power's not mine,"

Said he. "But at the brook we'll meet, That ripples down the boundary line; There you may wed, and Heaven shall see't."

Forth went, next day, the bridal train Through vistas dreamy with gray light.

The waiting woods, the open plain, Arrayed in consecrated white,

Received and ushered them, along.

The very beasts before them fled, Charmed by the spell of inward song These lovers' hearts around them spread.

Four men with netted foot-gear shod Bore the maid's carrying-chair aloft; She swayed above, as roses nod On the lithe stem their bloom-weight soft.

At last beside the brook they stood, With Winthrop and his followers; The maid in flake-embroidered hood, The magistrate well cloaked in furs,

That, parting, showed a glimpse beneath Of ample, throat-encircling ruff As white as some wind-gathered wreath Of snow quilled into plait and puff.

A few grave words, a question asked; Eyelids that with the answer fell Like falling petals;--form that tasked Brief time;--and so was wrought the spell!

Then "Brooklet," Winthrop smiled and said, "Frost's finger on thy lip makes dumb The voice wherewith thou shouldst have sped These lovers on their way. But, come,

"Henceforth forever be thou known By memory of this day's fair bride: So shall thy slender music's moan Sweeter into the ocean glide!"

Then laughed they all, and sudden beams Of sunshine quivered through the sky.

Below the ice, the unheard stream's Clear heart thrilled on in ecstasy;

And lo, a visionary blush Stole warmly o'er the voiceless wild; And in her rapt and wintry hush The lonely face of Nature smiled.

Ah, Time, what wilt thou? Vanished quite Is all that tender vision now; And, like lost snow-flakes in the night, Mute are the lovers as their vow.

And O thou little, careless brook, Hast thou thy tender trust forgot?

Her modest memory forsook, Whose name, known once, thou utterest not?

Spring wakes the rill's blithe minstrelsy; In willow bough or alder bush Birds sing, o'er golden filigree Of pebbles 'neath the flood's clear gush;

But none can tell us of that name More than the "Mary." Men still say "Bride Brook" in honor of her fame; But all the rest has pa.s.sed away.