Poems by George Pope Morris Part 3

To me the world's an open book Of sweet and pleasant poetry; I read it in the running brook That sings its way toward the sea.

It whispers in the leaves of trees, The swelling grain, the waving gra.s.s, And in the cool, fresh evening breeze That crisps the wavelets as they pa.s.s.

The flowers below, the stars above, In all their bloom and brightness given, Are, like the attributes of love, The poetry of earth and heaven.

Thus Nature's volume, read aright, Attunes the soul to minstrelsy, Tinging life's clouds with rosy light, And all the world with poetry.

The Croton Ode. [See Notes]

Written at the request of the corporation of the city of New York.

Gushing from this living fountain, Music pours a falling strain, As the G.o.ddess of the mountain Comes with all her sparkling train.

From her grotto-springs advancing, Glittering in her feathery spray, Woodland fays beside her dancing, She pursues her winding way.

Gently o'er the rippling water, In her coral-shallop bright, Glides the rock-king's dove-eyed daughter, Decked in robes of virgin white.

Nymphs and naiads, sweetly smiling, Urge her bark with pearly hand, Merrily the sylph beguiling From the nooks of fairy-land.

Swimming on the snow-curled billow, See the river-spirits fair Lay their cheeks, as on a pillow, With the foam-beads in their hair.

Thus attended, hither wending, Floats the lovely oread now, Eden's arch of promise bending Over her translucent brow.

Hail the wanderer from a far land!

Bind her flowing tresses up!

Crown her with a fadeless garland, And with crystal brim the cup.

From her haunts of deep seclusion, Let intemperance greet her too, And the heat of his delusion Sprinkle with this mountain-dew.

Water leaps as if delighted, While her conquered foes retire!

Pale Contagion flies affrighted With the baffled demon Fire!

Safety dwells in her dominions, Health and Beauty with her move, And entwine their circling pinions In a sisterhood of love.

Water shouts a glad hosanna!

Bubbles up the earth to bless!

Cheers it like the precious manna In the barren wilderness.

Here we wondering gaze, a.s.sembled Like the grateful Hebrew band, When the hidden fountain trembled, And obeyed the prophet's wand.

Round the aqueducts of story, As the mists of Lethe throng, Croton's waves in all their glory Troop in melody along.

Ever sparkling, bright, and single, Will this rock-ribbed stream appear, When posterity shall mingle Like the gathered waters here.

Fragment of an Indian Poem.

They come!--Be firm--in silence rally!

The long-knives our retreat have found!

Hark!--their tramp is in the valley, And they hem the forest round!

The burdened boughs with pale scouts quiver, The echoing hills tumultuous ring, While across the eddying river Their barks, like foaming war-steeds, spring!

The blood-hounds darken land and water; They come--like buffaloes for slaughter!

See their glittering ranks advancing, See upon the free winds dancing Pennon proud and gaudy plume.

The strangers come in evil hour, In pomp, and panoply, and power!

But, while upon our tribes they lower, Think they our manly hearts will cower To meet a warrior's doom?

Right they forget while strength they feel; Our veins they drain, our land they steal; And should the vanquished Indian kneel, They spurn him from their sight!

Be set for ever in disgrace The glory of the red-man's race, If from the foe we turn our face, Or safety seek in flight!

They come--Up, and upon them braves!

Fight for your alters and your graves!

Drive back the stern, invading slaves, In fight till now victorious!

Like lightning from storm-clouds on high, The hurtling, death-winged arrows fly, And wind-rows of pale warriors die!-- Oh! never was the sun's bright eye Looked from his hill-tops in the sky Upon a field so glorious!

They're gone--again the red-men rally; With dance and song the woods resound: The hatchet's buried in the valley; No foe profanes our hunting-ground!

The green leaves on the blithe boughs quiver, The verdant hills with song-birds ring, While our bark-canoes the river Skim like swallows on the wing.

Mirth pervades the land and water, Free from famine, sword, and slaughter.

Let us, by this gentle river, Blunt the axe and break the quiver, While, as leaves upon the spray, Peaceful flow our cares away.

Yet, alas! the hour is brief Left for either joy or grief!

All on earth that we inherit From the hands of the Great Spirit-- Wigwam, hill, plain, lake, and field-- To the white-man must we yield; For, like sun-down on the waves, We are sinking to our graves!

From this wilderness of wo Like the caravan we go, Leaving all our groves and streams For the far-off land of dreams.

There are prairies waving high, Boundless as the sheeted sky, Where our fathers' spirits roam, And the red-man has a home.

Let tradition tell our story.

As we fade in cloudless glory, As we seek the land of rest Beyond the borders of the west, No eye but ours may look upon-- WE ARE THE CHILDREN OF THE SUN.