Poetical Works of William Cullen Bryant Part 32

See where, upon the horizon's brim, Lies the still cloud in gloomy bars; The waning moon, all pale and dim, Goes up amid the eternal stars.

Late, in a flood of tender light, She floated through the ethereal blue, A softer sun, that shone all night Upon the gathering beads of dew.

And still thou wanest, pallid moon!

The encroaching shadow grows apace; Heaven's everlasting watchers soon Shall see thee blotted from thy place.

Oh, Night's dethroned and crownless queen!

Well may thy sad, expiring ray Be shed on those whose eyes have seen Hope's glorious visions fade away.

Shine thou for forms that once were bright, For sages in the mind's eclipse, For those whose words were spells of might, But falter now on stammering lips!

In thy decaying beam there lies Full many a grave on hill and plain, Of those who closed their dying eyes In grief that they had lived in vain.

Another night, and thou among The spheres of heaven shalt cease to shine, All rayless in the glittering throng Whose l.u.s.tre late was quenched in thine.

Yet soon a new and tender light From out thy darkened orb shall beam, And broaden till it shines all night On glistening dew and glimmering stream.

THE STREAM OF LIFE.

Oh silvery streamlet of the fields, That flowest full and free, For thee the rains of spring return, The summer dews for thee; And when thy latest blossoms die In autumn's chilly showers, The winter fountains gush for thee, Till May brings back the flowers.

Oh Stream of Life! the violet springs But once beside thy bed; But one brief summer, on thy path, The dews of heaven are shed.

Thy parent fountains shrink away, And close their crystal veins, And where thy glittering current flowed The dust alone remains.

THE UNKNOWN WAY.

A burning sky is o'er me, The sands beneath me glow, As onward, onward, wearily, In the sultry morn I go.

From the dusty path there opens, Eastward, an unknown way; Above its windings, pleasantly, The woodland branches play.

A silvery brook comes stealing From the shadow of its trees, Where slender herbs of the forest stoop Before the entering breeze.

Along those pleasant windings I would my journey lay, Where the shade is cool and the dew of night Is not yet dried away.

Path of the flowery woodland!

Oh whither dost thou lead, Wandering by gra.s.sy orchard-grounds, Or by the open mead?

Goest thou by nestling cottage?

Goest thou by stately hall, Where the broad elm droops, a leafy dome, And woodbines flaunt on the wall?

By steeps where children gather Flowers of the yet fresh year?

By lonely walks where lovers stray Till the tender stars appear?

Or haply dost thou linger On barren plains and bare, Or clamber the bald mountain-side Into the thinner air?--

Where they who journey upward Walk in a weary track, And oft upon the shady vale With longing eyes look back?

I hear a solemn murmur, And, listening to the sound, I know the voice of the mighty Sea, Beating his pebbly bound.

Dost thou, oh path of the woodland!

End where those waters roar, Like human life, on a trackless beach, With a boundless Sea before?

"OH MOTHER OF A MIGHTY RACE."

Oh mother of a mighty race, Yet lovely in thy youthful grace!

The elder dames, thy haughty peers, Admire and hate thy blooming years.

With words of shame And taunts of scorn they join thy name.

For on thy cheeks the glow is spread That tints thy morning hills with red; Thy step--the wild-deer's rustling feet Within thy woods are not more fleet; Thy hopeful eye Is bright as thine own sunny sky.

Ay, let them rail--those haughty ones, While safe thou dwellest with thy sons.

They do not know how loved thou art, How many a fond and fearless heart Would rise to throw Its life between thee and the foe.

They know not, in their hate and pride, What virtues with thy children bide; How true, how good, thy graceful maids Make bright, like flowers, the valley-shades; What generous men Spring, like thine oaks, by hill and glen;--

What cordial welcomes greet the guest By thy lone rivers of the West; How faith is kept, and truth revered, And man is loved, and G.o.d is feared, In woodland homes, And where the ocean border foams.

There's freedom at thy gates and rest For Earth's down-trodden and opprest, A shelter for the hunted head, For the starved laborer toil and bread.

Power, at thy bounds, Stops and calls back his baffled hounds.

Oh, fair young mother! on thy brow Shall sit a n.o.bler grace than now.

Deep in the brightness of the skies The thronging years in glory rise, And, as they fleet, Drop strength and riches at thy feet.

Thine eye, with every coming hour, Shall brighten, and thy form shall tower; And when thy sisters, elder born, Would brand thy name with words of scorn, Before thine eye, Upon their lips the taunt shall die.

THE LAND OF DREAMS.

A mighty realm is the Land of Dreams, With steeps that hang in the twilight sky, And weltering oceans and trailing streams, That gleam where the dusky valleys lie.

But over its shadowy border flow Sweet rays from the world of endless morn, And the nearer mountains catch the glow, And flowers in the nearer fields are born.

The souls of the happy dead repair, From their bowers of light, to that bordering land, And walk in the fainter glory there, With the souls of the living hand in hand.