Poetical Works of William Cullen Bryant Part 9

But 'neath you crimson tree, Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame, Nor mark, within its roseate canopy, Her blush of maiden shame.

Oh, Autumn! why so soon Depart the hues that make thy forests glad, Thy gentle wind and thy fair sunny noon, And leave thee wild and sad!

Ah! 'twere a lot too blest Forever in thy colored shades to stray; Amid the kisses of the soft southwest To roam and dream for aye;

And leave the vain low strife That makes men mad--the tug for wealth and power-- The pa.s.sions and the cares that wither life, And waste its little hour.

MUTATION.

They talk of short-lived pleasure--be it so-- Pain dies as quickly: stern, hard-featured pain Expires, and lets her weary prisoner go.

The fiercest agonies have shortest reign; And after dreams of horror, comes again The welcome morning with its rays of peace.

Oblivion, softly wiping out the stain, Makes the strong secret pangs of shame to cease: Remorse is virtue's root; its fair increase Are fruits of innocence and blessedness: Thus joy, o'erborne and bound, doth still release His young limbs from the chains that round him press.

Weep not that the world changes--did it keep A stable, changeless state, 'twere cause indeed to weep.

NOVEMBER.

Yet one smile more, departing, distant sun!

One mellow smile through the soft vapory air, Ere, o'er the frozen earth, the loud winds run, Or snows are sifted o'er the meadows bare.

One smile on the brown hills and naked trees, And the dark rocks whose summer wreaths are cast, And the blue gentian-flower, that, in the breeze, Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last.

Yet a few sunny days, in which the bee Shall murmur by the hedge that skirts the way, The cricket chirp upon the russet lea, And man delight to linger in thy ray.

Yet one rich smile, and we will try to bear The piercing winter frost, and winds, and darkened air.

SONG OF THE GREEK AMAZON.

I buckle to my slender side The pistol and the scimitar, And in my maiden flower and pride Am come to share the task of war.

And yonder stands the fiery steed, That paws the ground and neighs to go, My charger of the Arab breed-- I took him from the routed foe.

My mirror is the mountain-spring, At which I dress my ruffled hair; My dimmed and dusty arms I bring, And wash away the blood-stain there.

Why should I guard from wind and sun This cheek, whose virgin rose is fled?

It was for one--oh, only one-- I kept its bloom, and he is dead.

But they who slew him--unaware Of coward murderers lurking nigh-- And left him to the fowls of air, Are yet alive--and they must die!

They slew him--and my virgin years Are vowed to Greece and vengeance now.

And many an Othman dame, in tears, Shall rue the Grecian maiden's vow.

I touched the lute in better days, I led in dance the joyous band; Ah! they may move to mirthful lays Whose hands can touch a lover's hand.

The march of hosts that haste to meet Seems gayer than the dance to me; The lute's sweet tones are not so sweet As the fierce shout of victory.

TO A CLOUD.

Beautiful cloud! with folds so soft and fair, Swimming in the pure quiet air!

Thy fleeces bathed in sunlight, while below Thy shadow o'er the vale moves slow; Where, midst their labor, pause the reaper train, As cool it comes along the grain.

Beautiful cloud! I would I were with thee In thy calm way o'er land and sea; To rest on thy unrolling skirts, and look On Earth as on an open book; On streams that tie her realms with silver bands, And the long ways that seam her lands; And hear her humming cities, and the sound Of the great ocean breaking round.

Ay--I would sail, upon thy air-borne car, To blooming regions distant far, To where the sun of Andalusia shines On his own olive-groves and vines, Or the soft lights of Italy's clear sky In smiles upon her ruins lie.

But I would woo the winds to let us rest O'er Greece, long fettered and oppressed, Whose sons at length have heard the call that comes From the old battle-fields and tombs, And risen, and drawn the sword, and on the foe Have dealt the swift and desperate blow, And the Othman power is cloven, and the stroke Has touched its chains, and they are broke.

Ay, we would linger, till the sunset there Should come, to purple all the air, And thou reflect upon the sacred ground The ruddy radiance streaming round.

Bright meteor! for the summer noontide made!

Thy peerless beauty yet shall fade.

The sun, that fills with light each glistening fold, Shall set, and leave thee dark and cold: The blast shall rend thy skirts, or thou mayst frown In the dark heaven when storms come down; And weep in rain, till man's inquiring eye Miss thee, forever, from the sky.

THE MURDERED TRAVELLER.

When Spring, to woods and wastes around, Brought bloom and joy again, The murdered traveller's bones were found, Far down a narrow glen.

The fragrant birch, above him, hung Her ta.s.sels in the sky; And many a vernal blossom sprung, And nodded careless by.

The red-bird warbled, as he wrought His hanging nest o'erhead, And fearless, near the fatal spot, Her young the partridge led.

But there was weeping far away, And gentle eyes, for him, With watching many an anxious day, Were sorrowful and dim.

They little knew, who loved him so, The fearful death he met, When shouting o'er the desert snow, Unarmed, and hard beset;--

Nor how, when round the frosty pole The northern dawn was red, The mountain-wolf and wild-cat stole To banquet on the dead;

Nor how, when, strangers found his bones, They dressed the hasty bier, And marked his grave with nameless stones, Unmoistened by a tear.

But long they looked, and feared, and wept, Within his distant home; And dreamed, and started as they slept, For joy that he was come.

Long, long they looked--but never spied His welcome step again, Nor knew the fearful death he died Far down that narrow glen.

HYMN TO THE NORTH STAR.

The sad and solemn night Hath yet her mult.i.tude of cheerful fires; The glorious host of light Walk the dark hemisphere till she retires; All through her silent watches, gliding slow, Her constellations come, and climb the heavens, and go.

Day, too, hath many a star To grace his gorgeous reign, as bright as they: Through the blue fields afar, Unseen, they follow in his flaming way: Many a bright lingerer, as the eve grows dim, Tells what a radiant troop arose and set with him.