Volume Iii Part 82 (1/2)

Oh, to see the far peak growing Whiter as it climbs to G.o.d!

Where the silver streamlet rushes I would follow--follow on Till I heard the happy thrushes Piping lyrics to the dawn.

I would hear the wild rejoicing Of the wind-blown cedar tree, Hear the st.u.r.dy hemlock voicing Ancient epics of the sea.

Forest aisles would I be winding, Out beyond the gates of Care; And, in dim cathedrals, finding Silence at the shrine of Prayer.

When the mystic night comes stealing Through my vast, green room afar, Never king had richer ceiling-- Beaded bough and yellow star!

Ah, to list the sacred preaching Of the forest's faithful fir, With his strong arms upward reaching-- Mighty, trustful wors.h.i.+pper!

Come and learn the joy of living!

Come and you will understand How the sun his gold is giving With a great, impartial hand!

How the patient pine is climbing, Year by year to gain the sky; How the rill makes sweetest rhyming, Where the deepest shadows lie.

I am nearer the great Giver, Where His handiwork is crude; Friend am I of peak and river, Comrade of old Solitude.

Not for me the city's riot!

Not for me the towers of Trade!

I would seek the house of Quiet, That the Master Workman made!

Herbert Bashford [1871-1928]

A DROVER

To Meath of the pastures, From wet hills by the sea, Through Leitrim and Longford, Go my cattle and me.

I hear in the darkness Their slipping and breathing-- I name them the bye-ways They're to pa.s.s without heeding;

Then, the wet, winding roads, Brown bogs with black water; And my thoughts on white s.h.i.+ps And the King o' Spain's daughter.

O! farmer, strong farmer!

You can spend at the fair; But your face you must turn To your crops and your care.

And soldiers--red soldiers!

You've seen many lands; But you walk two by two, And by captain's commands.

O! the smell of the beasts, The wet wind in the morn; And the proud and hard earth Never broken for corn;

And the crowds at the fair, The herds loosened and blind, Loud words and dark faces And the wild blood behind.

(O! strong men; with your best I would strive breast to breast, I could quiet your herds With my words, with my words.)

I will bring you, my kine, Where there's gra.s.s to the knee; But you'll think of scant croppings Harsh with salt of the sea.

Padraic Colum [1881-