Part 9 (1/2)

Underneath the woven bowers, where the gloomy night-hawk cowers, Through a lapse of dreamy hours, in a stirless solitude!

And the hound--that close beside us still will stay whate'er betide us-- Through a 'wildering waste shall guide us-- through a maze where few intrude, Till the game is chased to cover, till the stirring sport is over, Till we bound, each happy rover, homeward down the laughing wood.

Oh, the joy in wandering thither, when fond friends are all together And our souls are like the weather--cloudless, clear and fresh and free!

Let the sailor sing the story of the ancient ocean's glory, Forests golden, mountains h.o.a.ry--can he look and love like we?

Sordid worldling, haunt thy city with that heart so hard and gritty!

There are those who turn with pity when they turn to think of thee!

In the Depths of a Forest

In the depths of a Forest secluded and wild, The night voices whisper in pa.s.sionate numbers; And I'm leaning again, as I did when a child, O'er the grave where my father so quietly slumbers.

The years have rolled by with a thundering sound But I knew, O ye woodlands, affection would know it, And the spot which I stand on is sanctified ground By the love that I bear to him sleeping below it.

Oh! well may the winds with a saddening moan Go fitfully over the branches so dreary; And well may I kneel by the time-shattered stone, And rejoice that a rest has been found for the weary.

To Charles Harpur

I would sit at your feet for long days, To hear the sweet Muse of the Wild Speak out through the sad and the pa.s.sionate lays Of her first and her favourite Child.

I would sit at your feet, for my soul Delights in the solitudes free; And I stand where the creeks and the cataracts roll Whensoever I listen to thee!

I would sit at your feet, for I love By the gulches and torrents to roam; And I long in this city for woodland and grove, And the peace of a wild forest home.

I would sit at your feet, and we'd dwell On the scenes of a long-vanished time, While your thoughts into music would surge and would swell Like a breeze of our beautiful clime.

I would sit at your feet, for I know, Though the World in the Present be blind, That the amaranth blossoms of Promise will blow When the Ages have left you behind.

I would sit at your feet, for I feel I am one of a glorious band That ever will own you and hold you their Chief, And a Monarch of Song in the land!

The River and the Hill

And they shook their sweetness out in their sleep, On the brink of that beautiful stream, But it wandered along with a wearisome song Like a lover that walks in a dream: So the roses blew When the winds went through, In the moonlight so white and so still; But the river it beat All night at the feet Of a cold and flinty hill-- Of a hard and senseless hill!

I said, ”We have often showered our loves Upon something as dry as the dust; And the faith that is crost, and the hearts that are lost-- Oh! how can we wittingly trust?

Like the stream which flows, And wails as it goes, Through the moonlight so white and so still, To beat and to beat All night at the feet Of a cold and flinty hill-- Of a hard and senseless hill?

”River, I stay where the sweet roses blow, And drink of their pleasant perfumes!

Oh, why do you moan, in this wide world alone, When so much affection here blooms?