English

See wond'rous Man! with what Success,
Indulgent Heav'n your Art does bless;
See how Disease your Presence flies,
Or lurking in some new Disguise,
Attempts to 'scape your piercing Eyes.
While you the baleful Hag pursue,
And all her dark Recesses view,
And she, by you thus drag'd to Light,
Flies trembling from your awful Sight.

Nor need you Drugs of foreign Store,
Or native Plants of sov'reign Pow'r;
Meer Water when prescrib'd by you,
Can Nature's strongest Foe subdue:
Such pow'rfull Accents from you flow,

The whitening orchard scarcely stirs,
While through it roam and sing
Those mild melodious pillagers,
The breezes of late Spring.

In meadowy reaches, far and wide,
No balmier May was born;
The expectant world is like a bride
Upon her wedding morn!

All nature speaks its joy profuse,
To see chill hours retreat,
Save, in their lethargy obtuse,
These grim rocks at my feet.

Here timid mosses film their gray;
Here starts the unfolding fern;
But still they bide, from day to day,

Ug was a hairy but painstaking artist,
—Back in a simple and primitive age.
Listen, young Poet! And ere thou departest,
—Haply thou'lt learn something. (Haply thou'lt rage!)
Ug fashioned arrowheads, slowly and neatly,
—Chipping all day at the hardest of stone;
Made them symmetrical, polished them sweetly,
—Sharpened their points with a skill all his own.

Long ones and short ones and fat ones or narrow,
—Bolts of obsidian, spearheads of flint;
Some that could crash through a mastodon's marrow,

Young tourist to the land whose hope has pass'd!
Fain would I seek with thee those shores sublime
That hear no promise from the lips of Time,
Of hours so bright as those he overcast!
There is that Athens! still in ruin fair,
Though long gone by her intellectual reign;
Arcadia waits in patient beauty there,
To hear her lingering shepherd's voice again!
Too oft our travellers ply a clumsy art
Here in the West! No faithful light they lend;
But keep the dues of Fame so ill apart,
That the great claims of mount and valley blend;

I had a dream of music and of song.
Methought one thrill of general harmony
Pervaded all the region, and the winds
Were all attuned, each to its several part,
As if some master spirit had controlled
Their sounds to one accord. Fast-flowing waves
Seemed rolling from an ocean, whose deep heart
Fed them and never failed; and they came onward,
Each with its crown of foam; and as they struck
The shaken shore, their burst was like the echo
Of organ notes in heaven,—majestic sounds,
Awful and terrible, yet far and sweet

Darkness was thick around me, as of old,
In Egypt, it was felt. No glimmering lamp,
Nor solitary starlight, found its way
Through the dim shadows that encompassed me,
But all was waste and void,—a desolation
Without a form or voice,—a deathlike silence,
Where even the waters had forgot to flow,
And winds to whisper,—such a total silence,
My breathing startled me, although I held it
In fear and awe. The heavens had vanished then,
And earth was gone, only the foothold where
I stood and dared not move,—in like suspense

Methought 'twas night; and my unquiet spirit
Stood in the silent presence of a Power
Invisible, though felt. There was no voice,
And yet unutterable thoughts came o'er me,
Accompanied by feelings such as grow
From some unearthly music. There were words
Spoken as in the fever of a dream,
Breathless and indistinct, yet full of awe
High and mysterious. The air was full
Of sights, that scarce were seen, dim images,
Crowding from out the depth of darkness, wild
And terrible, though calm. They looked upon me

I SEE a lad deserted by his mates,
Because his ways were little to their mind,
Turn sick at heart, shed tears to make him blind;
So sad, that never have the after-fates
Brought pain that pinched more close, a day more dark,
Though many since have sullen been and stark;
And yet we call our childhood soft and kind!

Again I see him, stretched along the floor,
Reading with bated breath and blue eyes keen
Of her the mystic maiden called Undine;
Of how she won a knight beside the shore,

Thou fount of every good requir'd!
Thou source of wisdom! depth of skill!
Thou, who hast now our hearts inspir'd
To seek the councils of thy will,
Oh! let our schemes thy impress bear,
Matur'd with heav'nly art and care.

To thy omniscient sight alone,
Past, present, future, all are seen;
None but omnipotence hath known
What to his glory most hast been;
And what is now, and what will be,
Is only known, O God! to thee.

To thee we therefore turn the eye,
The longing look, the earnest pray'r,

'Tis down in the valley my father does dwell—
See, Mary on yonder stile is leaning—
And all that the cottage produces I sell,
And earn him a little by gleaning.

Then I must away by the break of the day,
My basket to fill by the water,
To earn all I can for my father, poor man,
For I am his only daughter.

Besides, there is William has fetched from the valley
Three pretty cows from old Mary,
He'll soon want some one, for he told me he should,
A maid to look after his dairy.