Classic Poem

IN the soft gloom of Summer's balmy eve,
When from the lingering glances of the Sun
The sad Earth turns away her blushing cheek,
Mantling its glow in twilight's shadowy veil,
Oft 'mid the falling dews I love to stray
Onward and onward, through the pleasant fields,
Far up the lilied borders of the stream,
To this green, silent hollow of the hills,
Endeared by thronging memories of the past.
Oft have I lingered on this rustic bridge,
To view the limpid waters winding on
Under dim-vaulted woods, whose woven boughs
Of beech and maple and broad sycamore
Throw their soft, moving shadows o'er the wave;
While blossomed vines, dropped to the water's brim,
Hang idly swaying in the summer wind.
The birds that wander through the twilight heaven
Are mirrored far beneath me; and young leaves
That tremble on the birch-tree's silver boughs,
In the cool wave reflected, gleam below,
Like twinkling stars athwart the verdant gloom.
A sound of rippling waters rises sweet
Amid the silence; and the western breeze,
Sighing through sedges and low meadow-blooms,
Comes wafting gentle thoughts from Memory's land,
And wakes the long-hushed music of the heart.
Oft dewy spring hath brimmed the brook with showers;
Oft hath the long, bright summer fringed its banks
With breathing blossoms; and the autumn sun
Shed mellow hues o'er all its wooded shores,
Since first I trod these paths, in youth's sweet prime,
With loved ones whom Time's desolating wave
Hath wafted now forever from my side.
Long years have passed, and on its flowery brink,
Bereft and sorrow-taught, alone I stand,
Listening the hollow music of the wind.
Alone—alone: the stars are far away,
And wild clouds wander o'er the face of heaven;
But still the green earth wears her summer crown,
And whispers hope through all her breathing flowers.
Not all in vain the vision of our youth,
The apocalypse of beauty and of love,
The stag-like heart of hope. Life's mystic dream
The soul shall yet interpret; to our prayer
The Isis veil be lifted. Though we pine
E'en 'mid the ungathered roses of our youth,
Pierced with strange pangs and longings infinite,
As if earth's fairest flowers served but to wake
Sad, haunting memories of our Eden home;
Not all in vain. Meantime, in patient trust,
Rest we on Nature's bosom: from her eye,
Serene and still, drinking in faith and love;
To her calm pulse attempering the heart
That throbs too wildly for ideal bliss.
Oh gentle Mother, heal me, for I faint
Upon life's arid pathway; or apart,
On lonely mountain heights, oft hear a voice
Tempting my agony with perilous thoughts
Of death's calm, dreamless slumber; and my feet
On the dark mountains stumble. Near thy heart,
Close nestling, let me lie; and let thy breath,
Fragrant and cool, fall on my fever'd cheek,
As in those unworn ages ere pale thought
Forestalled life's patient harvest. Give me strength
To follow wheresoe'er o'er the world's waste
The cloudy pillar moveth; till at last
It guide to pleasant vales and pastures green
By the still waters of eternal life.