Reindeer
(Cervus tarandus.)
Far spread thy bleak, inclement solitudes,
O Lapland! girdled in by icy seas,
And fring'd by icebergs and the crystal floes, —
Floes all adrift in flow and ebb of tides,
Grinding o'er rocks and sands that skirt the shore.
In lapland realms run mountainous defiles,
Peak, pinnacle, and cliff, and gulches grand —
A bleak and barren, desolate expanse,
Seam'd with black ridges, with white torrents swept,
And in the winter-times untrod by man.
Here dwell the herdsmen all the summer-time,
Here rear their log-built cottages and huts,
And make their homes along the mountain-slopes,
And lead a social and a cheerful life;
But when the winter threatens, they migrate,
With all their flocks and herds, to milder climes.
Herding their thousand reindeer in the plains,
More frightful far are all these dreary wastes,
Than those wild mountain-slopes and rugged crags,
For here stretch savage roads and barren plains,
Trees without fruit, and pastures verdureless!
Far as the eye may reach can naught be seen
But sterile fields; no landscapes flowery,
No springing grass, no harvests of the grain.
Here the white mosses o'er the acres spread, —
Moss white as snow and ghastly to behold.
Yet bounteous nature yields this precious food, —
The sole, poor food the reindeer herds may crop.
Thick, dark around the gloomy forests bend,
Shrouded with blacken'd moss in hideous gloom;
Dark, trailing mosses, like funereal flags
That droop their festoons in cathedral aisles.
All summer long the gadfly and the gnat
Torment the herds that browse the mossy plain;
But when the winter kills those insect pests,
And herdsmen fill the valleys with their herds,
His pallid moss, so grievous to the sight,
Seems to the Laplander a treasure rich,
His only harvest, for it feeds his flocks,
And is to him the choicest boon of earth.
While it o'erspreads his endless dreary moor
He envies not the verdure and the bloom
Of southern landscapes with their fruitful wealth.
Clad in his deerskin garb, he drives his herds,
Fearless and careless, o'er the desert space,
Asking no fare luxurious, but content
With the pure milk and smoke-dried flesh they yield.
Ah, who so happy as the Laplander!
When the glaz'd snow is crusted with clear ice,
And far and fast for many a lengthen'd league,
Warm in his sledge, he urges on his team.
Swift as a courser in the race-course field,
Swift as a war-horse in the shock of arms,
The flying reindeer skims along the plain,
And skirts the gloomy wood in matchless speed.
(Felis Leopardus.)
In India's realm, where nature's affluent hand
Pours from her urn rich treasures o'er the land,
The dark-hued Indian drowsily reclines
By shadow'd stream, beneath luxuriant vines;
Doom'd to light toil where thick the honey'd fruit
Invites his taste from many a burden'd shoot;
Where the banana and the orange pour
Around his way their free and bounteous store;
Where the rough cactus yields its juicy pear,
And ripe pineapples perfume all the air.
'Tis a fair land, where plants of matchless dyes
Paint all the soil, as rainbows flush the skies;
A solemn land, where forests rise sublime,
In whose green depths soft fall the steps of Time!
Enchanted land, whose mountain summits glow
With the white lustre of eternal snow;
A realm in whose grand wilderness abound
The great wild creatures of the forest-ground.
How fair those groves, how clear the bubbling streams
In Asiatic realms where Ganges gleams,
And thro' savannas murmuringly glides,
Until it mingles with the Bengal tides!
Behold! far down the mountain solitudes,
Beneath the line of snow, the bending woods,
Kiss'd by the sunbeam, all their colors blend,
While far away the verdurous plains extend.
Enchanting pictures of commingled bloom
Burst on the vision — spice-wood lends perfume,
Citron and orange glisten on the shoot,
The brown pomegranate drops its lucious fruit,
Luxuriant vines swing high the purpling grape,
And loftiest trees with graceful festoons drape,
'Tis a fair scene where Peace drops down to rest,
Folds, like a bird, her pinions o'er her breast;
Where all the glimmering shades at hour of eve
Their filmy veils and vapors interweave.
There the strip'd tiger has his chosen home,
And there the tawny, savage panthers roam, —
Panthers more fierce than tigers gaunt and grim,
Or leopards perilous to life and limb,
More valorous in charges, more fierce to meet
Than all the prowlers of the wood's retreat.
While over all the Central India's space
The panther lurks for man, the leopard race
Stealthy and noiseless creep thro' rocky pass
And lie conceal'd in tangle of the grass;
Then, springing agile from some branching spray,
They strike the victim and secure the prey.
There where the jungle-swamps the lagoons drape
They seize the monkey tribes, the gibbering ape.
The sand-grouse first seek out that forest lake,
There speckled pea-fowl haste their thirst to slake,
There spotted deer and antelope and bear
Gather at midnight in that darkling lair,
And soon the leopard and the panther brood
Share the gorg'd feast and revel in the blood.
Far spread thy bleak, inclement solitudes,
O Lapland! girdled in by icy seas,
And fring'd by icebergs and the crystal floes, —
Floes all adrift in flow and ebb of tides,
Grinding o'er rocks and sands that skirt the shore.
In lapland realms run mountainous defiles,
Peak, pinnacle, and cliff, and gulches grand —
A bleak and barren, desolate expanse,
Seam'd with black ridges, with white torrents swept,
And in the winter-times untrod by man.
Here dwell the herdsmen all the summer-time,
Here rear their log-built cottages and huts,
And make their homes along the mountain-slopes,
And lead a social and a cheerful life;
But when the winter threatens, they migrate,
With all their flocks and herds, to milder climes.
Herding their thousand reindeer in the plains,
More frightful far are all these dreary wastes,
Than those wild mountain-slopes and rugged crags,
For here stretch savage roads and barren plains,
Trees without fruit, and pastures verdureless!
Far as the eye may reach can naught be seen
But sterile fields; no landscapes flowery,
No springing grass, no harvests of the grain.
Here the white mosses o'er the acres spread, —
Moss white as snow and ghastly to behold.
Yet bounteous nature yields this precious food, —
The sole, poor food the reindeer herds may crop.
Thick, dark around the gloomy forests bend,
Shrouded with blacken'd moss in hideous gloom;
Dark, trailing mosses, like funereal flags
That droop their festoons in cathedral aisles.
All summer long the gadfly and the gnat
Torment the herds that browse the mossy plain;
But when the winter kills those insect pests,
And herdsmen fill the valleys with their herds,
His pallid moss, so grievous to the sight,
Seems to the Laplander a treasure rich,
His only harvest, for it feeds his flocks,
And is to him the choicest boon of earth.
While it o'erspreads his endless dreary moor
He envies not the verdure and the bloom
Of southern landscapes with their fruitful wealth.
Clad in his deerskin garb, he drives his herds,
Fearless and careless, o'er the desert space,
Asking no fare luxurious, but content
With the pure milk and smoke-dried flesh they yield.
Ah, who so happy as the Laplander!
When the glaz'd snow is crusted with clear ice,
And far and fast for many a lengthen'd league,
Warm in his sledge, he urges on his team.
Swift as a courser in the race-course field,
Swift as a war-horse in the shock of arms,
The flying reindeer skims along the plain,
And skirts the gloomy wood in matchless speed.
(Felis Leopardus.)
In India's realm, where nature's affluent hand
Pours from her urn rich treasures o'er the land,
The dark-hued Indian drowsily reclines
By shadow'd stream, beneath luxuriant vines;
Doom'd to light toil where thick the honey'd fruit
Invites his taste from many a burden'd shoot;
Where the banana and the orange pour
Around his way their free and bounteous store;
Where the rough cactus yields its juicy pear,
And ripe pineapples perfume all the air.
'Tis a fair land, where plants of matchless dyes
Paint all the soil, as rainbows flush the skies;
A solemn land, where forests rise sublime,
In whose green depths soft fall the steps of Time!
Enchanted land, whose mountain summits glow
With the white lustre of eternal snow;
A realm in whose grand wilderness abound
The great wild creatures of the forest-ground.
How fair those groves, how clear the bubbling streams
In Asiatic realms where Ganges gleams,
And thro' savannas murmuringly glides,
Until it mingles with the Bengal tides!
Behold! far down the mountain solitudes,
Beneath the line of snow, the bending woods,
Kiss'd by the sunbeam, all their colors blend,
While far away the verdurous plains extend.
Enchanting pictures of commingled bloom
Burst on the vision — spice-wood lends perfume,
Citron and orange glisten on the shoot,
The brown pomegranate drops its lucious fruit,
Luxuriant vines swing high the purpling grape,
And loftiest trees with graceful festoons drape,
'Tis a fair scene where Peace drops down to rest,
Folds, like a bird, her pinions o'er her breast;
Where all the glimmering shades at hour of eve
Their filmy veils and vapors interweave.
There the strip'd tiger has his chosen home,
And there the tawny, savage panthers roam, —
Panthers more fierce than tigers gaunt and grim,
Or leopards perilous to life and limb,
More valorous in charges, more fierce to meet
Than all the prowlers of the wood's retreat.
While over all the Central India's space
The panther lurks for man, the leopard race
Stealthy and noiseless creep thro' rocky pass
And lie conceal'd in tangle of the grass;
Then, springing agile from some branching spray,
They strike the victim and secure the prey.
There where the jungle-swamps the lagoons drape
They seize the monkey tribes, the gibbering ape.
The sand-grouse first seek out that forest lake,
There speckled pea-fowl haste their thirst to slake,
There spotted deer and antelope and bear
Gather at midnight in that darkling lair,
And soon the leopard and the panther brood
Share the gorg'd feast and revel in the blood.
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