Page:Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier (1895).djvu/174

142   Weary of forest, sea, and sky, Breaking the dull continuous wood, The Merrimac rolled down his flood; Mingling that clear pellucid brook, Which channels vast Agioochook When spring-time’s sun and shower unlock The frozen fountains of the rock, And more abundant waters given From that pure lake, “The Smile of Heaven,” Tributes from vale and mountain-side,— With ocean’s dark, eternal tide!

On yonder rocky cape, which braves The stormy challenge of the waves, Midst tangled vine and dwarfish wood, The hardy Anglo-Saxon stood, Planting upon the topmost crag The staff of England’s battle-flag; And, while from out its heavy fold Saint George’s crimson cross unrolled, Midst roll of drum and trumpet blare, And weapons brandishing in air, He gave to that lone promontory The sweetest name in all his story; Of her, the flower of Islam’s daughters, Whose harems look on Stamboul’s waters,— Who, when the chance of war had bound The Moslem chain his limbs around, Wreathed o’er with silk that iron chain, Soothed with her smiles his hours of pain, And fondly to her youthful slave A dearer gift than freedom gave.

But look! the yellow light no more Streams down on wave and verdant shore; And clearly on the calm air swells The twilight voice of distant bells. From Ocean’s bosom, white and thin, The mists come slowly rolling in; Hills, woods, the river’s rocky rim, Amidst the sea-like vapor swim, While yonder lonely coast-light, set Within its wave-washed minaret, Half quenched, a beamless star and pale, Shines dimly through its cloudy veil!

Home of my fathers!—I have stood Where Hudson rolled his lordly flood: Seen sunrise rest and sunset fade Along his frowning Palisade; Looked down the Appalachian peak On Juniata’s silver streak; Have seen along his valley gleam The Mohawk’s softly winding stream; The level light of sunset shine Through broad Potomac’s hem of pine; And autumn’s rainbow-tinted banner Hang lightly o’er the Susquehanna; Yet wheresoe’er his step might be, Thy wandering child looked back to thee! Heard in his dreams thy river’s sound Of murmuring on its pebbly bound, The unforgotten swell and roar Of waves on thy familiar shore; And saw, amidst the curtained gloom And quiet of his lonely room, Thy sunset scenes before him pass; As, in Agrippa’s magic glass, The loved and lost arose to view, Remembered groves in greenness grew, Bathed still in childhood’s morning dew, Along whose bowers of beauty swept Whatever Memory’s mourners wept, Sweet faces, which the charnel kept, Young, gentle eyes, which long had slept; And while the gazer leaned to trace, More near, some dear familiar face, He wept to find the vision flown,— A phantom and a dream alone!


 * Where, miles away,
 * Lies stretching to my dazzled sight
 * A luminous belt, a misty light,

Beyond the dark pine bluffs and wastes of sandy gray.


 * The tremulous shadow of the Sea!
 * Against its ground
 * Of silvery light, rock, hill, and tree,
 * Still as a picture, clear and free,

With varying outline mark the coast for miles around.


 * On—on—we tread with loose-flung rein
 * Our seaward way,
 * Through dark-green fields and blossoming grain,
 * Where the wild brier-rose skirts the lane,

And bends above our heads the flowering locust spray.


 * Ha! like a kind hand on my brow
 * Comes this fresh breeze,
 * Cooling its dull and feverish glow,