Page:Poems, Household Edition, Emerson, 1904.djvu/230

194 The lynx, the rattlesnake, the flood, the fire;

All the fierce enemies, ague, hunger, cold,

This thin spruce roof, this clayed log-wall,

This wild plantation will suffice to chase.

Now speed the gay celerities of art,

What in the desert was impossible

Within four walls is possible again,—

Culture and libraries, mysteries of skill,

Traditioned fame of masters, eager strife

Of keen competing youths, joined or alone

To outdo each other and extort applause.

Mind wakes a new-born giant from her sleep.

Twirl the old wheels! Time takes fresh start again,

On for a thousand years of genius more.'

The holidays were fruitful, but must end;

One August evening had a cooler breath;

Into each mind intruding duties crept;

Under the cinders burned the fires of home;

Nay, letters found us in our paradise:

So in the gladness of the new event

We struck our camp and left the happy hills.

The fortunate star that rose on us sank not;

The prodigal sunshine rested on the land,

The rivers gambolled onward to the sea,

And Nature, the inscrutable and mute,

Permitted on her infinite repose

Almost a smile to steal to cheer her sons,

As if one riddle of the Sphinx were guessed.