Page:Poems of Sentiment and Imagination.djvu/141

Rh The eagle's scream, the storm-bird's cry,

The winds that whistle loud and high;

The elements' most angry moan

Is to my heart a music tone!

And yet I love earth's gentler hours,

Her sunny smile, and song, and flowers;

I love the gushing waterfall,

The tiny streamlet's gentler call—

Sol's morning rise, and sunset glow.

Shining upon the mountain's snow

In many a radiant rosy wreath,

Shaming the shadow-land beneath!

I love the tall old monarch oak,

The pensive willow by the brook;

I love the brilliant flowers, but less

Than the sweet violet's bashfulness.

Oft when the summer sun goes down

From his high zenith-sceptered throne,

And with his skillful pencil shrouds

The azure o'er with glorious clouds,

To vail his eye's bright parting ray,

And promise us another day,

As bright and beautiful, to come,

Yet in eternity, morrow's home;

Oft at such hours my heart doth fill

With feelings strange, unutterable!

And such emotions crowd my soul

As my weak strength can not control;

And such a strong oppressiveness

Sometimes upon my heart doth press,

I long to take from out my breast

The heart that feels such wild unrest:

So much by different time and scene,

My spirit tempest-tost hath been.

Her. Sweet, young enthusiast! how high, and pure,

And grand thy natural poetry of soul!

But thou art yet a child, and thou wilt learn