Page:Poetical works of William Cullen Bryant (IA poeticalworksof00brya).pdf/52

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But thou, my country, thou shalt never fall, Save with thy children—thy maternal care, Thy lavish love, thy blessings showered on all— These are thy fetters—seas and stormy air Are the wide barrier of thy horders, where, Among thy gallant sons who guard thee well, Thou laugh'st at enemies: who shall then declare The date of thy deep-founded strength, or tell How happy, in thy lap, the sons of men shall dwell?

To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty, and she glides Into his darker musings, with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts Of the last bitter hour come like a blight Over thy spirit, and sad images Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;— Go forth, under the open sky, and list