Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/211

 1830-40.] JOHN H. BRYANT. 195 I traced that rivulet's winding way ; New scenes of beauty opened round, Where meads of brighter verdure lay, And lovelier blossoms tinged the ground. " Ah ! happy valley-stream," I said, " Calm glides thy wave amid the flowers. Whose fragrance round thy path is shed, Through all the joyous summer hours. " Oh ! could my years, like thine, be passed In some remote and silent glen, Where I might dwell, and sleep, at last, Far from the bustling haunts of men." But what new echoes greet my ear ? The village school-boys' merry call ; And mid the village hum I hear The murmur of the water-fall. I looked ; the widening vale betrayed A pool that shone like burnished steel. Where that bright valley-stream was stayed, To turn the miller's ponderous wheel. Ah ! why should I, I thought with shame, Sigh for a life of sohtude, When even this stream, without a name, Is laboring for the common good ? No longer let me shun my part, Amid the busy scenes of life ; But, with a warm and genei'ous heart, Press onward in the glorious strife. THE BLIND RESTORED TO SIGHT. When the Great Master spoke, He touched his withered eyes, And at one gleam upon him broke The glad earth and the skies. And he saw the city's walls. And king's and prophet's tomb, And mighty arches and vaulted halls And the temple's lofty dome. He looked on the river's flood And the flash of mountain rills. And the gentle wave of the pahns that stood Upon Judea's hills. He saw, on heights and plains, Creatures of every race ; But a mighty thrill ran through his veins When he met the human face. And his vu-gin sight beheld The ruddy glow of even, And the thousand shining orbs that filled The azure depths of heaven. Though woman's voice before Had cheered his gloomy night. To see the angel form she wore Made deeper the delight. And his heart, at daylight's close. For the bright world where he trod. And when the yellow morning rose, Gave speecUess thanks to God. THE EMIGRANT'S SONG. Away, away we haste Vast plains and mountains o'er. To the glorious land of the distant West, By the broad Pacific's shore. Onward, with toilsome pace, O'er the desert vast and dim. From morn till the sun goes down to his place At the far horizon's rim. By the wild Missouri's side — ■ By the lonely Platte we go. That brings its cold and turbid tide From far-ofi" cliffs of snow.