The Preference
I love to ream a calm, secluded dell,
Where all the softest charms of nature dwell.
When from the hills around, wood-crown'd and high.
Fair Spring-time's tuneful rills go glancing by.
And fleets of clouds, as white as ocean's foam.
Serenely sail the sky's expanded dome ;
While in the oak the joyous mavis sings.
And every wood and grove with music rings.
I love to stand upon a high hill's crest,
And watch the sun sink in the glowing west,
Casting his beams, in floods of gorgeous light,
O'er forest, valley, rock, and river bright;
While fields of golden com, on every plain,
Proclaim full-handed Harvest near again ;
For, while the eye roves o'er a scene so fair.
The gladden'd heart throws off its load of care.
I love to pace a forest wild and lone.
When evening's sombre shades are o'er it thrown,
And through the tall trees' tops, with moanings drear.
The ruthless wind pursues its wild career.
Bearing from many a bending bough and spray
Its robes of soft autumnal hues away ;
While hosts of dying leaves around me cast.
Are types of those whose earthly hopes are past.
I love to ride upon the foaming ocean,
When the huge billows toss in wild commotion,
While overhead the thunder peals aloud,
And the bright lightning darts from cloud to cloud,—
When through the cordage strong the wild wind raves.
As the ship reels amid the seething waves.
And every mind is rapt in holy awe
Of Him who gives the raging storm its law.
But most of all I love a mournful lay.
Whose sad and plaintive notes the feelings sway,
As from a gentle maiden's tongue they fall,
In streams of sound that hold the ear in thrall,
Till Pity's pure, celestial tear is found
Gemming the moisten'd eyes of all around ;
And young hearts learn to sympathise with those
O'er whom a stormy sea of sorrow flows.
For such enthralling lays my sister sung,
When greedy Death's dark shades around her hung;—
When she in vain essay'd the tears to hide
That fill'd her eyes with their unwelcome tide,
As with a sad and grief-o'erladen heart
She saw all girlhood's golden dreams depart,
And her pale, wasting cheek's bright hectic glow
Proclaim'd the advent near of my first woe.
Bright Stream
DIDST thou but know how soon, bright stream,
Thy charms thou must forego,
And be no more the poet's theme,
So fast thou wouldst not flow,
Bright stream—
So fast thou wouldst not flow.
But linger where green willows wave,
And wild bees boom along ;
Where birds their glossy plumage lave, I
And fill the air with song, .
Bright stream—
And fill the air with song.
No waves, save those of brooks and rills,
From glens where woodbines twine,
And vales begirt with wooded hills,
Have conie to thix with thine,
Bright stream—
Have come to mix with thine.
But soon dark, slow, and turbid streams.
That through Iarge cities glide.
Will veil thy brightest pebbles' gleams.
Arid all thy beauties hide,
Bright stream—
And all thy beauties hide.
By stately streets and lordly homes
Thy waters soon will flow,
Where art and science rear their domes.
In grand and glorious show,
Bright stream—
In grand and glorious show.
But homesteads calm, in valleys deep,
Anear the village fane,
Or cottage homes on hillsides steep,
Thou'lt never see again,
Bright stream—
Thoult never see again.
Thou'lt hear the sound of merry bells
From towers and steeples high,
And catch the roaring noise that swells
From crowded streets hard by,
Bright stream—
From crowded streets hard by.
But no glad bleat of fresh-penned flocks,
No lowing of sleek kine,
Depastured near the sunlit rocks,
Will ever more be thine,
Bright stream—
Will ever more be thine.
Past docks, and wharves, and stores thoult glide
Where costly goods abound.
Where cargoes come with every tide,
And shipwrights' hammers sound.
Bright stream—
And shipwrights' hammers sound.
But though thy broad expanded breast
I May bear boat, barque, and barge,
No bird near thee will weave its nest,
No wild flowers gem thy marge.
Bright stream—
No wild flowers gem thy marge.
At midnight's lone, remorseful time,
Some poor misguided girl,
Who, in her happy maiden prime,
Oft watch'd thy bright waves' whirl.
Bright stream—
Oft watch'd thy bright waves' whirl ;
All weary of a life of sin.
Without a home or friend.
May seek thy waves, and plunge therein,
Her life of shame to end,
Bright stream—
Her life of shame to end.
By warning buoys, that roll and dip,
Thy final course will be,
Where many a lofty-masted ship
Sails to the open sea.
Bright stream—
Sails to the open sea.
But thou wilt lose the teams and ploughs
That all thy rich fields grace,
And glass no more the alder-boughs
That o'er thee interlace.
Bright stream—
That o'er thee interlace.
I've been the way that thou must go,—
Seen much that thou must see,—
And, knowing all of life I know,
I can but pity thee.
Bright stream—
I can but pity thee.
For, having left hill, wood, and plain-
All scenes of calm content—
Thou can'st no more come back again
To where life's morn was spent,
Bright stream—
To where lifers morn was spent.
