Wellnigh a year, swift-running Brook, is past
Since I, upon thy fresh green side,
Stood here, and saw thy waters glide,
But not, as now they flow, rough, turbid, fast.
'T was twilight then; and Dian hung her bow
Low down the west; and there a star
Kindly on them and me, from far,
Looked out, and blessed us through the passing glow.
A goodly fellowship of day and night;
The day, the moon, the stars, in one,—
Night scarcely come, day scarcely gone,—
In mutual love they shed harmonious light.
It fell in peace upon thy face, fair Brook,—
The glittering starlight, paler moon,
Day's last, warm glow: but that full soon
Faded, e'en while I stood to feel and look.
And then thy tiny beach, no longer red,
Took from the other lamps its hue,
As star on star, in order due,
Came out and lighted up thy pebbly bed.
The ground-bird in thy bank had made her nest.
She sat and dreamed about her brood,
And where next day to gather food;
And with thy song well soothed, she took her rest.
It pained me that my footsteps caused her fear;
For I had come with weary heart
To sit with her and take a part
In star and moon, and thy low song to hear.
Fly not the broken-hearted, bird! I crave
Thy innocence, thy gentle trust.
Chirp by me now, and when I'm dust,
Come, make thy habitation by my grave.
So wished I then; and more my spirit spoke;
And hopes and wishes, mingling, said,
Thou shalt within thy grave be laid
Ere other spring return:—my heart was broke.
Yet still, more sad and lonely, here I tread
Thy banks again, unfettered Brook.
Now, by the living I 'm forsook:
Before, I mourned your loss alone, ye dead.
The cords of sympathy nigh all untied!
And when I raise an eye by chance,
The half-hid sneer, the sidelong glance,
Say, Not of us!—Would I had long since died!
And those of hearts of all too gentle mould
To pain the pained, by silence say,
We ne'er can walk the selfsame way!
And shake them loose, where all my hopes took hold.
Why, I can bear hot anger and the frown,—
Much better far than feigned regard,—
I mind them not; they make me hard:
But severed and yet kind!—it weighs me down.
Come, teach me patience, then, O Thou, for whom
I take this sorrow to my breast;
Speak to me, give my spirit rest,
And make me ready for the last great doom.
Here, too, there has been sadness since that I
Last talked with thee. Thy banks were green.
Bright reeds and flowers no more are seen.
And where are they? Alas! do they, too, die?
Thou then wast all o'er beauty, softness, youth;
In self-wove garments mad'st thee gay;
Didst play and dance by night and day;
But now!—How simple nature teaches truth!
Thy cold, damp, frost-bound bank is like a rock;
Thy green, unsightly brown; and bare
The stems that made and took a share
Of beauty with thee:—all have felt the shock.
A frost like death came in, and changed the face
Of tree and herb. Up rose the wind,
And loud and strong, with fury blind,
Broke through, nor of thy beauty left a trace.
Awhile it roared; the faded leaves it tossed,
Then dashed them in thy face in scorn;
'T is I, it said, thy bowers have torn!
And, rushing on, far in the woods was lost.
Thus ended thy bright festival. Thy hall,—
The place of song and dance before,—
Silent, and barred its icy door;
And o'er thee winter threw his cold, white pall.
Its folds unwrapped, thy doors now open thrown,
Drops from the shelving ice fall fast;
The light, too, shining in at last,
Shows straws and leaves along thy bottom strown.
But soon thy channel will again run clear;
Along thy clean and pebbly bed
The spring-flowers on thy brim be fed,
And earth's and thy own music thou shalt hear.
Thou 'lt be too merry then to mind the sigh
Heaved by the lonely, broken heart,
Though near thee. Here, then, let us part,
For there 's no spring for joys like mine, that die.
The blasted spirit of fond, thoughtful men
Can feel no second earthly youth:
Their sorrows share the strength of truth.—
At leaf-fall, Brook, I 'll visit thee again.
Since I, upon thy fresh green side,
Stood here, and saw thy waters glide,
But not, as now they flow, rough, turbid, fast.
'T was twilight then; and Dian hung her bow
Low down the west; and there a star
Kindly on them and me, from far,
Looked out, and blessed us through the passing glow.
A goodly fellowship of day and night;
The day, the moon, the stars, in one,—
Night scarcely come, day scarcely gone,—
In mutual love they shed harmonious light.
It fell in peace upon thy face, fair Brook,—
The glittering starlight, paler moon,
Day's last, warm glow: but that full soon
Faded, e'en while I stood to feel and look.
And then thy tiny beach, no longer red,
Took from the other lamps its hue,
As star on star, in order due,
Came out and lighted up thy pebbly bed.
The ground-bird in thy bank had made her nest.
She sat and dreamed about her brood,
And where next day to gather food;
And with thy song well soothed, she took her rest.
It pained me that my footsteps caused her fear;
For I had come with weary heart
To sit with her and take a part
In star and moon, and thy low song to hear.
Fly not the broken-hearted, bird! I crave
Thy innocence, thy gentle trust.
Chirp by me now, and when I'm dust,
Come, make thy habitation by my grave.
So wished I then; and more my spirit spoke;
And hopes and wishes, mingling, said,
Thou shalt within thy grave be laid
Ere other spring return:—my heart was broke.
Yet still, more sad and lonely, here I tread
Thy banks again, unfettered Brook.
Now, by the living I 'm forsook:
Before, I mourned your loss alone, ye dead.
The cords of sympathy nigh all untied!
And when I raise an eye by chance,
The half-hid sneer, the sidelong glance,
Say, Not of us!—Would I had long since died!
And those of hearts of all too gentle mould
To pain the pained, by silence say,
We ne'er can walk the selfsame way!
And shake them loose, where all my hopes took hold.
Why, I can bear hot anger and the frown,—
Much better far than feigned regard,—
I mind them not; they make me hard:
But severed and yet kind!—it weighs me down.
Come, teach me patience, then, O Thou, for whom
I take this sorrow to my breast;
Speak to me, give my spirit rest,
And make me ready for the last great doom.
Here, too, there has been sadness since that I
Last talked with thee. Thy banks were green.
Bright reeds and flowers no more are seen.
And where are they? Alas! do they, too, die?
Thou then wast all o'er beauty, softness, youth;
In self-wove garments mad'st thee gay;
Didst play and dance by night and day;
But now!—How simple nature teaches truth!
Thy cold, damp, frost-bound bank is like a rock;
Thy green, unsightly brown; and bare
The stems that made and took a share
Of beauty with thee:—all have felt the shock.
A frost like death came in, and changed the face
Of tree and herb. Up rose the wind,
And loud and strong, with fury blind,
Broke through, nor of thy beauty left a trace.
Awhile it roared; the faded leaves it tossed,
Then dashed them in thy face in scorn;
'T is I, it said, thy bowers have torn!
And, rushing on, far in the woods was lost.
Thus ended thy bright festival. Thy hall,—
The place of song and dance before,—
Silent, and barred its icy door;
And o'er thee winter threw his cold, white pall.
Its folds unwrapped, thy doors now open thrown,
Drops from the shelving ice fall fast;
The light, too, shining in at last,
Shows straws and leaves along thy bottom strown.
But soon thy channel will again run clear;
Along thy clean and pebbly bed
The spring-flowers on thy brim be fed,
And earth's and thy own music thou shalt hear.
Thou 'lt be too merry then to mind the sigh
Heaved by the lonely, broken heart,
Though near thee. Here, then, let us part,
For there 's no spring for joys like mine, that die.
The blasted spirit of fond, thoughtful men
Can feel no second earthly youth:
Their sorrows share the strength of truth.—
At leaf-fall, Brook, I 'll visit thee again.