Classic Poem

Up! Away, from toil and care,
While the frost is in the air
Send the sluggard, Sleep, away,
Do not fear his overstay.
Hurry, or we miss the morning
Helios is now adorning.
See, he shakes his golden head
As he rises from his bed!
Ah! His pillow was a hill,
Fringed with silver at his will,
And the clouds he had for cover
Golden-canopied him over!
Speed, thou ruler of the day,
We, too, shall be bright and gay!
To the future, future cast,
To oblivion the past.
For to-day we'll lose ourselves
And be like the fays and elves;
Caring not for latitude,
We shall make our home the wood.

Let your dress be light and airy,
So they'll take you for a fairy,
And my cloak, too, shall be humble,
Ready for a roll or tumble.
Lightly o'er the meadows pass,
Brushing hoar-frost from the grass, —
Leaping o'er the orchard walls,
Where the fragrant fruitage falls,
Lying ruddy at our feet,
Making all the region sweet.
See! a hearth smoke stains the sky,
And a milkmaid, tripping by,
Musically calls the kine
Where they stand in patient line,
Waiting till she drops the bars,
Now a horn the silence mars,
And a house-dog's deep alarm
Sounds across from yonder farm.

But away, away from these;
Our companions are the trees.
We shall find the talking oak
And the burning bush that spoke.
We will argue with the rills,
Hold communion with the hills.
See the Autumn's warm desires
Burning in her mountain fires.
Aught but Nature's foreign land,
Men we cannot understand;
For we are as newly born
And to-day's our natal morn.
Featly now we clear the stiles,
Press, unweary, on for miles,
Where yon forest-garnished dome
Smiles and beckons, saying, " Come! "

Now the mountains lock us round,
And one scarce can hear a sound
That the solitude dispels.
Save the tinkle of the bells,
Where the woolly legions stray
Round the sheepfold, far away.
In this hill-encircled valley
All the nymphs and naiads rally;
And unless our eyes are stupid
We shall get a glimpse of Cupid
Sleeping on his golden bow —
Psyche o'er him bending low.
Only yonder is the shade
Where the coy Sabbrina strayed.

She has left some lilies there,
Where she lately decked her hair.
Listen! that is Pan, indeed!
Don't you recognize the reed?
Seeking wood-sprites? Here you find them,
Casting saucy looks behind them,
Throwing chestnuts — aren't they jolly?
Give them volley back for volley!
There they frolic in yon hollow.
Up! Away, and quickly follow.

Let us rest upon the leaves,
Listen while the brooklet grieves.
Watch the waves, with leaves at play,
Eddy, plunge, and whirl away;
Note the hawk, with restless eye,
Draw his circles on the sky.
What's this clamor now that greets?
'Tis the crows in airy fleets
Convoyed by their wisest bird,
His ragged pinions faintly heard.
Now has died their carping din,
And like some great strange violin,
The wind draws on the pine his bow,
And makes a music, sweet and low.

Come! A charge at yonder hill!
We'll take the fortress with a will.
Ranks of hickory, birch, and oak
At our onslaught quickly broke!
We have gained the mountain crest,
And have earned our glorious rest.
Clouds, that journey through the blue,
Take our thoughts along with you;
Winds, that now our temples greet,
Bring them back as pure and sweet.

Fill the lungs and bare the head,
The world is live that late was dead.
Now for greater views of life,
Now new courage for its strife.
From your eye dismiss the mote,
Let your soul outgrow your coat.
Then the cataract that calls
From Diondehowa's Falls,
Stream and lake and distant hill,
Surpliced mountain peaks that fill
Priestly office, sky and cloud.
Shall whisper, sing, and speak aloud;
Call and echo, still, again:
Benediction and Amen.