Classic Poem

I saw, upon a mountain,
A violet newly springing,
And round the broken rocks a perfume shedding;
It grew beside a fountain,
Its bubbling water flinging,
And down a turfy slope its current spreading,
And greenest grass imbedding;
There the sunbeams poured their glory,
At morn in golden brightness;
And many a song of lightness
The careless shepherd sung, and many a story
He told of love despairing,
Himself in all their joy and sorrow sharing.

I loved that quiet valley,
When sultry noon was firing
The cloudless sky, that o'er my head was glowing;
And in a cool, dark alley,
In solitude retiring,
Where bending elms their tufted boughs were throwing,
And softest gales were blowing,—
There I breathed my bosom's anguish
In many a strain of sorrow,
And from the dove would borrow
Her melancholy tones and dying languish,
When with the zephyr blending,
That murmurs through the reeds before it bending.

In lonely peace reposing,
I gazed upon the ocean,
That in the distant view was proudly swelling;
I lay till day was closing,
And with a softer motion
The ringdove fluttered round his airy dwelling,
Still to his turtle telling
The tender love he bore her;
And like a fond one sighing,
As if his heart was dying,
He sat among the boughs that trembled o'er her;
The while, in eddies whirling,
The mellow brook in day's last light was curling.

The wind was faintly sighing,
The boughs were lightly dancing,
And down its stony bed the brook was chiming;
And now the wind was dying,
The leaves were dimly glancing,
The loaded vine, that o'er the elm was climbing,
Still with the light air timing,
In a slower curve were waving
Its clusters freshly breathing,
And with its foliage wreathing,
Like hyacinths the early meadow paving,
And in the dewy morning
With richest hues the grassy plain adorning.

The moon was on the ocean;
The billows, proudly swelling,
Heaved to her light their tops in foamy brightness;
With slow, majestic motion,
O'er Tethys' coral dwelling
They curled their glassy ridge in snowy whiteness,
Tossing with downy lightness;
And loud and long their roaring,
Like peals of distant thunder,
Or mountains rent asunder,
When high in air the volcan's flame is soaring,
Wide o'er the dark waste rolling,
Seemed like a knell the sailor's ruin tolling.

Through leaves and boughs inwoven,
My grassy pillow shading,
Her silver orb in broken light was gleaming;
Now, where the rock was cloven,
Through fleecy vapor wading,
Her virgin fire, in deeper distance beaming,
In one full flood was streaming:
With tender, smeet emotion,
My bosom gently swelling,
I sought my quiet dwelling,
And raised to heaven my heart's intense devotion,
Walking beneath the mellow brightness, flowing
From countless gems in yon blue ether glowing.