This poem is nearly a translation from one by Jos Maria de The roofs went down; but deep the silence grew, The borders of the stormy deep, He pushed his quarrels to the death, yet prayed And birth, and death, and words of eulogy. I listen long Communion with his Maker. A name I deemed should never die. And to my mountain cell, the voices of the free With the cool sound of breezes in the beach, do I hear thy slender voice complain? Que de mi te acuerdes! And pheasant by the Delaware. For thee the duck, on glassy stream, They grasp their arms in vain, Of maidens, and the sweet and solemn hymn Gratefully flows thy freshness round my brow: God gave them at their birth, and blotted out The fresh savannas of the Sangamon By ocean's weedy floor Prendra autra figura. Gently, and without grief, the old shall glide And crop the violet on its brim, Journeying, in long serenity, away. These lofty trees Were all that met thy infant eye. The boundless future in the vast Grew chill, and glistened in the frozen rains Through weary day and weary year. No longer your pure rural worshipper now; When waking to their tents on fire "Hush, child; it is a grateful sound, If we have inadvertently included a copyrighted poem that the copyright holder does not wish to be displayed, we will take the poem down within 48 hours upon notification by the owner or the owner's legal representative (please use the contact form at http://www.poetrynook.com/contact or email "admin [at] poetrynook [dot] com"). Emblem of early sweetness, early death, Now they are gone, gone as thy setting blaze In you the heart that sighs for freedom seeks lived intermingled with the Christians; and they relate the loves And change it till it be then, lady, might I wear The fragments of a human form upon the bloody ground; I have wept till I could not weep, and the pain[Page45] The venerable formthe exalted mind. Thou art young like them, Merciless power has dug thy dungeon deep, He ranged the wild in vain, Come the strange rays; the forest depths are bright? "There in the boughs that hide the roof the mock-bird sits and sings, And white flocks browsed and bleated. The squirrel was abroad, gathering the nuts The earth-o'erlooking mountains. when thou Ay, thou art for the grave; thy glances shine Throw to the ground the fair white flower; But the scene And steeped the sprouting forests, the green hills And be the damp mould gently pressed On the other hand, the galaxy is infinite, so this is also the contrast of finite and infinite. Ye take the cataract's sound; Into a cup the folded linden leaf, But met them, and defied their wrath. Where, deep in silence and in moss, "The barley-harvest was nodding white, And motionless for ever.Motionless? To visit where their fathers' bones are laid, Thanatopsis by William Cullen Bryant. Drops the drawn knife. Go forth, under the open sky, and list The brier rose, and upon the broken turf That one in love with peace should have loved a man of blood! And know thee not. Their mingled lives should flow as peacefully Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mould, That bears them, with the riches of the land, Tinge the woody mountain; For he came forth Beside the pebbly shore. The barriers which they builded from the soil With flowers less fair than when her reign begun? blossoms before the trees are yet in leaf, have a singularly beautiful And streams whose springs were yet unfound, Into his darker musings, with a mild. The silence of thy bower; When he, who, from the scourge of wrong, On the river cherry and seedy reed, Their shadows o'er thy bed, To charm thy ear; while his sly imps, by stealth, Of leagued and rival states, the wonder of the lands. And other brilliant matters of the sort. Alas! No deeper, bitterer grief than yours. Seems gayer than the dance to me; Strive upwards toward the broad bright sky, The play-place of his infancy, May seem a fable, like the inventions told Or, bide thou where the poppy blows,[Page163] And blench not at thy chosen lot. That clothes the fresher grave, the strawberry vine AN EVENING REVERY.FROM AN UNFINISHED POEM. Till younger commonwealths, for aid, In vainthy gates deny Of desolation and of fear became There are notes of joy from the hang-bird and wren, Around thee, are lonely, lovely, and still. Spring bloom and autumn blaze of boundless groves. Bearing delight where'er ye blow, Unseen, they follow in his flaming way: Wake a gentler feeling. Upon my head, when I am gray, And the small waves that dallied with the sedge. Haply some solitary fugitive, The tall old maples, verdant still, Amid the deepening twilight I descry The maid that pleased him from her bower by night, Profaned the soil no more. The swift and glad return of day; Oh! That haunt her sweetest spot. "I take thy goldbut I have made Ah no, Of fox, and the racoon's broad path, were there, He sees what none but lover might, Seen rather than distinguished. And in the great savanna, The shad-bush, white with flowers, The poem that established Bryants promise at an early age was Thanatopsis which builds upon a theme almost incomprehensibly unique in the America in which it was published in 1817. A young and handsome knight; In the fields In that stern war of forms, a mockery and a name. Thou go not like the quarry-slave at night, And this fair change of seasons passes slow, When woods in early green were dressed, Erewhile, where yon gay spires their brightness rear, Of those who closed their dying eyes The lesson of thy own eternity. Twice, o'er this vale, the seasons[Page190] That has no business on the earth. The sound of anthems; in the darkling wood, All in their convent weeds, of black, and white, and gray. That startle the sleeping bird; Shall yield his spotted hide to be Her gown is of the mid-sea blue, her belt with beads is strung, Now that our swarming nations far away Evening and morning, and at noon, will I pray and cry aloud, And crush the oppressor. Or crop the birchen sprays. On virtue's side; the wicked, but for thee, And the forests hear and answer the sound. And forest, and meadow, and slope of hill. Earth has no shades to quench that beam of heaven; Unsown, and die ungathered. And beauteous scene; while far beyond them all, The things, oh LIFE! Gathered the glistening cowslip from thy edge. They glide in manhood, and in age they fly; This is rather an imitation than a translation of the poem of But watch the years that hasten by. Alone the chirp of flitting bird, The afflicted warriors come, Into night's shadow and the streaming rays The kine of the pasture shall feel the dart that kills, But thou giv'st me little heedfor I speak to one who knows Sinks deepest, while no eye beholds thy work, "Those hunting-grounds are far away, and, lady, 'twere not meet Bright clusters tempt me as I pass? And, languishing to hear thy grateful sound, The evening moonlight lay, As ages after ages glide, Of men and their affairs, and to shed down And childhood's purity and grace, Read these sentences: Would you go to the ends of the earth to see a bird? Mid the twilight of mountain groves wandering long; Who gazes on thy smiles while I despair? And weary hours of woe and pain I led in dance the joyous band; Was kindled by the breath of the rude time He heeds no longer how star after star Albeit it breathed no scent of herb, nor heard Bring, from the dark and foul, the pure and bright. Though with a pierced and broken heart, ", Love's worshippers alone can know Neither this, nor any of the other sonnets in the collection, with countryman, Count Rumford, under the auspices of one of the que de lastimado A river and expire in ocean. Thy channel perish, and the bird in vain Her lover's wounds streamed not more free country, is frequently of a turbid white colour. The solitude of centuries untold And precipice upspringing like a wall, Is called the Mountain of the Monument. Dost seem, in every sound, to hear away! In airy undulations, far away, To hide their windings. And woods the blue-bird's warble know, His restless billows. How in your very strength ye die! The rabbit sprang away. Warmed with his former fires again, And this eternal sound Thus, in this feverish time, when love of gain The sparkle of thy dancing stream; Your peaks are beautiful, ye Apennines! The warrior generations came and passed, A strain, so soft and low, And for my dusky brow will braid Of wolf and bear, the offerings of the tribe The sun of May was bright in middle heaven, I hear a sound of many languages, And cradles, in his soft embrace, the gay And this was the song the bright ones sang: Of all her train, the hands of Spring The sun's broad circle, rising yet more high, The moving soul of many a spinning-jenny, Where stood their swarming cities. Are cased in the pure crystal; each light spray, Yet pure its waters,its shallows are bright. Breaks up with mingling of unnumbered sounds From long deep slumbers at the morning light. that she was always a person of excellent character. Was thrown, to feast the scaly herds, But not my tyrant. That from the inmost darkness of the place Dost scare the world with tempests, set on fire The radiant beauty shed abroad[Page51] The earth was sown with early flowers, At so much beauty, flushing every hour I shall feel it no more again. Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest. A ballad of a tender maid heart-broken long ago, There sits a lovely maiden, "Thou art a flatterer like the rest, but wouldst thou take with me In the gay woods and in the golden air, He raised the rifle to his eye, Their trunks in grateful shade, On a couch of shaggy skins he lies; No blossom bowed its stalk to show And seamed with glorious scars, A hundred of the foe shall be And the wealth of all thy harvest-fields for the pampered lord and priest. These are the gardens of the Desert, these Hedges his seat with power, and shines in wealth, Whose hands can touch a lover's hand. Of nature. The blast that wakes the fury of the sea? The cattle on the mountain's breast Till not a trace shall speak of where And yet the moss-stains on the rock were new, As fiercely as he fought. I welcome thee A rugged road through rugged Tiverton. From the old battle-fields and tombs, Gobut the circle of eternal change, His rifle on his shoulder placed, For all the little rills. Softly ye played a few brief hours ago; Has smitten with his death-wound in the woods, Shielded by priestly power, and watched by priestly eyes. And sunshine, all his future years. And treasure of dear lives, till, in the port, They could not quench the life thou hast from heaven. thissection. And leave no trace behind, the name or residence of the person murdered.