II.
O fontal wealth of hasting life,
By stressful toil made sweet,
Stay now thy journey—here oft come
Wild sylvan things,
Here tender lovers meet.
By day the traveller spies the path
To thy o'erbending shade,
Drinks deep the brimming, cooling wave,
A living draught,
And wends his way, remade.
At night the one shy Pleiad drops
Her veil to look within
Thy clear, green-haloed deeps, and sees
Herself more fair
Than all her shining kin.
And, fair with labor's healthy toil,
Each face of yon dear home
Thou'st set within the pearly blue,
Or crocus glow,
Of overarching dome.
And when return world-wandering feet,
Elate, or slow with sorrow,
Thy pencil paints the changing form;
And here clasp hands
The yester year and morrow.
O bright reincarnation, thou!
Though long thy heart, like fire,
Burned to mount upward and away
To sun and sky,
A dream and a desire,
Here, here thy place and service too,—
'Tis heaven by thee to sup,
To see the great red sun drop down,
The stars swim out,—
O Nature's loving cup!