When from some hill’s commanding brow
The gloomy prospect viewing,
He hears the distant ocean rage,
Waves, frightened waves pursuing,
How gladly turns he to my whole,
In watch serene abiding,
And fears no more to think of those
Who trust my faithful guiding.
[30]
Till winter takes his stormy seat,
In fragrant meads and gardens sweet
Evolves my viscid first;
When stilly night, with fleecy cloud
Flings round the earth a darksome shroud,
My second often beams;—
O would you each enjoy my whole,
And have true bliss pervade your soul
And from your eyes outburst—
Some loving one make haste to find,
Let Hymen close your spirits bind,
And learn just how it seems!
[31]
My first is a timid and gentle creature,
Restless and bright her glancing eye,
Quick to discern the approach of danger,
Swift from her covert to spring and fly.
Oft in the cool of the dewy morning,
Startled amid her calm retreat,
She heareth the shrill-toned sound of warning,
And bounds away on frantic feet,
While close her fierce pursuers follow,
Through brush and brake, o’er hill and hollow.
My second telleth of holy seasons,
And calleth the multitude to prayers;
On festivals speaketh right joyously,
When all a face of gladness wears;
Having at times, too, a voice of sorrow,
Speaking in deep and solemn tone,
Telling how faithless is false to-morrow,
To those who weep for the dear ones gone;
Yet feeling itself nor grief nor gladness,
Responsive ever to mirth or sadness.
My whole is a beautiful, modest flower,
Shaking its bells to the summer wind,
Peeping out coyly from lonely places,
Which footsteps of children love to find,
Dreaming they hear in the purple blossoms
Fairy-like tones of the olden time:
Fondly thinking the sweet bells are ringing,
With a soft, low, musical chime,
Their golden curls and innocent bosoms,
They fill with the graceful, drooping blossoms.
