CATTERSKILL FALLS He thinks no more of his home afar, He heeds no longer how star after star Looks forth on the night as the hour grows late. His thoughts are alone of those who dwell Who pass where the crystal domes upswell Where the frost-trees shoot with leaf and spray, “And oh, that those glorious haunts were mine!" There pass the chasers of seal and whale, And herdsmen and hunters huge of limb; And furry gauntlets the carbine rear. There are mothers-and oh, how sadly their eyes In a seeming sleep, on the chosen breast; 63 They eye him not as they pass along, But his hair stands up with dread, When he feels that he moves with that phantom throng, The glittering threshold is scarcely passed, In which there is neither form nor sound Slow passes the darkness of that trance, Huge shadows and gushes of light that dance On a couch of shaggy skins he lies; As he strives to raise his head, Come round him and smooth his furry bed, And bid him rest, for the evening star Is scarcely set and the day is far. They had found at eve the dreaming one By the base of that icy steep, When over his stiffening limbs begun The deadly slumber of frost to creep, And they cherished the pale and breathless form. "EARTH'S CHILDREN CLEAVE TO EARTH." 65 "EARTH'S CHILDREN CLEAVE TO EARTH." E ARTH'S children cleave to Earth-her frail Decaying children dread decay. Yon wreath of mist that leaves the vale, And lessens in the morning ray; It lingers as it upward creeps, Yet all in vain-it passes still From hold to hold; it cannot stay, And in the very beams that fill The world with glory, wastes away, And that which sprung of earth is now THE WINDS. I. E winds, ye unseen currents of the air, YE Softly ye played a few brief hours ago; Ye bore the murmuring bee; ye tossed the hair Ye rolled the round white cloud through depths of blue: Light blossoms, dropping on the grass like snow. II. How are ye changed! Ye take the cataract's sound III. The weary fowls of heaven make wing in vain, The harvest-field becomes a river's bed; IV. Ye dart upon the deep, and straight is heard Ye fling its floods around you, as a bird Flings o'er his shivering plumes the fountain's spray. THE WINDS. See! to the breaking mast the sailor clings; V. Why rage ye thus ?—no strife for liberty Has made you mad; no tyrant, strong through fear, For ye were born in freedom where ye blow; Earth's solemn woods were yours, her wastes of snow, O ye VI. wild winds! a mightier Power than yours In chains upon the shore of Europe lies; The sceptred throng, whose fetters he endures, VII. Yet oh, when that wronged Spirit of our race And leap in freedom from his prison-place, Lord of his ancient hills and fruitful plains, 67 |