The green trees whispered low and mild; It was a sound of joy! They were my playmates when a child, And rocked me in their arms so wild! Still they looked at me and smiled, As if I were a boy; And ever whispered, mild and low, O, I could not choose but go Into the woodlands hoar; Into the blithe and breathing air, Into the solemn wood, Solemn and silent everywhere! Nature with folded hands seemed there Kneeling at her evening prayer! Like one in prayer I stood. Before me rose an avenue Of tall and sombrous pines; Abroad their fan-like branches grew, And, where the sunshine darted through, Spread a vapor soft and blue, In long and sloping lines. And, falling on my weary brain, Like a fast-falling shower, The dreams of youth came back again; Dropping on the ripened grain, Visions of childhood! Stay, O stay! And distant voices seemed to say, Other themes demand thy lay; Thou art no more a child! "The land of Song within thee lies, Watered by living springs; The lids of Fancy's sleepless eyes Are gates unto that Paradise, Holy thoughts, like stars, arise, "Learn, that henceforth thy song shall be, Not mountains capped with snow, Nor forests sounding like the sea, Nor rivers flowing ceaselessly, Where the woodlands bend to see "There is a forest where the din Of iron branches sounds! A mighty river roars between, And whosoever looks therein Sees the heavens all black with sin, Sees not its depths, nor bounds. "Athwart the swinging branches cast, Soft of sunshine pour; rays Then comes the fearful wintry blast; Our hopes, like withered leaves, fall fast; Pallid lips say, 'It is past! We can return no more!' "Look, then, into thine heart, and write! Yes, into Life's deep stream! All forms of sorrow and delight, Be these henceforth thy theme." |