The weekly north Iowa times. [volume] (McGregor, Iowa) 1857-1867, 1858-06-16
y . f. II r. Y.
A NIGHT SCENE.

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
oh River, gentle River, gliding on,
In silence, underneath this s.arless sky
Thine is o ministry that never rests,
Even while the living siumber. For time,
The medder, man, hath iefs the elements
In peace the ploushman breaks the clods no more
The miner labors not, with steel and fire,
10 reud the rock and he that hews the stone,
And he that fell. the forest he that guides
The loaded wain and the poor animal
rhas drag II, have forgotten for while,
1hsir toll, and share the quiet Of tho earth.
Thou pausest not In thine allotted task,
oh darkling. River! through the night hear
Thy wavslets ripping on the pebbly beach,
Z Aear thy current stir the rustlng sedge
That skirts thy bed thou intermittest not
Thine everlasting journey, drawing on
A eiivsry train from many mountain brook
And woodland spring. The dwellor by thy side,
Who moored bis little boat upon thy beach,
rhoush all the waters that upborc It then
Have slid away Ger night, shall find, at morn,
Thy channel filed with waters freshly drawn
Prom distant cliff. and hollows where the rill
Comes m amid the water-fags. All night
Thou givest moisture to the thirsty roots
or the 1.-the willow and o'erhanging plain,
And chaishest the heritage on thy bank,
Specified with little flowers and sendest up,
perpetuaDy, the vapors from thy face
70 stscp the hills with dew, or darken heaven
With marching clouds that trail the abundant showers
oh River, dsrkling River what voice
Il that thou interest while all else Is still
The ancient vti,e that centuries ago,
Sounded between thy hills while Rome was yet
wsSdy solitude by rlhsr's s.saami -.
How many, at this hour along thy course,
elumber TO thine eternal murmuringa,
That mngle with the utterancc of their drsansl
At dead Of night the child awakes and hears
Thy soft, familiar dashngs, and Is soothsd,
And sleeps again. An airy multitude
OF little echoes, all unheard by day, t.a'.E
Family repeat, till morning, alter thee
The story Of thine endless goings forth.
Yet there are those who lie beside thy bed,
For whom thou once didst the bowers that screen
Thy margin, and didst water the green fields,
And now there Is no night so still that they
Cen hear thy lapse their sluu,bers, we're thy voice
Louder than oceans, It could never break.
For them the early violet no more
Opens upon thy bank, nor, for their eyes,
Glitter the crimson pictures Of the clouds
Upon thy bozom, when the sun goes down.
Their memories are abroad-the memories
or those who last were gathered to the earth
Lingering within the homes in which they sat,
Hovesing about the paths in which they trod,
Hsunting them Ike presence. Even now
They visit many dreamer In the forms
They walked in, ere, a. last, they the shroud
And eyes there are that will not close to dream,
For weeping and for thinking Of the grave,
Tho nsw-made grave, and the pale ono within.
These memories and these sorrows all shall fade
And naaa away and freshcr memories
And newer scrrows come and dwell while
Beside thy border, aud, in turn, depart.
On glide thy waters till at last they fow
Beneath the windows of the populous town,
And all night long give back the CLEAN Of lamps,
Aud g,immer With the trains of light that stream
From halls where dancers whrl. A dmmsrrsy
Touches thy surface from the silent room
In which they tend the sick, or gather round
The dying aud slender, steady beam
Comes from the little chamber in tho roof
Where, With feverous Grim son on he. cheek,
The solitary damsci, dying too,
Plies the quick needle till the stars grow ra,e.
There close beside ths haunts Of revel stond
The blank, unightei windows, where the poor,
In darkness and in hunger, wake till morn,
There, drowsiy, on the halfconscious ear
OF the dull watohmun, pacing the wharf,
Falls the soft ripple Of thy waves that strike
On the moored bark; but suslt:er listeners
Arc near, the providers Of the night who steal
Prom shadowy nook to shaaowy nook, and stsrt
II other sounds than thine in the air.
Oh glide away from those abodeE, that bring
Pollution TO thy channel and make foul
Thy once clear current. Summon thy quick waves
And dimpling eddies lnger not, but haste,
With I'll thy waters, haste thee TO the deep,
Theee to be tossed by shifting wiuds, and rocked
BY that mysterious force which lives within
1hs seas immensity, and Yields the weight
OF its abyssea swaying to and fro,
The bilowy mess, until the stain, at length,
Shall wholly pass away, and thou regain
Tho crystal brightness Of thy mountain srrings