The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1868-12-31
POETRY.
AMONG THE TREES.
By WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT

BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYAsT
oh We who love TO overhang the springs
And stand by running waters We whose boughs
MAKE beautiful the rocks Ger winch they play,
Who pile with foliage the great Mills, and rear
A narsdise upon the lonely plain,
Trees or the forest and the open field!
Have We no sense OF being! Does the air.
The n1re air which breathe with glad ness. pass
In onshes O er your delicate lungs, your leaves
All unenjoyed? " hen in your Winter sleep
The sun shines warm, have ye no dreams OF spring!
And when the glorious spring time comes at last,
Have We no Joy of all yodr bursting buds,
And fragrant blooms, and melody q glros ...i,o
And wrestie with the wind, yet know II not'
Feel ye no glory in your strength Wnen n ne tf,,
And Leaves Won stronger yet? Or have we not
A sense of loss when he has stripped your leaves
noes the lond bolt that smites you from the cloud
And rends you, fall Hnfelt? Do there not run
Strange chickering's through your flores when the
:. ,.,s axe AGAINST YOU, and The shining blade
Deals blew on blow. until, with all their boughs
YOur summits waver and ye fall TO the earth!
Know We no eadness when the hurricane
Has swept the wood and snapped its sturdy ste ms
Asunder. or has wrenched. from out the col.
The mi ghtest with their circles OF strong roots,
And oil ed the ruin al! along his path!
Nay, doubt we not that under the rongh rind,
In the green veins of these fair growth? 81 earth
There dwells nature that receives dellght
And shrinks from loss of cling Dim and faint
Nav b, the sense of pleasure and OF palnp
Ain our dreams; but, haply, real still.
Our sorrows touch you not. We, watch beside
The beds of those who langnsh or who die,
And minister in sadness, while our hearts
Offer perpetual prayer for life and ease
And health to the beloved sufferers.
Rut We while anxious fear and TAI ntlng hope
Are in our chambers, ye rejoice without
The funeral goes forth; silent train
Moves slowly from the desolate home; our hearts
Are breaking as we lay away the loved,
Whom we shall see no more, in their last rest,
Their little cells within the burial place
We have no part in this distress; for still
anT1ah mos ate
And t,nts the buds and swells the leaves within;
While the song-sparrow, warbling from her perch,
TelIa Won that Spring IL near. The wind OF May
Fssweet with breath of orchards, in whose boughs
The bees and every insect OF the ar
Make perpetual murmer oil deilght,
And by whose flowers the hum inning bird hangs
In ar and draws their sweets and darts away
The linden in the fervors of July,
HUNS with louder concert When the WIND
s,yeeDs the broad foreet in its summer prime,
AZ when soma master hand exultlng sweeps
The KEYS of some great organ, ye give forth
THE mnsic of the woodland depths, a hymn
0f badness and ofthanks The bermit-thrush
Pines his sweet note to make your arches ring
The faithful robin. from the wayside IN,
Carols all day to cheer his sitting mate.
Aud when the Autumn comes the kings OF earth,
IN all their majesty, are not arrayea
Asye are clothing the broad mountain side
And snotting the smooth wales with red and gold,
While swaying to the sudden breeze, ye fling
NO gather them and barks with childish glee,
Ana scampers with them TO his hollo~ oak.
The cheertulness of nature till in time
The constant misery which wrings the he art
Reents aud we rejoice with you again,
And glory in your beauty till once more
We look with pleasure on your vanished leaves,
That gaily glance in sunshine, and Can hear,
litter in whispers to the babbling brook.
Ye have no history. can not know 8H ~
Who when the hillside trees were hewn away,
Haply two centuries since, babe spare this oak,
Leaning to shade. with his irregular arms,
LON bent and long, the fount that from his roots
Ti nppow W. not who hut thank him that he left
The tree TO flourish where the acornfell
And ioin these latter days to that far time
While vet the Indian hunter drew the bow
Tn the dim woods and the white woodman first
Opened these fields to sunshine turned the soil
And strewed the wheat A n 1nrenlvnberec Pas
OF this old tree. which has outliyed SO long
The fitting generation, OF mankind.
Ye have no history. ask In vain
Who planted on the slope this lofty group
OF ancient pear trees tn It with spring time burst
Into such breadth OF bloom One bears a'scar
Where the quick lightning scored its trunk, y Z,
1t feels the breath of Spring. and every May
Is white witt blossoms. Who 1t WAS that laid
Their infant roots in earth, and tendcriy
Cherished the delicate sprays, l a<kin Vain,
Yet bless the unknown hand to which owe
This annual festival OF bees. these songs -t.ss !.
Thirds within their eafy screen. these sh luts
or joy from children gathering upthe fruit sa
Shaken in August from the willing boughs.
Yet my hand have planted or have spared,
Beside the way, or in the orchard ground,
Or in the open meadow, ye whose oonghs
With every summer spread wider shade,
Whose herd in coming years shall lie at rest,
Beneath your noon lide shelter? who all pluck
Your ripened fruitt who grave. as was the wont
OF similar pastoral ages, on the rind
or nay smooth beeches some beloved name!
Idly ask; yet may the eyes that look
Upon you, in your later nObler growth,
Look also on an q nobler age than ours;
An age when, in the eternal strife between
Evil and Good, the Power of Coed shall win
A grand mastery; when kings no more
Shall millions from the plough 10 learn
The trade of slaughter. and of populous realms
Make camps Of war; when in our younger land
The hand of rutfian Violence that now
IL insolenty raised to smite, shall fall
Unnerved before the calm rebuke OF law
And fraud his sly confederate, shrinks, in shame
Back to hiscovert, and forego his prey. E.es
-PNtndm's MG0dsiae, Jan.