The Portland daily press., 1868-12-15
Poetry.
from putnam's Magazine for Januaryl

nv WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT

HY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
n, mn who love to overriding the springs,
an2 stand by running waters, ye whose boughs
Make beautiful the rock Ger which they play
Who pile with lollsge the great hills, end rear
Trees of the forest and the open field!
Have ye no sense of being? Does the air,
The pure air which breathe with gladness, pass
In gusbes Ger Your delicate lungs, your leaves
All unenjoyed? When on your Winter-sieeP
The sun shines warm, have ye no dreams Oh Spo.ns'
And, when the glorious spring line CONES az ias'
Have We no Joy OF all your bursting puus,
And fragrant blooms and melody Of BIRDS
To which vour yo ing leaves SILVER? do yc strive
And wresfie with the wind, yet know 1t not?
Feel We no glory in your strength when he,
The exhausted Blusterer, flies beyond the bills,
And leaves you stronger yet? OR have We not
A sense of loss when be las stripped your leaves,
Yet tender, and has splintered Jour fair boughs?,
Does lie loud bit that smites you from the cloud
And rends YOU. fall unfelt? Do there not run
Strange shuaderngs through your flores when the
Is raised against YOU, and the shining blade
Deals blow on blow, until, with all their boughs,
Your summits waver and ye fall TO carths
Know We no sadness when the hurricane
Has swept the wood and snapped its sturdy stems
Asunder. or has wrenched, from out the soil,
The mightest with their circles of strong roots,
And piled the ruin all along his path?
Nay. doubt ye not that under the rough rind'
In the green veins of these tar growthsS i o
There dwes a nature thai receives delight
From all the gentle processes ofhies a .,,,t
And shrtnks from loss of being. I'm anu 'ai"'
May be the sense OF pleasure anu anu, ~ In pam
AS In our dreams; but, hapiS' ie"' s'iAi'
Our sorrows touch yon not. We watch beside
The bens of those who Ianguish or who die,
And mini ster in sadness, while our hearts
Offer nernetual prayer tor life and ease
And heath to the beloved sufferers
But We, while anxious felr and fanting hope
Are In our chambers, ye rejoice without.
The funeral goes forth: sill mt train
Moves slowly from the desolate home; our hearts
Are reaking as we Law away the loved,
Whom we shall see no more In their last rest,
Their little coils within the burial place.
Ye have no part in this distress; for still
The Febru Try sunshine sleeps your boughs
And tints the buds and swells the leaves within;
While the sone-sparrow, warbllng from her perch,
Tells YOU tnat Spring is ne r. The wind OF May
Is sweet with breath OF orchards, in whose boughs
The bees and every insect OF the air
Make perpetual murmur of delight,
And by. whose flowers the humming-bird hangs
poisei
In air, and draws their darts and sweets away,
Tue linden, in the tervors of july,
HUNS with louder concert. When the wind
Sweeps the br0a l forest IN its summer PRIME
As when some mas er-hand exulting sweeps
The Keys OF some great organ. ye give forth
Or gladness and of thanks. The hermit thrush
Pipes his sweet note to make your arches ring.
The faithful robin, from the wayside elm,
Carols all day to cheer his sitting mate.
And when the Autumn comes the kings of earth,
In all their majesty, are not arrayed
As ye are, clothing the broad mountain-side,
And spnttiug the smooth wales with red and gold
While, swayine to the sudden breeze We fiu1
Your nuts 10 earth. and the isk squirrel comes
TO gather them, and barks with childish glee,
And scampers with them to his hollow oak
~, THUS, as the seasons pass, We keep alive
The cheerfunes of nature, till IN time
The constant misery which wings the heart
iielents, and we rejoice with you again,
Al glory IN your beauty till once more
we look with pleasure on your vanished leaves,
That gaily glance in sunshine and can hear,
Delghed, the soft answer which your boughs
otter IN whispers TO the babbling brook.