The Somerset reporter. [volume] (Skowhegan, Me.) 1868-1909, 1894-09-27

Fed upon minors throbbinR notes.
Perhaps, somewhere, prisoners ear
This strange wild music, too, may hear
Enlarged by distance, till the brain
Grows dim with faneies bringing near
Lost scenes, with visionary pain.
/ look abroad on Natures face,
on hills and plains in beauty spread,
On Natures foliage, full Of grace,
The while the sun sets, warm and red
With ripAling laugh on the distant shore,
The silver wavelets break,
Dreaming, | rest on my Idle oar,
As drift DER the quiet lake.
The pines sing low to the evening breeze,
And out in the gathering gloom,
The primrose is swinging, beneath the
trees,
Her censers of sweetest perfume.
The fair water lilies have anchored their
fleets,
And furled each snowy sail;
They are guarding well their cargoes of
sweets,
With a care that shall not fail
The silver rim of the crescent moon
Dips down behind the hill;
And the sleeping world, lies still.
The stars Of Heaven are beaming bright
And calm. in the rolf skies,
My boats rocks soft on the drifting tide
As the light swells fall and rise.
While, far, in distant forests ever,
The brooklet answers to the calling river
And singing slips away through arches
dim.
It's heart runs over, and it must deliver
Unto all its liquid hymn.
Through solemn woods and flow cry meads
BY many happy home, 1t creeps,
Through cities restless hearts, it speeds,
Into the oceans endless deeps,
1t sweeps and sleeps.
The meadow brooks run on, and babble,
The green boughs whisper to the breeze,
The moon of yet shines as tender
As once throu Oh Eden's trees;
And from affair, the pine woods sweet
tones flow,
And float, like angel harp-chords sad and
low.
| watch the night come slowly down,
The silver moon come up the sky
listen to the sad voiced wind
As it sweeps gently, softly by.
His loose hair streams behind him
Ger hill and hollow, where none may
follow,
He flies where none may find him
With only Gods hand behind him.
A quickstep is his greatest passion.
Oh, how he roars on the hills;
Or pours out low voluntary,
Sly love making, with the rlls.
When black clouds cover the west,
And hang on the tops of the trees
A duet he has with the brook
song with the pines, madcap breeze!
Oh sing to me. wind, in another tone,
OF the loved and lost from the cold world
Let thy gentle murmurs float, soft and low
Like the morning bells Of the long ago.
The moon withheld her welcome light
And thick black clouds lay cold
Upon the neighboring mountains height
And on the lonely world.
And lips like music's own have chanted,
OF the wierd but pleasant strain,
Played on airy harps at midnight
BY the fingers of the rain.i
Well may we whose lives glide onward
Like some tune subdued and sweet,
Hear no dismal echoes wakened
By the night rains pattering feet
Hark What heavenly strains of music,
Through the distance, cool and dim
AS my fancy leans to listen
While old Ocean chants his hymn
Oh. Eternal Ocean, making
Endless music, evermore,
Thou art telling tales of sadness
As thy pillows sweep the shore.
still forever and forever
Through the Ages yet to be,
Thou wilt toss and tumble ever
Ocean of Eternity.
Oh heetng dreaml oh music strair
So sad and yet so sweet
Youths charm, may never bind again
Youths dreams are fair and fleet,
But il we set our hearts in tune
To Natures harmonies
Our lives will ripen into song
Our thoughts be melodies.