The record-union., 1894-11-17
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

Read at the Bryant Birthday Centennial,
Great harrington, Mass.
An anthem sweeps nom hill to sea-
from harp of pine to organ wave,
a fragrance floats on breezeS free.
From flowers above Mount Auburn's grave.
The last of all the noble choir
Has gone who sat at Bryants feet;
ANA broken now is every Tyre
Ihat made the century's song complete.
Longteliow, Lowell Whittier, Holmes
Scarce sixteen autumns glide away,
Since shadows DER these mountain domes
Crept gently eastward cool and gray.
10 rest beside yon Cambridge towers,
On da!sled slope and stately lawn,
On winding streams and tranquil bowers,
But sixteen yearS-and all are gone.
Proud commonwealth, glorious shrine
Flom hill "rock-riboed" to flowing tide!
Dear mother-state, what tendrils Irvine
About thy porch of freedom wide!
What burning words in sturdy speech,
And eioquenCe surprising art!
What ringing lines that sway ana reach
The forum OF the human heart!
And he who woke the earliest strain
10 greet the morning ccir and bright,
knows well where tOndcsC Inem'ries reign
And at our banquet sits tonight.
For here, beside your fountains clear.
ne wrought With care ana dreamed OF lame,
beneath these arching elmS more dear
For whispering leaves that speak his name.
And here SO fair-haiie / woman" strayed
Mid meadow flowers that kissed her feet,
And here their fiTSt-bOra SWeetly PLAYED
About the threshold where me meet.
From Cummington's long Sabbath DAYS
His pathway widens to the sea,
Ger Berkshire Hills where sunlight plays
And every hour is blythe and free.
He fingers here in musing mood,
Serenely dWells mid friendship sweet,
In woodland scenes where f8ncles brood,
And gave the land Il guerdon meet.
For all reciprocal the gift
OF home or love to genius born,
y sentence or a line can lift
~ landscape 10 eternal morn.
Yon mountain rising bold and sheer
Has something more than outlook wide,
y Monument of mem'ry dear
Outlasting all the works Of pride.
No purer current ever flowed
Through poets heart in ripping song,
For you his living canvas glOWed,
To him Green Rivers banks belong.
Ay, he the Prosparo who filed
your woods and groves with fairies bright;
He touched the ROCK and nature thrilled
Responsive TO his wand of might
Inc partridge ana the So ulrrel knew,
Nor feared him as he wandered nigh
The Violet" and the "Gentian" blue
Looked upward with kindly eye
The "W aterfowl" in lonely flight
From river marge to SUMMER cline,
Becomes prophet OF the night,
A counSelO: on the shores of time
o wondrous power Ito fash a thought,
a cleaning lyric from the soul.
An arrowy word with sunlight fraught
To touch the heart and reach the goal;
To keep the dew of early youth,
To tell the story OF the free,
Proclaiming wide eternal truth
And glorious dawn Of liberty
High priest of nature! Ay, and mora,
Beside the narrowing realm of fate
Behold him standing by the shore
And calmly waiting at the gate;
To catch a far diviner breath
Above the clamor and the strife:
his earliest poems sang Of death
His latest anthems speak OF life
And so from out the autumn woods
And far athwart the purple sky.
Shall flOat his song of many moods
10 widen as the centuries die
Wallace Bruce