The hunter of the west must go
In depth of woods to seek the deer.
His rifle on his shoulder placed,
His stores of death arranged with skill,
His moccasins and snow-shoes laced,–
Why lingers he beside the hill?
Far, in the dim and doubtful light,
Where woody slopes a valley leave,
He sees what none but lover might,
The dwelling of his Genevieve.
And oft he turns his truant eye,
And pauses oft, and lingers near;
But when he marks the reddening sky,
He bounds away to hunt the deer.
And hie me away to the woodland scene,Where wanders the stream with waters of green,As if the bright fringe of herbs on its brinkHad given their stain to the wave they drink;And they, whose meadows it murmurs through,Have named the stream from its own fair hue.Yet pure its waters–its shallows are brightWith coloured pebbles and…
Mid the dark rocks that watch his bed,Glitters the mighty Hudson spread,Unrippled, save by drops that fallFrom shrubs that fringe his mountain wall;And o’er the clear still water swellsThe music of the Sabbath bells.All, save this little nook of landCircled with trees, on which I stand;All, save that line of hills which lieSuspended in the…
And made the darkness glorious! I have seenYour rays grow dim upon the horizon’s edge,And sink behind the mountains. I have seenThe great Orion, with his jewelled belt,That large-limbed warrior of the skies, go downInto the gloom. Beside him sank a crowdOf shining ones. I look in vain to findThe group of sister-stars, which mothers…
And thought that when I came to lieAt rest within the ground,‘Twere pleasant, that in flowery June,When brooks send up a cheerful tune,And groves a joyous sound,The sexton’s hand, my grave to make,The rich, green mountain-turf should break.A cell within the frozen mould,A coffin borne through sleet,And icy clods above it rolled,While fierce the tempests…
Why wouldst thou be a sea at eve,When but a fount the morning found thee?Born when the skies began to glow,Humblest of all the rock’s cold daughters,No blossom bowed its stalk to showWhere stole thy still and scanty waters.Now on thy stream the noonbeams look,Usurping, as thou downward driftest,Its crystal from the clearest brook,Its rushing…
Beneath the verdure of the plain,The warrior’s scattered bones away.Pay the deep reverence, taught of old,The homage of man’s heart to death;Nor dare to trifle with the mouldOnce hallowed by the Almighty’s breath.The soul hath quickened every part–That remnant of a martial brow,Those ribs that held the mighty heart,That strong arm–strong no longer now.Spare them,…
