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This night gives back that double day,
Which clothed the earth when I was young!
By parted hero-angels sung:
It stirred my heart; and through my tongue
The entrancement of that time is o'er,
A calmer, freer soul is here;
I dream not as I dreamed of yore,
Awake to sin, awake to fear;
I own the earth,—I see, I hear,
Farewell, wild world of bygone days,
Burly, dozing humble-bee,
Where thou art is clime for me.
Insect lover of the sun,
Sailor of the atmosphere;
Swimmer through the waves of air;
Voyager of light and noon;
Epicurean of June;
Wait, I prithee, till I come
Within earshot of thy hum,—-
When the south wind, in May-days,
With a net of shining haze
Silvers the horizon wall,
And, with softness touching all,
In Indian wildernesses found;
Of Syrian peace, immortal leisure,
Firmest cheer, and bird-like pleasure.
Clover, catchfly, adder's-tongue,
Wiser far than human seer,
Thou dost mock at fate and care,
Leave the chaff, and take the wheat.
Ralph Waldo Emerson.
TO A WATERFOWL.
Whither, midst falling dew,
While glow the heavens with the last steps of day,
Thy solitary way?
Vainly the fowler's eye
Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,
Thy figure floats along.
Seek'st thou the plashy brink
Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide,
On the chafed ocean-side
There is a Power whose care
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast-
Lone-wandering, but not lost.
All day thy wings have fanned,
At that far height, the cold thin atmosphere,
And soon that toil shall end,
Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest
Thou' art gone—the abyss of heaven
He who, from zone to zone,
Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, 30 In the long way that I must tread alone,
Will lead my steps aright.
William Cullen Bryant.
Joy for the promise of our loftier homes!
A weary weight it lay upon my youth,
Ere I could tell of what I should complain;
Hours of a dim despondency were there,
Like clouds that take its colour from the rose,
Youth grew in strength to bear a stronger chain;
In knowledge grew-to know itself a slave;
To feel a wider grave.
What woe into the startled spirit sank,
It touched the crystal wall!
Far spreads this mystery of death and sin,
O for the time when in our seraph wings
THE PALM-TREE AND THE PINE.
Beneath an Indian palm a girl
Of other blood reposes;
Her cheek is clear and pale as pearl,
Beside a northern pine a boy
Is learning fancy-bound,
Nor listens where with noisy joy