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Here, from dim woods, the aged past
And lonely river, seaward rolled.
Broad are these streams-my steed obeys,
O'er woody vale and grassy height;
Is this a time to be cloudy and sad,
When our mother Nature laughs around;
When even the deep blue heavens look glad,
And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground?
There are notes of joy from the hang-bird and wren,
And the wilding bee hums merrily by.
The clouds are at play in the azure space,
And their shadows at play on the bright green vale, And here they stretch to the frolic chase,
And there they roll on the easy gale.
There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower,
And look at the broad-faced sun, how he smiles
CHAINS may subdue the feeble spirit, but thee,
That creed is written on the untrampled snow,
Thundered by torrents which no power can hold, Save that of God, when he sends forth his cold, And breathed by winds that through the free heaven blow. Thou, while thy prison walls were dark around,
Didst meditate the lesson Nature taught,
And to thy brief captivity was brought
A vision of thy Switzerland unbound.
The bitter cup they mingled, strengthened thee
AN INVITATION TO THE COUNTRY.
ALL day, from shrubs by our summer dwelling,
A merry warbler, he chides the blossoms,
The blue-bird chants, from the elm's long branches,
Come, daughter mine, from the gloomy city,
Though many a flower in the wood is waking,
She pushes upward the sward already,
No lays so joyous as these are warbled
Yet these sweet lays of the early season
Are only sweet when we fondly listen,
There is no glory in star or blossom
Till breathed with joy as they wander by.
Come, Julia dear, for the sprouting willows,