A MOTHER'S WALK WITH HER CHILD.
Who wore the platted thorn with bleeding brows,
Rules universal nature. Not a flower
But shows some touch, in freckle, freak, or stain,
Of his unrivall'd pencil. He inspires
Their balmy odours, and imparts their hues,
And bathes their eyes with nectar.-
Happy who walks with him.
COME to the woods, my boy!
Come to the streams and bowery dingles forth,
My happy child! The spirit of bright hours
Wooes us in every wind; fresh wild-leaf scents
From thickets where the lonely stock-dove broods,
Enter our lattice; fitful songs of joy
Float in with each soft current of the air;
And we will hear their summons; we will give
One day to flowers, and sunshine, and glad thoughts,
And thou shalt revel 'midst free nature's wealth,
And, for thy mother, twine wild wreaths; while she
From thy delight, wins to her own fond heart
The vernal ecstasy of childhood back;-
Come to the woods, my boy!
What! wouldst thou lead already to the path
Along the copsewood brook? Come, then! in truth
Meet playmate for a child, a blessed child,
Is a glad singing stream, heard, or unheard,
Singing its melody of happiness
Amidst the reeds, and bounding in free grace
To that sweet chime.-With what a sparkling life
It fills the shadowy dingle! now the wing
Of some low-skimming swallow shakes bright spray
Forth to the sunshine from its dimpled wave;
Now, from some pool of crystal darkness deep,
The trout springs upward, with a showery gleam
And plashing sound of waters. What swift rings
Of mazy insects o'er the shallow tide
Seem, as they glance, to scatter sparks of light
From burnish'd films! And mark yon silvery line
Of gossamer, so tremulously hung
Across the narrow current, from the tuft
Of hazels to the hoary poplar's bough!
See, in the air's transparence, how it waves,
Quivering and glistening with each faintest gale,
Yet breaking not—a bridge for fairy shapes,
How delicate, how wondrous!
Well may we make the stream's bright winding vein Our woodland guide, for He who made the stream Made it a clue to haunts of loveliness,
For ever deepening. O, forget him not,
Dear child! that airy gladness which thou feel'st
Wafting thee after bird and butterfly,
As 't were a breeze within thee, is not less
His gift, his blessing on thy spring-time hours,
Than this rich outward sunshine, mantling all
The leaves, and grass, and mossy tinted stones
With summer glory. Stay thy bounding step,
My merry wanderer! let us rest awhile
By this clear pool, where, in the shadow flung
From alder boughs and osiers o'er its breast,
The soft red of the flowing willow-herb
So vividly is pictured. Seems it not
E'en melting to a more transparent glow
In that pure glass? Oh! beautiful are streams!
And, through all ages, human hearts have loved
Their music, still accordant with each mood
Of sadness or of joy. And love hath grown
Into vain worship, which hath left its trace
On sculptured urn and altar, gleaming still
Beneath dim olive boughs, by many a fount
Of Italy and Greece. But we will take
Our lesson e'en from erring hearts, which bless'd
The river Deities or fountain Nymphs,
For the cool breeze, and for the freshening shade,
And the sweet water's tune. The One supreme,
The all-sustaining, ever-present God,
Who dower'd the soul with immortality,
Gave also these delights, to cheer on earth
Its fleeting passage; therefore let us greet
Each wandering flower scent as a boon from Him,
Each bird-note, quivering 'midst light summer leaves,
And every rich celestial tint unnamed,
Wherewith transpierced, the clouds of morn and eve
Kindle and melt away!
And now, in love, In grateful thoughts rejoicing, let us bend Our footsteps onward to the dell of flowers Around the ruin'd mansion. Thou, my boy, Not yet, I deem, hast visited that lorn But lovely spot, whose loveliness for thee Will wear no shadow of subduing thoughtNo colouring from the past. This way our path Winds through the hazels;-mark how brightly shoots
The dragon-fly along the sunbeam's line,
Crossing the leafy gloom. How full of life,
The life of song, and breezes, and free wings,
Is all the murmuring shade! and thine, O thine!
Of all the brightest and the happiest here,
My blessed child! my gift of God! that mak'st
My heart o'erflow with summer!
Thy wreath so soon! yet will we loiter not,
Though here the blue-bell wave, and gorgeously
Round the brown twisted roots of yon scathed oak
The heath-flower spread its purple. We must leave
The copse, and through yon broken avenue,
Shadow'd by drooping walnut foliage, reach
The ruin's glade.
And, lo! before us, fair,
Yet desolate, amidst the golden day,
It stands, that house of silence! wedded now
To verdant nature by the o'ermantling growth
Of leaf and tendril, which fond woman's hands
Once loved to train. How the rich wall-flower scent
From every niche and mossy cornice floats,
Embalming its decay! The bee alone
Is murmuring from its casement, whence no more
Shall the sweet eyes of laughing children shine,
Watching some homeward footstep. See! unbound
From the old fetter'd stone-work, what thick wreaths
Of jasmine, borne by waste exuberance down,
Trail through the grass their gleaming stars, and load
The air with mournful fragrance, for it speaks
Of life gone hence; and the faint southern breath
Of myrtle leaves from yon forsaken porch,
Startles the soul with sweetness! Yet rich knots
Of garden flowers, far wandering, and self-sown
Through all the sunny hollow, spread around
A flush of youth and joy, free nature's joy,
Undimm'd by human change. How kindly here,
With the low thyme and daisies they have blent!
And, under arches of wild eglantine,
Drooping from this tall elm, how strangely seems,
The frail gumcistus o'er the turf to snow
Its pearly flower-leaves down!-Go, happy boy!
Rove thou at will amidst these roving sweets,
Whilst I, beside this fallen dial-stone,
Under the tall moss rose-tree, long unpruned,
Rest where thick clustering pansies weave around
Their many-tinged mosaic, 'midst dark grass,
Bedded like jewels.
He hath bounded on,
Wild with delight!-The crimson on his cheek
Purer and richer e'en than that which lies
In this deep-hearted rose-cup!-Bright moss-rose!
Though not so lorn, yet surely, gracious tree!
Once thou wert cherish'd! and, by human love,
Through many a summer duly visited
For thy bloom-offerings, which, o'er festal board, And youthful brow, and e'en the shaded couch Of long-secluded sickness, may have shed
Yet shall there still be joy,
Where God hath pour'd forth beauty, and the voice
Of human love shall still be heard in praise
Over his glorious gifts!-O Father, Lord!
The All Beneficent! I bless thy name,
That thou hast mantled the green earth with flowers,
Linking our hearts to nature! By the love
|