Samuel Griswold Goodrich

The shore hath blent with the distant skies, O'er the bend of the crested seas, And the leaning ship in her pathway flies,

When I was young long, long ago I dreamed myself among the flowers; And fancy drew the picture so,

I. I'll tell you a Fairy Tale that's new: How the merry Elves o'er the ocean flew

And 'mid the awful stillness Of their grave, The forest oaks have flourished

When man from Paradise was driven, And thorns around his pathway sprung, Sweet Mercy wandering there from heaven

The sun has sunk behind the hills, The shadows o'er the landscape creep; A drowsy sound the woodland fills,

I. As down life's morning stream we glide, Full oft some Flower stoops o'er its side,

Peace to the dead! The forest weaves, Around your couch, its shroud of leaves; While shadows dim and silence deep,

Father of Lakes! thy waters bend, Beyond the eagle's utmost view, When, throned in heaven, he sees thee send

Life is a journey, and its fairest flowers Lie in our path beneath pride's trampling feet; Oh, let us stoop to virtue's humble bowers,

You bid the minstrel strike the lute, And wake once more a soothing tone Alas! its strings, untuned, are mute,

At misty dawn, At rosy morn, The Redbreast sings alone:

Oh think not with love's soft token, Or music my heart to thrill For its strings its strings are broken,

Twas morn, and, wending on its way, Beside my path a stream was playing; And down its banks, in humor gay,

In days of yore, while yet the world was new, And all around was beautiful to view When spring or summer ruled the happy hours,

At evening it rose in the hollow glade, Where wild-flowers blushed 'mid silence and shade; Where, hid from the gaze of the garish noon,

Our altar is the dewy sod Our temple yon blue throne of God: No priestly rite our souls to bind

In midnight dreams the Wizard came, And beckoned me away With tempting hopes of wealth and fame,

My boat is on the bounding tide, Away, away from surge and shore; A waif upon the wave I ride,

I. As a shadow He flew, but sorrow and wail Came up from his path, like the moan of the gale.

It came with spring's soft sun and showers, Mid bursting buds and blushing flowers; It flourished on the same light stem,

On a tall cliff that overhung the deep, A maniac stood. He heeded not the sweep Of the swift gale that lashed the troubled main,

One summer morn, while yet the thrilling lay, Of the dew-loving lark was full and strong, Trampling the wild flowers in my careless way,

Friend of my early days, we meet once more! Once more I stand thine aged boughs beneath, And hear again the rustling music pour,

I. Far, far away, where sunsets weave Their golden tissues o'er the scene,

Love and Hope and Youth, together Travelling once in stormy weather, Met a deep and gloomy tide,

Two bubbles on a mountain stream, Began their race one shining morn, And lighted by the ruddy beam,

The sportive sylphs that course the air, Unseen on wings that twilight weaves, Around the opening rose repair,

Far, far o'er the deep is my island throne, Where the sea-gull roams and reigns alone; Where nought is seen but the beetling rock,

I. The cannon is mute and the sword in its sheath Uncrimsoned the banner floats joyous and fair:

I. In the far off sea there is many a sprite, Who rests by day, but awakes at night.

I saw a child some four years old, Along a meadow stray; Alone she went unchecked untold

Along that gloomy river's brim, Where Charon plies the ceaseless oar, Two mighty Shadows, dusk and dim,

Two neighbors, living on a hill, Had each and side by side a mill. The one was Jones, a thrifty wight

Here is the boundless ocean, there the sky, O'er-arching broad and blue Telling of God and heaven how deep, how high,

The spirit-harp within the breast A spirit's touch alone can know, Yet thine the power to wake its rest,

My pretty flower, How cam'st thou here? Around thee all