Читать книгу Graham's Magazine, Vol. XLI, No. 5, November 1852 - Various - Страница 7

  “My right to love, and thine to know,

   The life-stream, in its seaward flow,

   Glides, chainless, ’neath the drifted snow.”

Wherever it listeth the free-born wind bloweth:

Wherever it willeth the stream of song floweth:

It revels in twin-light – its lone threads run single;

It passeth calm seas with wild Caspians to mingle.

If blest with true life-mate, in roughest of weather,

They join their glad voices and rush on together;

If lost in a lake whose fair surface is calmer,

It but hides in its bosom to warble there warmer.

If Spring lay a couch all enameled with flowers,

It lingers, enrapt, with the soft rosy hours,

And lists the wood-birds, and the meek insect-hummer,

Through the soft, growing idless of thought-teeming Summer.

And when Fall strews a carpet of brown o’er the meadow

It rests in the dusk of some mountain’s vast shadow;

Laughs out at the vain who look in for their faces,

For it mirrors great groups of the Nations and Races.

Though the Song-stream must cease all its rich, liquid flowing

When Time’s boreal breath o’er cold icebergs is blowing,

While closed the chill surface its depths who shall number,

Or the beats of its heart through the long polar slumber!

For the stream of true song hath a far-reaching mission;

It but gropeth while here, like sick sleeper in vision;

Or like volatile babe, its first word-lessons taking,

It catches faint glimpse of the vastness awaking.

As whither it listeth the free-born wind bloweth,

Wherever God willeth the true Song-stream floweth:

From all Dead Seas it holdeth its crystal wave single,

Till it riseth from earth with sky-dews to commingle.