Written by
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow |
"Give me of your bark, O Birch-tree!
Of your yellow bark, O Birch-tree!
Growing by the rushing river,
Tall and stately in the valley!
I a light canoe will build me,
Build a swift Cheemaun for sailing,
That shall float on the river,
Like a yellow leaf in Autumn,
Like a yellow water-lily!
"Lay aside your cloak, O Birch-tree!
Lay aside your white-skin wrapper,
For the Summer-time is coming,
And the sun is warm in heaven,
And you need no white-skin wrapper!"
Thus aloud cried Hiawatha
In the solitary forest,
By the rushing Taquamenaw,
When the birds were singing gayly,
In the Moon of Leaves were singing,
And the sun, from sleep awaking,
Started up and said, "Behold me!
Gheezis, the great Sun, behold me!"
And the tree with all its branches
Rustled in the breeze of morning,
Saying, with a sigh of patience,
"Take my cloak, O Hiawatha!"
With his knife the tree he girdled;
Just beneath its lowest branches,
Just above the roots, he cut it,
Till the sap came oozing outward;
Down the trunk, from top to bottom,
Sheer he cleft the bark asunder,
With a wooden wedge he raised it,
Stripped it from the trunk unbroken.
"Give me of your boughs, O Cedar!
Of your strong and pliant branches,
My canoe to make more steady,
Make more strong and firm beneath me!"
Through the summit of the Cedar
Went a sound, a cry of horror,
Went a murmur of resistance;
But it whispered, bending downward,
'Take my boughs, O Hiawatha!"
Down he hewed the boughs of cedar,
Shaped them straightway to a frame-work,
Like two bows he formed and shaped them,
Like two bended bows together.
"Give me of your roots, O Tamarack!
Of your fibrous roots, O Larch-tree!
My canoe to bind together,
So to bind the ends together
That the water may not enter,
That the river may not wet me!"
And the Larch, with all its fibres,
Shivered in the air of morning,
Touched his forehead with its tassels,
Slid, with one long sigh of sorrow.
"Take them all, O Hiawatha!"
From the earth he tore the fibres,
Tore the tough roots of the Larch-tree,
Closely sewed the hark together,
Bound it closely to the frame-work.
"Give me of your balm, O Fir-tree!
Of your balsam and your resin,
So to close the seams together
That the water may not enter,
That the river may not wet me!"
And the Fir-tree, tall and sombre,
Sobbed through all its robes of darkness,
Rattled like a shore with pebbles,
Answered wailing, answered weeping,
"Take my balm, O Hiawatha!"
And he took the tears of balsam,
Took the resin of the Fir-tree,
Smeared therewith each seam and fissure,
Made each crevice safe from water.
"Give me of your quills, O Hedgehog!
All your quills, O Kagh, the Hedgehog!
I will make a necklace of them,
Make a girdle for my beauty,
And two stars to deck her bosom!"
From a hollow tree the Hedgehog
With his sleepy eyes looked at him,
Shot his shining quills, like arrows,
Saying with a drowsy murmur,
Through the tangle of his whiskers,
"Take my quills, O Hiawatha!"
From the ground the quills he gathered,
All the little shining arrows,
Stained them red and blue and yellow,
With the juice of roots and berries;
Into his canoe he wrought them,
Round its waist a shining girdle,
Round its bows a gleaming necklace,
On its breast two stars resplendent.
Thus the Birch Canoe was builded
In the valley, by the river,
In the bosom of the forest;
And the forest's life was in it,
All its mystery and its magic,
All the lightness of the birch-tree,
All the toughness of the cedar,
All the larch's supple sinews;
And it floated on the river
Like a yellow leaf in Autumn,
Like a yellow water-lily.
Paddles none had Hiawatha,
Paddles none he had or needed,
For his thoughts as paddles served him,
And his wishes served to guide him;
Swift or slow at will he glided,
Veered to right or left at pleasure.
Then he called aloud to Kwasind,
To his friend, the strong man, Kwasind,
Saying, "Help me clear this river
Of its sunken logs and sand-bars.
"
Straight into the river Kwasind
Plunged as if he were an otter,
Dived as if he were a beaver,
Stood up to his waist in water,
To his arm-pits in the river,
Swam and scouted in the river,
Tugged at sunken logs and branches,
With his hands he scooped the sand-bars,
With his feet the ooze and tangle.
And thus sailed my Hiawatha
Down the rushing Taquamenaw,
Sailed through all its bends and windings,
Sailed through all its deeps and shallows,
While his friend, the strong man, Kwasind,
Swam the deeps, the shallows waded.
Up and down the river went they,
In and out among its islands,
Cleared its bed of root and sand-bar,
Dragged the dead trees from its channel,
Made its passage safe and certain,
Made a pathway for the people,
From its springs among the mountains,
To the waters of Pauwating,
To the bay of Taquamenaw.
|
Written by
John Gould Fletcher |
I
Like a gaunt, scraggly pine
Which lifts its head above the mournful sandhills;
And patiently, through dull years of bitter silence,
Untended and uncared for, starts to grow.
Ungainly, labouring, huge,
The wind of the north has twisted and gnarled its branches;
Yet in the heat of midsummer days, when thunderclouds ring the horizon,
A nation of men shall rest beneath its shade.
And it shall protect them all,
Hold everyone safe there, watching aloof in silence;
Until at last one mad stray bolt from the zenith
Shall strike it in an instant down to earth.
II
There was a darkness in this man; an immense and hollow darkness,
Of which we may not speak, nor share with him, nor enter;
A darkness through which strong roots stretched downwards into the earth
Towards old things:
Towards the herdman-kings who walked the earth and spoke with God,
Towards the wanderers who sought for they knew not what, and found their goal
at last;
Towards the men who waited, only waited patiently when all seemed lost,
Many bitter winters of defeat;
Down to the granite of patience
These roots swept, knotted fibrous roots, prying, piercing, seeking,
And drew from the living rock and the living waters about it
The red sap to carry upwards to the sun.
Not proud, but humble,
Only to serve and pass on, to endure to the end through service;
For the ax is laid at the roots of the trees, and all that bring not forth
good fruit
Shall be cut down on the day to come and cast into the fire.
III
There is a silence abroad in the land to-day,
And in the hearts of men, a deep and anxious silence;
And, because we are still at last, those bronze lips slowly open,
Those hollow and weary eyes take on a gleam of light.
Slowly a patient, firm-syllabled voice cuts through the endless silence
Like labouring oxen that drag a plow through the chaos of rude clay-fields:
"I went forward as the light goes forward in early spring,
But there were also many things which I left behind.
"Tombs that were quiet;
One, of a mother, whose brief light went out in the darkness,
One, of a loved one, the snow on whose grave is long falling,
One, only of a child, but it was mine.
"Have you forgot your graves? Go, question them in anguish,
Listen long to their unstirred lips.
From your hostages to silence,
Learn there is no life without death, no dawn without sun-setting,
No victory but to him who has given all.
"
IV
The clamour of cannon dies down, the furnace-mouth of the battle is silent.
The midwinter sun dips and descends, the earth takes on afresh
its bright colours.
But he whom we mocked and obeyed not, he whom we scorned and mistrusted,
He has descended, like a god, to his rest.
Over the uproar of cities,
Over the million intricate threads of life wavering and crossing,
In the midst of problems we know not, tangling, perplexing, ensnaring,
Rises one white tomb alone.
Beam over it, stars,
Wrap it round, stripes -- stripes red for the pain that he bore for you --
Enfold it forever, O flag, rent, soiled, but repaired through your anguish;
Long as you keep him there safe, the nations shall bow to your law.
Strew over him flowers:
Blue forget-me-nots from the north, and the bright pink arbutus
From the east, and from the west rich orange blossom,
And from the heart of the land take the passion-flower;
Rayed, violet, dim,
With the nails that pierced, the cross that he bore and the circlet,
And beside it there lay also one lonely snow-white magnolia,
Bitter for remembrance of the healing which has passed.
|
Written by
William Blake |
THEL'S MOTTO
1 Does the Eagle know what is in the pit?
2 Or wilt thou go ask the Mole?
3 Can Wisdom be put in a silver rod?
4 Or Love in a golden bowl?
I
1.
1 The daughters of the Seraphim led round their sunny flocks,
1.
2 All but the youngest: she in paleness sought the secret air,
1.
3 To fade away like morning beauty from her mortal day:
1.
4 Down by the river of Adona her soft voice is heard,
1.
5 And thus her gentle lamentation falls like morning dew:
1.
6 "O life of this our spring! why fades the lotus of the water,
1.
7 Why fade these children of the spring, born but to smile and fall?
1.
8 Ah! Thel is like a wat'ry bow, and like a parting cloud;
1.
9 Like a reflection in a glass; like shadows in the water;
1.
10 Like dreams of infants, like a smile upon an infant's face;
1.
11 Like the dove's voice; like transient day; like music in the air.
1.
12 Ah! gentle may I lay me down, and gentle rest my head,
1.
13 And gentle sleep the sleep of death, and gentle hear the voice
1.
14 Of him that walketh in the garden in the evening time.
"
1.
15 The Lily of the valley, breathing in the humble grass,
1.
16 Answer'd the lovely maid and said: "I am a wat'ry weed,
1.
17 And I am very small and love to dwell in lowly vales;
1.
18 So weak, the gilded butterfly scarce perches on my head.
1.
19 Yet I am visited from heaven, and he that smiles on all
1.
20 Walks in the valley and each morn over me spreads his hand,
1.
21 Saying, 'Rejoice, thou humble grass, thou new-born lily-flower,
1.
22 Thou gentle maid of silent valleys and of modest brooks;
1.
23 For thou shalt be clothed in light, and fed with morning manna,
1.
24 Till summer's heat melts thee beside the fountains and the springs
1.
25 To flourish in eternal vales.
' Then why should Thel complain?
1.
26 Why should the mistress of the vales of Har utter a sigh?"
1.
27 She ceas'd and smil'd in tears, then sat down in her silver shrine.
1.
28 Thel answer'd: "O thou little virgin of the peaceful valley,
1.
29 Giving to those that cannot crave, the voiceless, the o'ertired;
1.
30 Thy breath doth nourish the innocent lamb, he smells thy milky garments,
1.
31 He crops thy flowers while thou sittest smiling in his face,
1.
32 Wiping his mild and meekin mouth from all contagious taints.
1.
33 Thy wine doth purify the golden honey; thy perfume,
1.
34 Which thou dost scatter on every little blade of grass that springs,
1.
35 Revives the milked cow, and tames the fire-breathing steed.
1.
36 But Thel is like a faint cloud kindled at the rising sun:
1.
37 I vanish from my pearly throne, and who shall find my place?"
1.
38 "Queen of the vales," the Lily answer'd, "ask the tender cloud,
1.
39 And it shall tell thee why it glitters in the morning sky,
1.
40 And why it scatters its bright beauty thro' the humid air.
1.
41 Descend, O little Cloud, and hover before the eyes of Thel.
"
1.
42 The Cloud descended, and the Lily bow'd her modest head
1.
43 And went to mind her numerous charge among the verdant grass.
II
2.
1 "O little Cloud," the virgin said, "I charge thee tell to me
2.
2 Why thou complainest not when in one hour thou fade away:
2.
3 Then we shall seek thee, but not find.
Ah! Thel is like to thee:
2.
4 I pass away: yet I complain, and no one hears my voice.
"
2.
5 The Cloud then shew'd his golden head and his bright form emerg'd,
2.
6 Hovering and glittering on the air before the face of Thel.
2.
7 "O virgin, know'st thou not our steeds drink of the golden springs
2.
8 Where Luvah doth renew his horses? Look'st thou on my youth,
2.
9 And fearest thou, because I vanish and am seen no more,
2.
10 Nothing remains? O maid, I tell thee, when I pass away
2.
11 It is to tenfold life, to love, to peace and raptures holy:
2.
12 Unseen descending, weigh my light wings upon balmy flowers,
2.
13 And court the fair-eyed dew to take me to her shining tent:
2.
14 The weeping virgin trembling kneels before the risen sun,
2.
15 Till we arise link'd in a golden band and never part,
2.
16 But walk united, bearing food to all our tender flowers.
"
2.
17 "Dost thou, O little Cloud? I fear that I am not like thee,
2.
18 For I walk thro' the vales of Har, and smell the sweetest flowers,
2.
19 But I feed not the little flowers; I hear the warbling birds,
2.
20 But I feed not the warbling birds; they fly and seek their food:
2.
21 But Thel delights in these no more, because I fade away;
2.
22 And all shall say, 'Without a use this shining woman liv'd,
2.
23 Or did she only live to be at death the food of worms?' "
2.
24 The Cloud reclin'd upon his airy throne and answer'd thus:
2.
25 "Then if thou art the food of worms, O virgin of the skies,
2.
26 How great thy use, how great thy blessing! Every thing that lives
2.
27 Lives not alone nor for itself.
Fear not, and I will call
2.
28 The weak worm from its lowly bed, and thou shalt hear its voice,
2.
29 Come forth, worm of the silent valley, to thy pensive queen.
"
2.
30 The helpless worm arose, and sat upon the Lily's leaf,
2.
31 And the bright Cloud sail'd on, to find his partner in the vale.
III
3.
1 Then Thel astonish'd view'd the Worm upon its dewy bed.
3.
2 "Art thou a Worm? Image of weakness, art thou but a Worm?
3.
3 I see thee like an infant wrapped in the Lily's leaf
3.
4 Ah! weep not, little voice, thou canst not speak, but thou canst weep.
3.
5 Is this a Worm? I see thee lay helpless and naked, weeping,
3.
6 And none to answer, none to cherish thee with mother's smiles.
"
3.
7 The Clod of Clay heard the Worm's voice and rais'd her pitying head:
3.
8 She bow'd over the weeping infant, and her life exhal'd
3.
9 In milky fondness: then on Thel she fix'd her humble eyes.
3.
10 "O beauty of the vales of Har! we live not for ourselves.
3.
11 Thou seest me the meanest thing, and so I am indeed.
3.
12 My bosom of itself is cold, and of itself is dark;
3.
13 But he, that loves the lowly, pours his oil upon my head,
3.
14 And kisses me, and binds his nuptial bands around my breast,
3.
15 And says: 'Thou mother of my children, I have loved thee
3.
16 And I have given thee a crown that none can take away.
'
3.
17 But how this is, sweet maid, I know not, and I cannot know;
3.
18 I ponder, and I cannot ponder; yet I live and love.
"
3.
19 The daughter of beauty wip'd her pitying tears with her white veil,
3.
20 And said: "Alas! I knew not this, and therefore did I weep.
3.
21 That God would love a Worm I knew, and punish the evil foot
3.
22 That wilful bruis'd its helpless form; but that he cherish'd it
3.
23 With milk and oil I never knew, and therefore did I weep;
3.
24 And I complain'd in the mild air, because I fade away,
3.
25 And lay me down in thy cold bed, and leave my shining lot.
"
3.
26 "Queen of the vales," the matron Clay answer'd, "I heard thy sighs,
3.
27 And all thy moans flew o'er my roof, but I have call'd them down.
3.
28 Wilt thou, O Queen, enter my house? 'Tis given thee to enter
3.
29 And to return: fear nothing, enter with thy virgin feet.
"
IV
4.
1 The eternal gates' terrific porter lifted the northern bar:
4.
2 Thel enter'd in and saw the secrets of the land unknown.
4.
3 She saw the couches of the dead, and where the fibrous roots
4.
4 Of every heart on earth infixes deep its restless twists:
4.
5 A land of sorrows and of tears where never smile was seen.
4.
6 She wander'd in the land of clouds thro' valleys dark, list'ning
4.
7 Dolours and lamentations; waiting oft beside a dewy grave
4.
8 She stood in silence, list'ning to the voices of the ground,
4.
9 Till to her own grave plot she came, and there she sat down,
4.
10 And heard this voice of sorrow breathed from the hollow pit.
4.
11 "Why cannot the Ear be closed to its own destruction?
4.
12 Or the glist'ning Eye to the poison of a smile?
4.
13 Why are Eyelids stor'd with arrows ready drawn,
4.
14 Where a thousand fighting men in ambush lie?
4.
15 Or an Eye of gifts and graces show'ring fruits and coined gold?
4.
16 Why a Tongue impress'd with honey from every wind?
4.
17 Why an Ear, a whirlpool fierce to draw creations in?
4.
18 Why a Nostril wide inhaling terror, trembling, and affright?
4.
19 Why a tender curb upon the youthful burning boy?
4.
20 Why a little curtain of flesh on the bed of our desire?"
4.
21 The Virgin started from her seat, and with a shriek
4.
22 Fled back unhinder'd till she came into the vales of Har.
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