| |
| BUBBLING within some basin green | |
| So fringed with fern, the woodcock’s bill | |
| Scarce penetrates the leafy screen, | |
| Leaps into life the infant rill. | |
| Oozing along, a winding streak, | 5 |
| O’er moss and grass, it whispers meek, | |
| Then swelling o’er some barrier root | |
| The tiny ripples onward shoot, | |
| Then the clear sparkling waters spread | |
| And deepen down their sloping bed, | 10 |
| Until, a streamlet bright and strong, | |
| The Willewemoc glides along | |
| Through its wild forest depths, to bear | |
| Its homage to the Delaware. | |
| |
| Now pebbly shallows, where the deer | 15 |
| Just bathes his crossing hoof, and now | |
| Broad hollowed creeks, that, deep and clear, | |
| Would whelm him to his antlered brow. | |
| Here, the smooth silver sleeps so still, | |
| The ear might catch the faintest trill; | 20 |
| The bee’s low hum, the whir of wings, | |
| And the sweet songs of grass-hid things. | |
| There, dashing by, in booming shocks, | |
| So loud their wrath the waters wreak, | |
| Mid floating trees and scattered rocks, | 25 |
| They drown the fierce gray eagle’s shriek. | |
| Here, the slight cowslip from the moss | |
| In ripples breaks the amber gloss; | |
| There, the whirled spray-showers upward fly | |
| To the slant firs crag-rooted high. | 30 |
| |
| Blue sky, pearl cloud, and golden beam | |
| Beguile my steps this summer day, | |
| Beside the lone and lovely stream, | |
| And through its sylvan scenes to stray: | |
| The moss, too delicate and soft | 35 |
| To bear the tripping bird aloft, | |
| Slopes its green velvet to the sedge, | |
| Tufting the mirrored water’s edge, | |
| Where the slow eddies wrinkling creep | |
| Mid swaying grass in stillness deep: | 40 |
| The sweet wind scarce has breath to turn | |
| The edges of the leaves, or stir | |
| The fragile wreath of gossamer | |
| Embroidered on yon clump of fern. | |
| The stream incessant greets my ear | 45 |
| In hollow dashings, full round tones, | |
| Purling through alder branches here, | |
| There gurgling o’er the tinkling stones; | |
| The rumble of the waterfall | |
| Majestic sounding over all. | 50 |
| |
| Before me spreads the sheltered pool, | |
| Pictured with tree-shapes black and cool; | |
| Here, the roofed water seems to be | |
| A solid mass of ebony; | |
| There, the broad surface glances bright | 55 |
| In dazzling gleams of spangled light, | |
| Now the quick darting waterfly | |
| Ploughs its light furrow, skimming by, | |
| While circling o’er in mazy rings | |
| The chirping swallow dips his wings; | 60 |
| Relieved against yon sunny glare | |
| The gnat-swarms, dust-like, speck the air; | |
| From yon deep cove where lily-gems | |
| Are floating by their silken stems, | |
| Out glides the dipping duck, to seek | 65 |
| The narrow windings of the creek, | |
| The glitterings of his purple back | |
| Disclosing far his sinuous track; | |
| Now, sliding down yon grassy brink, | |
| I see the otter plunge and sink, | 70 |
| Yon bubbling streak betrays his rise, | |
| And through the furrowing sheet he plies. | |
| |
| The aspen shakes, the hemlock hums, | |
| Damp with the shower the west-wind comes; | |
| Rustling in heaps the quivering grass, | 75 |
| It darkening dots the streamlet’s glass, | |
| And rises with the herald-breeze | |
| The cloud’s dark umber o’er the trees; | |
| A veil of gauze-like mist it flings, | |
| Dimples the stream with transient rings, | 80 |
| And soon beneath this tent-like tree | |
| The swift, bright glancing streaks I see, | |
| And hear around in murmuring strain | |
| The gentle music of the rain. | |
| Then bursts the sunshine warm and gay, | 85 |
| The misty curtain melts away, | |
| The cloud in fragments breaks, and through | |
| Trembles in spots the smiling blue; | |
| A fresh, damp sweetness fills the scene, | |
| From dripping leaf and moistened earth, | 90 |
| The odor of the wintergreen | |
| Floats on the airs that now have birth; | |
| Dashes and air-bells all about | |
| Proclaim the gambols of the trout, | |
| And calling bush and answering tree | 95 |
| Echo with woodland melody. | |
| Now the piled west in pomp displays | |
| The radiant forms that sunset weaves; | |
| And slanting lines of golden haze | |
| Are streaming through the sparkling leaves. | 100 |
| A clear, sweet, joyous strain is heard,— | |
| It is the minstrel mocking-bird. | |
| The strain of every songster floats | |
| Within his rich and splendid notes; | |
| The bluebird’s warble, brief and shrill; | 105 |
| The wailing of the whippoorwill; | |
| The robin’s call, the jay’s harsh screech, | |
| His own sweet music heard through each. | |
| His three-toned anthem now he sings, | |
| Liquid and low and soft it rings; | 110 |
| Then rising with a swell more clear, | |
| It melts upon the bending ear, | |
| Till with a piercing, flourished flight, | |
| He bids the darkening scene good night. | |
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