Forest Pictures in the Adirondacks

The hemlock spread my fragrant bed, And I lay till the live roof sang o’erhead.

Yes, balmy breeze, I’ll take sweet ease, Brimful of blisses, under the trees!

On yon dim spray, in russet gray, Sits the Saranac Nightingale piping away!

That speck upon the cloud just won, Is the black mountain eagle drinking the sun!

I’ll launch my boat, and idly float O’er the winding water, and all things note:

All things that gleam along the stream-- Water-bird, water-fly, blossom, or beam.

And thus the hours I’ll wing with flowers, And speed them away in these dreamy bowers.

THE STORM MOUNTAIN.

THE mountain frowns black to the battling storm. He bristles his bayonet-pines to dare The flashing, charge of the wrathful air. But yet the sunlight, cheery and warm, Kindling the darkness, paling the glare, Tells that the fierce warring foe will deform The scene little longer, but, shorn of his sway, Breaking and dwindling, will vanish away. While, scattered like stars in the glancing glow, Lilies gleam out from the lake’s deep gloom; And trees rich chequer of shadow throw Where wild birds warble and wild flowers bloom, And waterfalls tinkle in foamy flow.

Symbol of life in its shadow and sheen! Even when sorrow is shading the heart, Hope’s ray cheerily dances between, Telling the tempest will soon depart.

Symbol of thee, with the lake of thy tears, Oh land, and thy mountain of strife and of sorrow! But bright through the battle-rack Hope appears, Smiling in promise of golden morrow.

THE RAPIDS.

HO, the headlong rapids How they rush and rave, Roaring through the forest Like the stormy wave! How the curbless war-steeds Frenzied leap and strain! See the frantic war-steeds Toss their flashing mane!

Brief the noontide thunder! Brief the lightning’s ray! Ever rolls the bolt here, Ever gleams the spray! Woe, the crossing panther, Woe, the drinking deer, Should the monster grasp them With his fangs of fear!

See the shattered pine-trees How they lean and rock, As the bounding surges Beat with endless shock! Dashing, tearing, tumbling, Down the surges go! Ho, the tusks of granite How they champ the snow!

THE SHALLOW.

I LOVE the little shoal, the sandy shallow of the lake, Where towers the azure moosehead, glows the crimson Indian pink; Where proudly sails the golden-footed, purple-pinioned drake, And the yellow-throated, gem-eyed frog stares, hours, upon the brink!

There the darning-needle crooks among the rushes bristling round, The brassy deer-fly plants its tingling arrow in the skin; The water-soldier’s helmet shines, the eel-grass rich is wound In wavy floss of floating plumes to every stir within.

The sunlight, piercing downward, shows the shadows in their play Mottling the amber ooze, and there the water-beetles glance; There twist the gleamy, sunken twigs, the red-fin glistens gay, The spring uptwirls its glittering grains in endless circling dance.

And there the moon-white lily spreads her nightly-hiding cup, The sun-hued sister glows upon her pedestal of green; There glides the muskrat’s spotty head, bright air-bells bubble up, And there the little shiner casts its flash of silver sheen.

And when the plume moth skims the shoal, the kingly trout comes in With golden bronze and ruby gems and leopard-mantled back; There, rippling, wades the lordly buck, and with wide echoing din Salutes the loon the hunter’s moon along its sparkling track.

And ofttimes too there rounds to view, where spreads the grassy park, A reckless crew in birch canoe, with chorus rolling round, To set the camp, to trim the lamp, and, by the margin dark, Float for the deer with eye and ear on every sight and sound.

There undulates the water-shield, up points the pennoned grass; The rocking swallow seeks the gnat, the night-hawk rumbles o’er; The water-spider’s globule shoots in silver through the glass And floats the fire-fly’s throbbing torch of gold along the shore.

THE LOWER SARANAC.

LIGHTLY flies my fleet bark across the glittering water, Sweetly talk the ripples before the furrowing prow, Mellow streams the sunset within the skirting forest, Mellow melts the west wind in kisses on my brow.

Oh this life is glorious, this life within the wild-wood! Far, oh, far away flee the troubles of our lot! Wide expands the bosom, a boyish heart is dancing, Dancing with the gladness o’erflowing every spot!

Dreamy like the past stands-the distant blue Tahawhus; Gleamy like the present, old Moosehead rears his crest; Filmy like the future in front the bowery island; Sparkling like our wishes the water’s ripply breast.

Look, a wandering snowflake, the white gull in the distance! Indian pink on pinions, the red-bird’s darting glow! Upward leaps the trout, and afar the loon is floating, Dotting dark the sun-gleam, then flashing bright below.

Turn the buoyant bark through the elm’s cathedral archway! Nestles cool the cove filled with babble of the brook, Sunny specks, and spice from the lily’s pearly scallops; So from glare of life hides some sweet domestic nook.

Onward then again, for the sunset now has kindled Higher his grand camp-fire, and shines our tent before! Crimson clouds are painting the purpled lake’s enamel, Golden gauzes gleam in the glades along the shore.

Onward, onward, thus do we press upon our journey, Moved by restless longing, Heaven calling us away;-- Oh, may fading life be illumined like the sunset, Beaming brighter, brighter, till darkness veils the day!

THE WATERFALL.

WHEN the fir-tree dreams in the drowsy haze Of the motionless August hour; When even the eager-leafed aspen droops, And asleep is the bird in its bower; Wakeful alone sends the waterfall then Its mellow, melodious hum, Wafting a coolness where all is heat, And music where all is dumb.

In the bloomy May, when the buoyant day Is breezy and sunny and glad; When the lithe boughs sweep and the swift brooks leap, And the birds sing and soar as if mad; Amid this orchestral blithesomeness, This pæan of Spring-time’s reign, The waterfall’s bound fills the scene all round With its blending, exulting strain.

In its crannies the hair-stemmed columbine nods, The fern in its sprinkles drips; And the little black dipper all over the bridge Of the spanning pine-tree skips. And the bubbles they toss on the smitten gloss Of the dashing and flashing pool; Where the angler scoops up his wreathed hopple-leaf cup, And the trout poises deep in the cool.

THE MOUNTAIN RAVEN.

OH the pine-tree gaunt is the raven’s haunt On the mountain’s misty crown, Where the wild wind sings and the wild-wood swings, And the cataract tumbles down! And the mountain’s gloom has tinged his plume, The waterfall’s flash his eye, And the blast’s hoarse shout, as it rocks about The cedar-top, tunes his cry.

When the Lightning rears his flashing spears In his fierce, red, terrible wrath, The raven awakes, and his shout outbreaks In the gloom of his shadowy path. Oh, never the blast doth its fury cast Abroad but the raven is there! As drives the ship in the hurricane’s grip, He darts through the billowy air.

On the skeleton limb stands the raven grim, Whetting his beak in glee, While, quaking in fear, lies the bleeding deer, For it knows what its doom shall be! Oh the raven he hates, and never he mates With the sunshine so merry and bright; The ghoul of the woods, in their shadow he broods, And his wing is a blot on the light.

THE CATARACT.