Poetical Works of William Cullen Bryant. Bryant William Cullen

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      Late, from this Western shore, that morning chased

      The deep and ancient night, which threw its shroud

      O'er the green land of groves, the beautiful waste,

      Nurse of full streams, and lifter-up of proud

      Sky-mingling mountains that o'erlook the cloud.

      Erewhile, where yon gay spires their brightness rear,

      Trees waved, and the brown hunter's shouts were loud

      Amid the forest; and the bounding deer

      Fled at the glancing plume, and the gaunt wolf yelled near.

      And where his willing waves yon bright blue bay

      Sends up, to kiss his decorated brim,

      And cradles, in his soft embrace, the gay

      Young group of grassy islands born of him,

      And crowding nigh, or in the distance dim,

      Lifts the white throng of sails, that bear or bring

      The commerce of the world; – with tawny limb,

      And belt and beads in sunlight glistening,

      The savage urged his skiff like wild bird on the wing.

      Then all this youthful paradise around,

      And all the broad and boundless mainland, lay

      Cooled by the interminable wood, that frowned

      O'er mount and vale, where never summer ray

      Glanced, till the strong tornado broke his way

      Through the gray giants of the sylvan wild;

      Yet many a sheltered glade, with blossoms gay

      Beneath the showery sky and sunshine mild,

      Within the shaggy arms of that dark forest smiled.

      There stood the Indian hamlet, there the lake

      Spread its blue sheet that flashed with many an oar,

      Where the brown otter plunged him from the brake,

      And the deer drank: as the light gale flew o'er,

      The twinkling maize-field rustled on the shore;

      And while that spot, so wild, and lone, and fair,

      A look of glad and guiltless beauty wore,

      And peace was on the earth and in the air,

      The warrior lit the pile, and bound his captive there.

      Not unavenged – the foeman, from the wood,

      Beheld the deed, and, when the midnight shade

      Was stillest, gorged his battle-axe with blood;

      All died – the wailing babe – the shrinking maid

      And in the flood of fire that scathed the glade,

      The roofs went down; but deep the silence grew,

      When on the dewy woods the day-beam played;

      No more the cabin-smokes rose wreathed and blue,

      And ever, by their lake, lay moored the bark canoe.

      Look now abroad – another race has filled

      These populous borders – wide the wood recedes,

      And towns shoot up, and fertile realms are tilled;

      The land is full of harvests and green meads;

      Streams numberless, that many a fountain feeds,

      Shine, disembowered, and give to sun and breeze

      Their virgin waters; the full region leads

      New colonies forth, that toward the western seas

      Spread, like a rapid flame among the autumnal trees.

      Here the free spirit of mankind, at length,

      Throws its last fetters off; and who shall place

      A limit to the giant's unchained strength,

      Or curb his swiftness in the forward race?

      On, like the comet's way through infinite space.

      Stretches the long untravelled path of light,

      Into the depths of ages; we may trace,

      Afar, the brightening glory of its flight,

      Till the receding rays are lost to human sight.

      Europe is given a prey to sterner fates,

      And writhes in shackles; strong the arms that chain

      To earth her struggling multitude of states;

      She too is strong, and might not chafe in vain

      Against them, but might cast to earth the train

      That trample her, and break their iron net.

      Yes, she shall look on brighter days and gain

      The meed of worthier deeds; the moment set

      To rescue and raise up, draws near – but is not yet.

      But thou, my country, thou shalt never fall,

      Save with thy children – thy maternal care,

      Thy lavish love, thy blessings showered on all —

      These are thy fetters – seas and stormy air

      Are the wide barrier of thy borders, where,

      Among thy gallant sons who guard thee well,

      Thou laugh'st at enemies: who shall then declare

      The date of thy deep-founded strength, or tell

      How happy, in thy lap, the sons of men shall dwell?

      To him who in the love of Nature holds

      Communion with her visible forms, she speaks

      A various language; for his gayer hours

      She has a voice of gladness, and a smile

      And eloquence of beauty, and she glides

      Into his darker musings, with a mild

      And healing sympathy, that steals away

      Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts

      Of the last bitter hour come like a blight

      Over thy spirit, and sad images

      Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,

      And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,

      Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart; —

      Go forth, under the open sky, and list

      To Nature's teachings, while from all around —

      Earth and her waters, and the depths of air —

      Comes a still voice – Yet a few days, and thee

      The all-beholding sun shall see no more

      In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,

      Where thy pale form was СКАЧАТЬ