Ho! We are the Nepheliads, we,
Who bring the clouds from the great sea,
And have within our happy care
All the love 'twixt earth and air.
We it is with soft new showers
Wash the eyes of the young flowers;
And with many a silvery comer
In the sky, delight the summer;
And our bubbling freshness bringing,
Set the thirsty brooks a singing,
Till they run for joy, and turn
Every mill-wheel down the burn.
We too tread the mightier mass
Of clouds that take whole days to pass;
And are sometimes forced to pick
With fiery arrows through the thick,
Till the cracking racks asunder
Roll, and awe the world with thunder.
Then the seeming freshness shoots,
And clears the air, and cleans the fruits,
And runs, heart-cooling, to the roots.
Sometimes on the shelves of mountains
Do we rest our burly fountains;
Sometimes for a rainbow run
Right before the laughing Sun;
And if we slip down to earth
With the rain for change of mirth,
Worn-out winds and pattering leaves
Are what we love; and dripping eaves
Dotting on the sleepy stone;
And a leafy nook and lone,
Where the bark on the small treen
Is with moisture always green;
And lime-tree bowers, and grass-edged lanes,
With little ponds that hold the rains,
Where the nice-eyed wagtails glance,
Sipping 'twixt their jerking dance.
But at night in heaven we sleep,
Halting our scatter'd clouds like sheep;
Or are pass'd with sovereign eye
By the Moon, who rideth by
With her sidelong face serene,
Like a most benignant queen.
Then on the lofty-striking state
Of the up-coming Sun we wait,
Showing to the world yet dim
The colours that we catch from him,
Ere he reaches to his height,
And lets abroad his leaping light.
And then we part on either hand
For the day; but take our stand
Again with him at eventide,
Where we stretch on either side
Our lengthen'd heaps, and split in shows
Of sharp-drawn isles in sable rows,
With some more faint, or flowery red;
And some, like bands of hair that spread
Across a brow with parted tress
In a crisp auburn waviness;
And mellow fervency between
Of fiery orange, gold, and green,
And inward pulpiness intense,
As if great Nature's affluence
Had open'd its rich heart, and there
The ripeness of the world was bare.
And lastly, after that blest pause,
The Sun, down stepping, half withdraws
His head from heaven; and then do we
Break the mute pomp, and ardently
Sing him in glory to the sea.
SIX YEARS OLD, DURING A SICKNESS.
Sleep breathes at last from out thee,
My little, patient boy;
And balmy rest about thee
Smooths off the day's annoy.
I sit me down and think
Of all thy winning ways,
Yet almost wish, with sudden shrink,
That I had less to praise.
Thy sidelong pillow'd meekness,
Thy thanks to all that aid,
Thy heart, in pain and weakness,
Of fancied faults afraid;
The little trembling hand
That wipes thy quiet tears,
These, these are things that may
Dread memories for years.
Sorrows I've had, severe ones,
I will not think of now;
And calmly, midst my dear ones,
Have wasted with dry brow;
But when thy fingers press
And pat my stooping head,
I cannot bear the gentleness,—
The tears are in their bed.
Ah, first-born of thy mother,
When life and hope were new,
Kind playmate of thy brother,
Thy sister, father, too;
My light, where'er I go,
My bird, when prison-bound,
My hand in hand companion,-no,
My prayers shall hold thee round.
To say "He has departed"-
"His voice-his face-is gone;"
To feel impatient-hearted,
Yet feel we must bear on;
Ah, I could not endure
To whisper of such woe,
Unless I felt this sleep ensure
That it will not be so.
Yes, still he's fixed, and sleeping!
This silence too the while-
Its very hush and creeping
Seem whispering us a smile:-
Something divine and dim
Seems going by one's ear,
Like parting wings of Cherubim,
When lovely sounds about my ears
Like winds in Eden tree-tops rise,
And make me, though my spirit hears,
For very luxury close my eyes,
Let none but friends be round about
Who love the smoothing joy like me,
That so the charm be felt throughout,
And all the harmony.
And when we reach the close divine,
Then let the hand of her I love
Come with its gentle palm on mine
As soft as snow or lighting dove;
And let, by stealth, that more than friend
Look sweetness in my opening eyes,
For only so such dreams should end,
Or wake in Paradise.
The sun is up, and 'tis a morn of May
Round old Ravenna's clear-shown towers and bay,
A morn, the loveliest which the year has seen,
Last of the spring, yet fresh with all its green;
For a warm eve, and gentle rains at night,
Have left a sparkling welcome for the light,
And there's a crystal clearness all about;
The leaves are sharp, the distant hills look out;
A balmy briskness comes upon the breeze;
The smoke goes dancing from the cottage trees;
And when you listen, you may hear a coil,
Of bubbling springs about the grassy soil;
And all the scene, in short-sky, earth, and sea-
Breathes like a bright-eyed face, that laughs out openly.
'Tis Nature, full of spirits, waked and springing:
The birds to the delicious time are singing,
Darting with freaks and snatches up and down,
Where the light woods go seaward from the town;
While happy faces, striking through the green
Of leafy roads, at every turn are seen;
And the far ships, lifting their sails of white
Like joyful hands, come up with scattery light,
Come gleaming up, true to the wish'd-for day,
And chase the whistling brine, and swirl into the bay.
It was a lovely evening, fit to close
A lovely day, and brilliant in repose.
Warm, but not dim, a glow was in the air;
The soften'd breeze came smoothing here and there;
And every tree, in passing, one by one,
Gleam'd out with twinkles of the golden sun:
For leafy was the road, with tall array,
On either side, of mulberry and bay,
And distant snatches of blue hills between;
And there the alder was with its bright green,
And the broad chestnut, and the poplar's shoot,
That, like a feather, waves from head to foot,
With, ever and anon, majestic pines;
And still from tree to tree the early vines
Hung garlanding the way in amber lines.
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