THE MOUNTAIN STREAMS.

The Mountain is awake; and hark! his voice
Rings like a giant's, joyous in his sport,
Joyous, yet changeful still; in torrents here,
Loud thundering, whispering there, in gentle rills,
That, soft as zephyr's sigh, breathe love and joy
And gladness to all hearts.

The Mountains yield no fairer sight
Than, mid these steep alcoves,

Th' unnumbered streams that burst to light,
Where'er my foostep roves.

Bright waters from the mountain urns,
Come rushing down each glen,
Where'er the eye delighted turns,

In crouds like moving men.

And full of life, as human forms,
Rejoicingly and gay,

Alike in sunshine and in storms,

They speed along their way.

Each tiny rill leaps lightly down,
All careless of the shock ;
And laughs amid the sullen frown
Of precipice and rock.

And pausing now its waters lay,

A moment at my feet,

Spread mirror-like, then haste away

Its kindred streams to meet.

Still onward swiftly as they pass,
Each joins his fellow rill;

Till, swollen at length, the mighty mass
Sweeps down the sundered hill.

The fount that scarce sufficed to cool
My burning breast e'en now,
A headlong torrent, scorning rule,
Bursts from the mountain's brow.

What late, with light or careless stride,
The foot of youth had crost,
Rolls soon, a deep and rapid tide,

Afar, in distance lost!

And is not human life portrayed
In this fair stream aright;
As gushing from its parent glade,
And sparkling into light,

It sweeps with gathering strength along,
Oft flashing into wrath;

Like manhood, swelling, deep as strong,

Along its sounding path.

How changed, from when, all life and glee,
Its waters leaped for joy;
Rejoicing, from its fount set free,

Like heart of happy boy!

Subsiding into milder mood,

It wanders o'er the plain,
Till tamed by toil, by time subdued,
It mingles with the main.

Thus time will urge life's gliding bark

Still onward to the sea;

Till lost amid thy billows dark,

Unknown Eternity!

Alas! for men's impatient mind,

Impatient as the stream,

That hastes to leave youth's joys behind, For manhood's darker dream.

But I, not yet, will quit thy side,
Fair streamlet! sporting free,
Pleased rather, longer to abide,
Amid the hills with thee.

Methinks, in these deep solitudes,
Might nymph or dryad dwell,
Where no rude step of man intrudes,
To break fair fancy's spell.

E'en now, from yonder distant glen,
A voice is in mine ear;
Unheard in haunts of busy men,
Deep felt in silence here.

Tis nature's self, with soft control,
That speaks in that deep voice ;
That bids her son, with kindling soul,
In all her works rejoice.

And gladly his fond heart believes

Such promptings from above;

Her charms explores, her truth receives And triumphs in her love.

Each shade of discontent retires, With sorrows troubled dreams; While hope revives, and high desires Flash bright as mountain streams.

SCENES FROM THE PAST.

BOOK THIRD.

8*