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THE BEAUTIFUL RIVER.
There together we sat by the beautiful stream ;
In the days that have gone on before.
name, With the ones I shall welcome no more.
But it may be that angels are calling them o'er,
For a Sabbath and summer forever,
And the shroud shall be woven, no never !
As we gazed on the river unrolled,
When it flowed through the gateway of gold !
“Jennie June,” then I said, “ let us linger no more
On the banks of the beautiful river;
And we'll steal into heaven together.
That you wore while you wandered with me,
We long have been waiting for thee.'”
Oh! how sweetly she spoke, ere she uttered a word,
With that blush, partly hers, partly even's,
As she whispered, “This way is not heaven's:
Oh! that river is nothing like this,
Till It breaks into beauty and bliss."
I am lingering yet, but I linger alone,
On the banks of the beautiful river ; 'Tis the twin of that day, but the wave where it shone Bears the willow-tree's shadow forever.
BENJAMIN F. TAYLOR.
Rhymes of the River.
How broad thou art growing ! And the sentinel headlands wait grimly for thee;
And Euroclydon urges
The bold-riding surges
O bright-hearted river,
With crystalline quiver,
And I think, as I gaze
On the tremulous blaze,
Through the black heart of night,
Leaping out to the light, Thou art reeking with sunset, and dyed with the dawn ;
Cleft the emerald sod
Cleft the mountains of GodAnd the shadows of roses yet rusted thereon !
Where willows are weeping,
Where shadows are sleeping, Where the frown of the mountain lies dark on thy crest;
Arcturus now shining,
Arbutus now twining, And “my castles in Spain” gleaming down in thy breast; RHYMES OF THE RIVER.
Then disastered and dim,
Swinging sullen and grim,
Creeping in, creeping out,
As in dream, or in doubt,
When all crimson and gold,
Slowly home to the fold
Then, no longer brook-born,
But a way paved with morn,
In the great stony heart
Of the feverish mart,
By gray mossy ledges,
By green velvet edges,
Broad and brave, deep and strong,
Thou art lapsing along;
As light as the drifted
White swan's breast is lifted, Or a June fleet of lilies at anchor may ride.
And yet, gallant river,
I would part from thee here,
With a smile and a tear,
Ah, well I remember,
Ere dying December
O’er thy waters so narrow
The little brown sparrow
With a silvery skein
Wove of snow and of rain,
All the air a sweet psalm,
And the meadow a palm,As a blue vein meanders a liberal hand.
When the school-master's daughter
With her hands scooped the water, And laughingly proffered the crystal to me,
O, there ne'er sparkled up
A more exquisite cup Than the pair of white hands that were brimming with thee !
And there all together,
In bright summer weather,
And how silent we grew,
If the robin came too, When he looked up to pray, and then bent down to drink!
Ah, where are the faces,
From out thy still places,
As we bent hand in hand,
Thou didst double the band, As idle as daisies--and fleeting as they!
RHYMES OF THE RIVER.
Like the dawn in the cloud,
Lay the babe in its shroud,
At the mother's last look
It had opened the book,
O pure placid river,
Make music forever
For on thy far shore,
Gently drifted before,
Ah, beautiful river,
Flow onward forever !
If a tree has been shaken,
If a star has been taken,
I take up the old words,
Like the song of dead birds, That were breathed when I stood farther off from the sea:
When I heard not its hymn,
When the headlands were dim :Shall I ever again weave a rhythm for thee?
BENJAMIN F. TAYLOR.