THE soft Southwest says, Take thy rest
To-day upon Nature’s kindly breast!
Those trees, that throw a network glow,
Of sable and gold, on the floor below,
Gleamed out last night, enamelled bright
In the kindling flush of my camp-fire’s light.
From far crept fine the panther’s whine,
And moaned and moaned the sorrowing pine.
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.