Classic and Contemporary Poetry
OUR RIVER; FOR A SUMMER FESTIVAL AT 'THE LAURELS', by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Once more on yonder laurelled height Last Line: And make a joy of duty. Subject(s): Merrimac (river) | ||||||||
ONCE more on yonder laurelled height The summer flowers have budded; Once more with summer's golden light The vales of home are flooded; And once more, by the grace of Him Of every good the Giver, We sing upon its wooded rim The praises of our river: Its pines above, its waves below, The west-wind down it blowing, As fair as when the young Brissot Beheld it seaward flowing, -- And bore its memory o'er the deep, To soothe a martyr's sadness, And fresco, in his troubled sleep, His prison-walls with gladness. We know the world is rich with streams Renowned in song and story, Whose music murmurs through our dreams Of human love and glory; We know that Arno's banks are fair, And Rhine has castled shadows, And, poet-tuned, the Doon and Ayr Go singing down their meadows. But while, unpictured and unsung By painter or by poet, Our river waits the tuneful tongue And cunning hand to show it, -- We only know the fond skies lean Above it, warm with blessing, And the sweet soul of our Undine Awakes to our caressing. No fickle sun-god holds the flocks That graze its shores in keeping; No icy kiss of Dian mocks The youth beside it sleeping: Our Christian river loveth most The beautiful and human; The heathen streams of Naiads boast, But ours of man and woman. The miner m his cabin hears The ripple we are hearing; It whispers soft to homesick ears Around the settler's clearing: In Sacramento's vales of corn, Or Santee's bloom of cotton, Our river by its valley-born Was never yet forgotten. The drum rolls loud, -- the bugle fills The summer air with clangor; The war-storm shakes the solid hills Beneath its tread of anger; Young eyes that last year smiled in ours Now point the rifle's barrel, And hands then stained with fruits and flowers Bear redder stains of quarrel. But blue skies smile, and flowers bloom on, And rivers still keep flowing, -- The dear God still his rain and sun On good and ill bestowing. His pine-trees whisper, "Trust and wait!" His flowers are prophesying That all we dread of change or fall His love is underlying. And thou, O Mountain-born! -- no more We ask the wise Allotter Than for the firmness of thy shore, The calmness of thy water, The cheerful lights that overlay Thy rugged slopes with beauty, To match our spirits to our day And make a joy of duty. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONCORD BY THE MERRIMACK by EDNA DEAN PROCTOR MERRIMACK RIVER AT ITS MOUTH by EDNA DEAN PROCTOR MERRIMACK RIVER AT ITS SOURCE by EDNA DEAN PROCTOR JUNE ON THE MERRIMAC by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER R.S.S. AT DEER ISLAND ON THE MERRIMAC by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER REVISITED by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER THE BAY OF SEVEN ISLANDS by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER THE VALE OF THE MERRIMAC by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER AMY WENTWORTH; FOR WILLIAM BRADFORD by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER AN AUTOGRAPH (1) by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER |
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