A NIGHT AMONG THE MOUNTAINS.
93
Are thy unnumbered airs, so softly sad
That even the heart, while weeping, they make glad.
How my heart swells within me! I have heard
Even in the language of a little bird,
A whisper as from God within my soul,
Waking strange thoughts that defied control;
And here the mountain-torrent speaks aloud,
Full of deep eloquence—the heavens are bowed,
The stars look down from their high homes above,
Calmly, religiously!—a voice of love
Is whispering all around, sweet as the breeze,
Yet mighty as the swelling of the seas,
When their wide bosoms heave tumultuously,
With inward passions, struggling to be free!
That even the heart, while weeping, they make glad.
How my heart swells within me! I have heard
Even in the language of a little bird,
A whisper as from God within my soul,
Waking strange thoughts that defied control;
And here the mountain-torrent speaks aloud,
Full of deep eloquence—the heavens are bowed,
The stars look down from their high homes above,
Calmly, religiously!—a voice of love
Is whispering all around, sweet as the breeze,
Yet mighty as the swelling of the seas,
When their wide bosoms heave tumultuously,
With inward passions, struggling to be free!
The red deer boundeth past; I hear it brush
The green leaves at my side; I hear the rush
Through the deep forest—yet I linger here!
The sound of falling waters on my ear
Hath poured wild music—I have learned to love
The things of nature as I aimless rove,
'Mid their dim majesty; they breathe a tone,
Of deep solemnity that speaks alone
To' the worn spirit, weary of the strife
It ever holdeth with the outward life;
Till soothed with sympathy it drops to rest,
Slumbering like peace upon its Maker's breast!
The green leaves at my side; I hear the rush
Through the deep forest—yet I linger here!
The sound of falling waters on my ear
Hath poured wild music—I have learned to love
The things of nature as I aimless rove,
'Mid their dim majesty; they breathe a tone,
Of deep solemnity that speaks alone
To' the worn spirit, weary of the strife
It ever holdeth with the outward life;
Till soothed with sympathy it drops to rest,
Slumbering like peace upon its Maker's breast!
