Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/Changes
CHANGES.
Come to thy native village, thou, who long
Hast been a denizen of richer climes
And prouder cities. Nature all adorn'd
Welcomes thee back, and, like a peasant-friend
Exulting, filleth at her cottage-door
The beechen cup, with honey'd balm, for thee.
She fain would tell thee tales of every change
In her slight drama since thou last wert here,
Though none her scene hath shifted, or exchanged
Her honest-hearted actors, save gray Time,
Scattering the elm-leaves o'er the russet walk,
Or to the seedling in its bed of mould,
Whispering that spring hath come. She bids thee seek
Thy favourite brook, while Memory, ancient crone,
Waiteth to point thee where thy tiny boat
Or water-wheel sped gayly, or to show
The broader pool, upon whose icy glade
Thy foot was fleetest, while thy merry voice
Rang like a bugle when the shout was high.
See'st thou yon blooming creature, sweetly deck'd
With all the grace of perfect womanhood?
Lo, thou hast taken her ofttimes in thine arms,
When but a few brief moons had o'er her roll'd,
And sang to please her, though the watchful nurse
Was fain to snatch her from thine untaught hand,
Fearing thy whisker'd cheek might frighten her.
Thou canst not think so many years have fled
Since those good times; and yet as silently
As the light snowflake glide our fleeting days,
And, while we dream their greenness still survives,
Amid the remnant of their wither'd pride
Our steps make sullen echo.
But 'tis weak
To mourn the change that nature writes on man,
As heavenly wisdom dictates. Doth the sheaf
Look back regretful to its bursting germe?
Or the ripe fruit bemoan the fallen flower?
Why then should man lament his vanish'd morn?
The day of duty is the day of joy;
Of highest joy, such as the heavens do bless.
So keep perpetual summer in thy soul,
And take the spirit's smile along with thee,
Even to thy winding-sheet.
Yon lowly roof,
Thou know'st it well, and yet it seems more low
Than it was wont to seem; for thou hast been
A visitant of loftier domes, and halls
Meet for the feet of princes. Ask thou not
For father or for mother, they who made
That humble home so beautiful to thee:
But go thy way, and show to some young heart
The same deep love, the same unchanging zeal
Of pure example, pointing to the skies
That nurtured thee. So shalt thou pay the debt
To nature's best affections and to God.