Beneath low hills, in the broad interval

Through which at will our Indian rivulet
Winds mindful still of sannup and of squaw,
Whose pipe and arrow oft the plough unburies,
Here in pine houses built of new-fallen trees,
Supplanters of the tribe, the farmers dwell.
Traveller, to thee, perchance, a tedious road,
Or, it may be, a picture; to these men,
The landscape is an armory of powers,
Which, one by one, they know to draw and use.
They harness beast, bird, insect, to their work;
They prove the virtues of each bed of rock,
And, like the chemist mid his loaded jars,
Draw from each stratum its adapted use

To drug their crops or weapon their arts withal.
They turn the frost upon their chemic heap,
They set the wind to winnow pulse and grain,
They thank the spring-flood for its fertile slime,
Earlier, on cheap summit-levels of the snow,
Slide with the sledge to inaccessible woods
O'er meadows bottomless. So, year by year,
They fight the elements with elements,

(That one would say, meadow and forest walked,
Transmuted in these men to rule their like,)
And by the order in the field disclose
The order regnant in the yeoman's brain.

What these strong masters wrote at large in miles

I followed in small copy in my acre;

For there's no rood has not a star above it;
The cordial quality of pear or plum

Ascends as gladly in

single tree

As in broad orchards resonant with bees;
And every atom poises for itself,

And for the whole. The gentle deities
Showed me the lore of colors and of sounds,
The innumerable tenements of beauty,
The miracle of generative force,

Far-reaching concords of astronomy

Felt in the plants, and in the punctual birds;
Better, the linked purpose of the whole,
And, chiefest prize, found I true liberty
In the glad home plain-dealing nature gave.
The polite found me impolite; the great
Would mortify me, but in vain; for still
I am a willow of the wilderness,
Loving the wind that bent me.

All my hurts
My garden spade can heal. A woodland walk,
A quest of river-grapes, a mocking thrush,
A wild-rose, or rock-loving columbine,

Salve my worst wounds.

For thus the wood-gods murmured in my ear:
'Dost love our manners? Canst thou silent lie?
Canst thou, thy pride forgot, like nature pass
Into the winter night's extinguished mood?
Canst thou shine now, then darkle,

And being latent feel thyself no less?

As when the all-worshipped moon attracts the eye, The river, hill, stems, foliage are obscure,

Yet envies none, none are unenviable.'

THE DAY'S RATION.

WHEN I was born,

From all the seas of strength Fate filled a chalice, Saying, This be thy portion, child; this chalice, Less than a lily's, thou shalt daily draw

From my great arteries,

nor less, nor more.' All substances the cunning chemist Time Melts down into that liquor of my life,

Friends, foes, joys, fortunes, beauty, and disgust.
And whether I am angry or content,
Indebted or insulted, loved or hurt,
All he distils into sidereal wine

And brims my little cup; heedless, alas!
Of all he sheds how little it will hold,
How much runs over on the desert sands.
If a new Muse draw me with splendid ray,
And I uplift myself into its heaven,

The needs of the first sight absorb my blood,
And all the following hours of the day
Drag a ridiculous age.

To-day, when friends approach, and every hour
Brings book, or star-bright scroll of genius,
The little cup will hold not a bead more,
And all the costly liquor runs to waste;
Nor gives the jealous lord one diamond drop
So to be husbanded for poorer days.

Why need I volumes, if one word suffice?

Why need I galleries, when a pupil's draught
After the master's sketch fills and o'erfills
My apprehension? why seek Italy,

Who cannot circumnavigate the sea

Of thoughts and things at home, but still adjourn The nearest matters for a thousand days?

EXPERIENCE.

THE lords of life, the lords of life, —

Succession swift and spectral Wrong,
Temperament without a tongue,
And the inventor of the game
Omnipresent without name;

Some to see, some to be guessed,
They marched from east to west:
Little man, least of all,

Among the legs of his guardians tall,
Walked about with puzzled look;
Him by the hand dear Nature took,
Dearest Nature, strong and kind,
Whispered, Darling, never mind!
To-morrow they will wear another face,

The founder thou; these are thy race!'