Does my serener mountain rise.
Nor aye forget its gentle birth
Upon the dewey, pastoral earth.
But ever, in the noonday light,
Are scenes whereof I love the sight,--
Broad pictures of the lower world
Beneath my gladdened eyes unfurled.
Irradiate distances reveal
Fair nature wed to human weal;
The rolling valley made a plain;
Its chequered squares of grass and grain;
The silvery rye, the golden wheat,
The flowery elders where they meet,--
Ay, even the springing corn I see,
And garden haunts of bird and bee;
And where, in daisied meadows, shines
The wandering river through its vines,
Move, specks at random, which I know
Are herds a-grazing to and fro.
[Footnote 98: Was born in Connecticut but has long resided in New York,
where he has combined an active business life with literary pursuits--a
favorite contributor to that magazines.]
* * * * *
=_John James Piatt,[99] 1835-._=
From "Landmarks and other Poems."
=_424._= LONG AGO.
Though for the soul a lovely Heaven awaits,
Through years of woe,
The Paradise with angels in its gates
Is Long Ago.
The heart's lost Home! Ah, thither winging ever,
In silence, show
Vanishing faces! but they vanish never
In Long Ago!
Ye toil'd through desert sands to reach To-morrow,
With footsteps slow,
Poor Yesterdays! Immortal gleams ye borrow
In Long Ago.
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