STANZAS.
Reading edition
I.
Sick of the crowd, the toil, the strife, Sweet Nature, how I turn to thee! Seeking for renovated life, By brawling brook and shady tree.
II.
I knew thy rocks had spells of old, To change the wanderer's wo to calm; And, in thy waters, clear and cold, My heated brow would seek its balm.
III.
I bent beneath thy ancient oak, I sought for slumber in its shade, And, as the clouds above me broke, I dream'd to win the boon I pray'd.
IV.
For light, a blessed light, was given, Far streaming round me from above; And in the deep, deep vaults of heaven, I saw a smile of peace and love.
V.
And through the long, long summer hours, When every bird was on his wing, I sought, among thy thousand flow'rs, Renewal of life's secret spring;
VI.
That sacred freshness of the heart, That made youth's tide flow smooth and strong, When, yet untaught by shame or art, We feared no guile, and felt no wrong.
VII.
My soul grew young in early dreams, And 'gainst the passing time I strove, Most glad to yield all human schemes, For one pure, boyish hour of love.
VIII.
And who but Nature's self could yield The boon I sought, the prayer I made— Throned in her realm of wood and field, Of rocky realm and haunted shade?
IX.
Who but that magic Queen, whose sway Drives Winter from his path of strife; While all her thousand fingers play, With bud and bird, in games of life?
X.
To her I turn'd—yet turn'd in vain; A hopeless discontent I bear; I snap, at each remove, some chain, Yet never snap the chain I wear!
XI.
Yet if the wizard be—whose pow'r May set my heart and passions free, And still restore youth's perish'd flow'r, And hope's gay season—thou art she.[3]
XII.
A kindred life with these I ask— Not beauty, not the scent we seek; But in thy sunshine let me bask, My heart as glowing as my cheek.
XIII.
An idle heart, that would not heed The chiding voice of duty come, To take the soul, new-nerved and freed, Back to close task and gloomy room.
XIV.
Thou, Nature, that magician be! Give me the old-time peace—the joy That warmed my heart, and made me free, A wild, but not a wayward boy.
XV.
And I will bless thee with a song, As fond as hers—that idle bird— That sings above me all day long, As if she knew I watch'd and heard.
W. Gilmore Simms.