Genesee, the River, N. Y.
MY OWN DARK GENESEE.
HEY told me southern land could boast
Charms richer than mine own:
Sun, moon, and stars of brighter glow,
And winds of gentler tone;
And parting from each olden haunt,
Familiar rock and tree,
From that sweet vale I wandered far -
Washed by the Genesee.
I pined beneath a foreign sky,
Though birds, like harps in tune,
Lulled Winter on a couch of flowers
Clad in the garb of June.
In vain on reefs of coral broke
The glad waves of the sea;
For, like thy voice they sounded not,
My own dark Genesee!
When Christmas came, though round me grew
The lemon-tree and lime,
And the warm sky above me threw
The blue of summer-time;
I thought of my loved northern home,
And wished for wings to flee
Where frost-bound, between frozen banks,
Lay hushed the Genesee.
For the gray, mossed paternal roof
My throbbing bosom yearned,
And ere the flight of many moons
My steps I homeward turned;
My heart, to joy a stranger long,
Was tuned to rapture's key,
When ear the murmur heard once more
Of my own Genesee.
Ambition from the scenes of youth
May others lure away
To chase the phantom of renown
Throughout their little day;
I would not, for a palace proud
And slave of pliant knee,
Forsake a cabin in thy vale,
My own dark Genesee.
William Henry Cuyler Hosmer.
George (Horicon), the Lake, N. Y.
TOW oft in visions of the night,
How oft in noonday dreaming,
I've seen, fair lake, thy forest wave, -
Have seen thy waters gleaming;
Have heard the blowing of the winds
That sweep along thy highlands,
And the light laughter of the waves
That dance around thine islands.
It was a landscape of the mind,
With forms and hues ideal,
But still those hues and forms appeared
More lovely than aught real.
I feared to see the breathing scene,
And brooded o'er the vision,
Lest the hard touch of truth should mar
A picture so Elysian.
But now I break the cold distrust
Whose spells so long had bound me;
The shadows of the night are past,
The morning shines around me.
And in the sober light of day,
I see, with eyes enchanted,
The glorious vision that so long
My day and night dreams haunted.
I see the green, translucent wave,
The purest of earth's fountains;
I see the many-winding shore,
The double range of mountains :
One, neighbor to the flying clouds,
And crowned with leaf and blossom,
And one, more lovely, borne within
The lake's unruffled bosom.
O timid heart! with thy glad throbs
Some self-reproach is blended,
At the long years that died before
The sight of scene so splendid.
The mind has pictures of its own,
Fair trees and waters flowing -
But not a magic whole like this,
So living, breathing, glowing;
Strength imaged in the wooded hills,
A grand, primeval nature,
And beauty mirrored in the lake,
A gentler, softer feature;
Upon the soul is pressing;
Like manly power and female grace
Made one by bridal blessing.
Nor is the stately scene without
Its sweet, secluded treasures,
Where hearts that shun the crowd may find Their own exclusive pleasures;
Deep chasms of shade for pensive thought,
The hours to wear away in;
And vaulted aisles of whispering pine,
For lovers' feet to stray in;
Clear streams that from the uplands run,
A course of sunless shadow;
Isles all unfurrowed by the plough,
And strips of fertile meadow;
And rounded coves of silver sand,
Where moonlight plays and glances, -
A sheltered hall for elfin horns,
A floor for elfin dances.
No tame monotony is here,
But beauty ever changing;
With clouds, and shadows of the clouds,
And mists the hillsides ranging.
Where morning's gold, and noon's hot sun,
Their changing glories render;
Pour round the shores a varying light,
Now glowing and now tender.
But purer than the shifting gleams
By liberal sunshine given,
Is the deep spirit of that hour,
An effluence breathed from Heaven;
When the unclouded, yellow moon
Hangs o'er the eastern ridges,
And the long shaft of trembling gold,
The trembling crystal bridges.
Farewell, sweet lake! brief were the hours
Along thy banks for straying;
But not farewell what memory takes, -
An image undecaying.
I hold secure beyond all change
One lovely recollection,
To cheer the hours of lonely toil,
And chase away dejection.
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