Before, behind, on either side they rise, Roots in the ground and summits in the skies."
IN THE REDWOODS
Before, behind, on either side they rise, Roots in the ground and summits in the skies, Huge trunks that tower like ancient pillars high, Gigantic roots that deep embedded lie And starry sprays of tiny twiglets swung To the still breeze, and each a living tongue
Meeting and mingling in the mournful shades Whose plaintive sadness all the air pervades Like an imprisoned soul of song that pines And all her pining into music twines, Deep as the buried roots that live below, Sublime as the proud summit's sunlight glow, Yet wandering like a spirit smothering The prisoned requiem she fain would sing That ever and anon will swell and rise, Then into sombre silence sweetly dies.
By yonder circling stream wild roses throw Their pale pink petals in the depths below And where obscurest shades dark waters hold Frail feathery ferns their fairy fronds unfold And swaying, stirring, straying o'er the brink Exhaustless moisture from the streamlet drink; While far above some wandering recluse Lets all his wildest, richest, numbers loose And in sonorous song sweet sadness drowns, And stays the soothing sense of softer sounds, Away through bending boughs, soft shadows through, He speeds, nor pauses once to bid adieu, Æolian vespers lead the listless strain And tiny twiglets tune their lyres again, To pensive musing every fancy goes And Nature's ballads lull to sweet repose.
Beneath the tall tree's shade a cabin lone Falls into ruin, while the ceaseless moan Above its desolation shrieks and stirs Chanted by hosts of princely conifers, Around its lowly door rank verdure thrives, The yerba buena fresh and green survives The slow decay that dooms the cabin wall Of which prophetic Nature chants the fall, The wild wood oxalis in beauty spreads Matting the doorway where no footsteps tread And plants of every shade of emerald hue Twist, twine and tangle all the door-yard through; While busy chipmunks seek the hazel brush, Where their blithe chattering breaks the slumbrous hush, To gather hoards of nuts and gaily frisk, O'er fallen redwood logs, graceful and brisk.
But still the voices of the trees complain And still the wandering winds sob forth the strain Though the wild wind that rocks the giant trees Trembles the low plants through, a summer breeze, Queen of the West, what fortune gave to thee Nature's sublimest, grandest orchestra? The throbbing keys of ocean rise and lower Timing the lofty choir upon the shore No other clime can boast, no country claim Thy royal heritage of world-wide fame, Before, behind, on either side they rise Roots in the ground and summits in the skies.
What sound of distant harmony is heard? The redwoods listen. Hush! their twigs are stirred By sea-breeze notes, Pacific's organ swells And answered from the mountains, rocks and dells Before, behind, on either side the surge Of praiseful anthem, of prophetic dirge, Soars to the skies and backward to the sea Queen of the West, this is thy orchestra!
