TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN. THOU blossom bright with autumn dew, And colored with the heaven's own blue, That openest when the quiet light Succeeds the keen and frosty night. Thou comest not when violets lean Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest, Thou waitest late and com'st alone, When woods are bare and birds are flown, And frosts and shortening days portend The aged year is near his end. Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye I would that thus, when I shall see THE TWENTY-SECOND OF DECEMBER. WILD was the day; the wintry sea Moaned sadly on New England's strand, When first the thoughtful and the free, Our fathers, trod the desert land. They little thought how pure a light, How wide a realm their sons should sway. THE TWENTY-SECOND OF DECEMBER. 19 Green are their bays; but greener still Shall round their spreading fame be wreathed, And regions, now untrod, shall thrill With reverence when their names are breathed. Till where the sun, with softer fires, The children of the pilgrim sires This hallowed day like us shall keep. HYMN OF THE CITY. NOT in the solitude Alone may man commune with heaven, or see Only in savage wood And sunny vale, the present Deity; Or only hear his voice Where the winds whisper and the waves rejoice. Even here do I behold Thy steps, Almighty!—here, amidst the crowd, Through the great city rolled, With everlasting murmur deep and loud |