Poems . nging light, And when it wears the blue of May, is hung, And oh her lip the rich, red rose. Her hair Is like the summer tresses of the trees, When twilight makes them brown, and on her cheek Blushes the richness of an autumn sky, With ever-shifting beauty. Then her breath, ? It is so like the gentle air of Spring, As, from the mornings dewy flowers, it comes Full of .their fragrance, that it is a joy To have it round us,—and her silver voice Is the rich music of a summer bird, Heard in the still night, with its passionate cadence. BURIAL OF THE MINNISINK. On sunny slope and beachen swe
Poems . nging light, And when it wears the blue of May, is hung, And oh her lip the rich, red rose. Her hair Is like the summer tresses of the trees, When twilight makes them brown, and on her cheek Blushes the richness of an autumn sky, With ever-shifting beauty. Then her breath, ? It is so like the gentle air of Spring, As, from the mornings dewy flowers, it comes Full of .their fragrance, that it is a joy To have it round us,—and her silver voice Is the rich music of a summer bird, Heard in the still night, with its passionate cadence. BURIAL OF THE MINNISINK. On sunny slope and beachen swell,The shadowed light of evening fell;And, where the maples leaf was brown,With soft and silent lapse came downThe glory, that the wood receives,At sunset, in its brazen leaves. Far upward in the mellow light Rose the blue hills. One cloud of white, Around a far uplifted cone, In the warm blush of evening shone; GG 2i<] EARLIER POEMS. An image of the silver lakes, By which the Indians soul But soon a funeral hymn was heardWhere the soft breath of evening stirredThe tall, gray forest; and a bandOf stern in heart, and strong in hand, BURIAL OF THE MINNISINK. 241 Came winding down beside the wave,To lay the red chief in his grave. They sang, that by his native bowersHe stood, in the last moon of flowers,And thirty snows had not yet shedTheir glory on the warriors head ;But, as the summer fruit decays,So died he in those naked days. A dark cloak of the roebucks skinCovered the warrior, and withinIts heavy folds the weapons, madeFor the hard toils of war, were laid;The cuirass, woven of plaited reeds,And the broad belt of shells and beads. Before, a dark-haired virgin trainChanted the death dirge of the slain;Behind, the long procession cameOf hoary men and chiefs of fame,With heavy hearts, and eyes of grief,Leading the war-horse of their chief. Stripped of his proud and martial dress,Uncurbed, unreined, and riderless,With darting eye and nostril spread,And heavy and i
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Keywords: ., bookauthorlongfellowhenrywadswo, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1850
