Poems (Dorr)/The River Otter
THE RIVER OTTER
A FRAGMENT
A hundred times the Summer's fragrant bloomsHave laden all the air with sweet perfumes;A hundred times, along the mountain-side,Autumn has flung his crimson banners wide;A hundred times has kindly Winter spreadHis snowy mantle o'er the violet's bed;A hundred times has Earth rejoiced to hearThe Spring's light footsteps in the forest sere,Since on yon grassy knoll the quick, sharp strokeOf the young woodman's axe the silence broke.Not then did these encircling hills look downOn quaint old farmhouse, or on steepled town.No church-spires pointed to the arching skies;No wandering lovers saw the moon arise;No childish laughter mingled with the songOf the fair Otter, as it flowed alongAs brightly then as now. Ah! little reckedThe joyous river, when the sunshine fleckedIts dancing waters, that no human eyeGave it glad welcome as it frolicked by!The long, uncounted years had come and flown,And it had still swept on, unseen, unknown,Biding its time. No minstrel sang its praise,No poet named it in immortal lays.It played no part in legendary lore,And young Romance knew not its winding shore. But in her own loveliness Nature is glad, And little she cares for man's smile or his frown;In the robes of her royalty still she is clad, Though his eye may behold not her sceptre or crown!And over our beautiful Otter the treesSwayed lightly as now in the frolicsome breeze;And the tremulous violet lifted an eyeAs blue as its own to the laughing blue sky. The harebell trembled on its stem Down where the rushing waters gleam, A sapphire on the broidered hem Of some fair Naiad of the stream. The buttercups, bright-eyed and bold, Held up their chalices of gold To catch the sunshine and the dew, Gayly as those that bloom for you. And deep within the forest shade, Where broadest noon mere twilight made, Ten thousand small, sweet censers swung, And tiny bells by zephyrs rung, Made tinkling music till the day In solemn splendor died away. The woods were full of praise and prayer, Although no human tongue was there; For every pine and hemlock sung The grand cathedral aisles among, And every flower that gemmed the sod Looked up and whispered, "Thou art God." The birds sung as they sing to-day, A song of love and joy alway. The brown thrush from its golden throat Poured out its long, melodious note; The pigeons cooed; the veery threw Its mellow thrill from spray to spray; The wild night-hawk its trumpet blew, And the owl cried, "Tu whit, tu whoo," From set of sun to break of day. The partridge reared her fearless brood Safe in the darkling solitude, And the bald eagle built its nest High on the tall cliff's craggy crest. And often, when the still moonlight Made all the lonely valley bright, Down from the hills its thirst to slake, The deer trod softly through the brake While far away the spotted fawn Waited the coming of the dawn, And trembled when the panther's scream Startled it from a troubled dream. The black bear roamed the forest wide; The fierce wolf tracked the mountain-side The wild-cat's silent, stealthy tread Was, even there, a fear and dread; The red fox barked—a strange, weird sound, That woke the slumbering echoes round; And the burrowing mink and otter hid In their holes the tangled roots amid. Lords of their limitless domain, Of hill and dale, of mount and plain, The wild things dreamed not of the hour When they should own their Master's power!