Poems (Hoffman)/Under the Alders

by Martha Lavinia Hoffman

UNDER THE ALDERS

Here within the alder's shadow, in this cool retreat,
 Sheltered by the leafy branches
 From the scorching heat;
 I have found a sweet seclusion
 From all outward things,
 Flinging every care and worry
 On the zephyr's wings.

In the liquid depths and ripples of the slumbrous stream,
 With the wild-bird's song vibrating
 Vine-wreathed banks between,
 I have sunk life's proud ambitions
 And her petty strife,
 Gleaning fresher thought and vigor
 For the march of life.

Could I ask a throne more charming than this rocky ledge,
 Sloping down in gradual cadence
 To the water's edge?
 Could I ask a song more thrilling
 Than the anthem sung
 By choristers coquetting
 Dark-green boughs among?

Not a sound to interrupt them comes from groves or hills,
 Here they chatter, scream and carol
 At their own sweet wills;
Save that down the dusty road-way, winding bare and brown,
 Now and then a carriage passes
 To the distant town,
Or some teamster noisily rattles o'er the wooden bridge,
 Making all the sleeping echoes
 Bound from ridge to ridge.

Or perhaps, a dark-browed Indian wanders slowly by
 Glancing at this tranquil shelter
 With his fierce dark eye.
 Do these gnarled heroic warriors
 Towering side by side,
 Waken no vague recollection
 Of his vanquished tribe?

Do no thoughts of nature's grandeur light his darkened mind,
 As with noiseless tread, he slowly
 Leaves them all behind?
 Poor, lone man, a cloud of darkness
 O'er your mental vision frowns,
 Will not the "Great Spirit" lift it
 In those upper hunting grounds?

Overhead the boughs uniting form a temple high
 With its massive domes extending
 Toward the filmy sky;
 While amid its cloistered stillness
 On warm Sabbath eves,
 One may hear the sweetest praises
 Floating through the leaves.

Nature here unclasps her volume, wrought in flowers and vines,
 From each page I gladly study
 Her own fair designs;
 Rugged rocks and sands and mosses
 Lessons sweet impart,
 Stamping many a thought of beauty
 Deep on mind and heart.

Sitting in this old cathedral, in its sombre shades
 Where the eloquence of nature
 Every heart persuades;
 He who does not feel its grandeur
 In his very soul
 Must be in his nature frozen
 As the Arctic pole.

Grand old trees, a thousand questions,
 I would yet propound,
 For 1 know with weird traditions
 Your past lives abound;
 I would bid you tell your story
 Since your lives began,
 But I know you never told it
 To the ear of man;

So content with simply knowing what you are to-day,
 Happy as the laughing children
 'Neath your boughs at play,
 I can gather stores of wisdom
 From your very looks;
 I can feel what sages never
 Found in hoards of books.