John Greenleaf Whittier (1807–1892). The Poetical Works in Four Volumes. 1892.
Poems of NatureThe Seeking of the Waterfall
T
Beneath the lowland’s sheltering trees,
To seek, by ways unknown to all,
The promise of the waterfall.
Had crept—perchance a hunter’s tale—
Of its wild mirth of waters lost
On the dark woods through which it tossed.
Whirled in mad dance its misty hair;
But who had raised its veil, or seen
The rainbow skirts of that Undine?
Its swift way to the valley took;
Along the rugged slope they clomb,
Their guide a thread of sound and foam.
The fiery javelins of the sun
Smote the bare ledge; the tangled shade
With rock and vine their steps delayed.
They saw the cheerful homes of men,
And the great mountains with their wall
Of misty purple girdling all.
Shared the wild dance the waters knew;
And where the shadows deepest fell
The wood-thrush rang his silver bell.
Swung low the waving fronds of fern;
From stony cleft and mossy sod
Pale asters sprang, and golden-rod.
Glad song that stirred its gliding feet,
And found in rock and root the keys
Of its beguiling melodies.
Of tossing foam the birch-trees through;
Now seen, now lost, but baffling still
The weary seekers’ slackening will.
Its white scarf flutters in the air!”
They climbed anew; the vision fled,
To beckon higher overhead.
With faint and ever fainter hope;
With faint and fainter voice the brook
Still bade them listen, pause, and look.
Above the tall peaks saw the sun
Sink, beam-shorn, to its misty set
Behind the hills of violet.
“The brook and rumor both have lied!
The phantom of a waterfall
Has led us at its beck and call.”
“So, always baffled, not misled,
We follow where before us runs
The vision of the shining ones.
Their voices while we listen die;
We cannot keep, however fleet,
The quick time of their wingëd feet.
These kindly mockers in our way;
Yet lead they not, the baffling elves,
To something better than themselves?
Its own reward our toil has brought:
The winding water’s sounding rush,
The long note of the hermit thrush,
And river track, and, vast, beyond
Broad meadows belted round with pines,
The grand uplift of mountain lines!
The garden of the gods in vain,
If lured thereby we climb to greet
Some wayside blossom Eden-sweet?
The fond hope dies as we attain;
Life’s fairest things are those which seem,
The best is that of which we dream.
Still flashes down its rocky wall,
With rainbow crescent curved across
Its sunlit spray from moss to moss.
In thought shall seek it oft again;
Shall see this aster-blossomed sod,
This sunshine of the golden-rod,
Grand glimpses of great mountain brows
Cloud-turbaned, and the sharp steel sheen
Of lakes deep set in valleys green.
Of loss becomes its recompense;
And evermore the end shall tell
The unreached ideal guided well.
Fulfilling love’s sure prophecy;
And every wish for better things
An undreamed beauty nearer brings.
Desire and hope and longing prove
The secret of immortal youth,
And Nature cheats us into truth.
Beguiling with benign intent,
Still move us, through divine unrest,
To seek the loveliest and the best!
And, in the clear, white light to be,
Add unto Heaven’s beatitude
The old delight of seeking good!”