Poems (Hoffman)/Under the Alders

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.