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Bring us the airs of hills and forests, The sweet aroma of birch and pine, Give us a waft of the north-wind laden With sweethrier odors and breath of kine!

Bring us the purple of mountain sunsets, Shadows of clouds that rake the hills, The green repose of thy Plymouth meadows, The gleam and ripple of Campton rills.

Lead us away in shadow and sunshine, Slaves of fancy, through all thy miles, The winding ways of Pemigewasset, And Winnipesaukee's hundred isles.

Shatter in sunshine over thy ledges, Laugh in thy plunges from fall to fall; Play with thy fringes of elms, and darken Under the shade of the mountain wall.

The cradle-song of thy hillside fountains Here in thy glory and strength repeat; Give us a taste of thy upland music, Show us the dance of thy silver feet.

Into thy dutiful life of uses Pour the music and weave the flowers; With the song of birds and bloom of meadows Lighten and gladden thy heart and ours.

Sing on! bring down, O lowland river, The joy of the hills to the waiting sea; The wealth of the vales, the pomp of mountains, The breath of the woodlands, bear with thee.

Here, in the calm of thy seaward, valley, Mirth and labor shall hold their truce; Dance of water and mill of grinding, Both are beauty and both are use.

Type of the Northland's strength and glory, Pride and hope of our home and race,-- Freedom lending to rugged labor Tints of beauty and lines of grace.

Once again, O beautiful river, Hear our greetings and take our thanks; Hither we come, as Eastern pilgrims Throng to the Jordan's sacred banks.

For though by the Master's feet untrodden, Though never His word has stilled thy waves, Well for us may thy shores be holy, With Christian altars and saintly graves.

And well may we own thy hint and token Of fairer valleys and streams than these, Where the rivers of God are full of water, And full of sap are His healing trees!

"THE LAURELS"

At the twentieth and last anniversary.

FROM these wild rocks I look to-day O'er leagues of dancing waves, and see The far, low coast-line stretch away To where our river meets the sea.

The light wind blowing off the land Is burdened with old voices; through Shut eyes I see how lip and hand The greeting of old days renew.

O friends whose hearts still keep their prime, Whose bright example warms and cheers, Ye teach us how to smile at Time, And set to music all his years!

I thank you for sweet summer days, For pleasant memories lingering long, For joyful meetings, fond delays, And ties of friendship woven strong.

As for the last time, side by side, You tread the paths familiar grown, I reach across the severing tide, And blend my farewells with your own.

Make room, O river of our home!

For other feet in place of ours, And in the summers yet to come, Make glad another Feast of Flowers!

Hold in thy mirror, calm and deep, The pleasant pictures thou hast seen; Forget thy lovers not, but keep Our memory like thy laurels green.

ISLES of SHOALS, 7th mo., 1870.

JUNE ON THE MERRIMAC.

O dwellers in the stately towns, What come ye out to see?

This common earth, this common sky, This water flowing free?

As gayly as these kalmia flowers Your door-yard blossoms spring; As sweetly as these wild-wood birds Your caged minstrels sing.

You find but common bloom and green, The rippling river's rune, The beauty which is everywhere Beneath the skies of June;

The Hawkswood oaks, the storm-torn plumes Of old pine-forest kings, Beneath whose century-woven shade Deer Island's mistress sings.

And here are pictured Artichoke, And Curson's bowery mill; And Pleasant Valley smiles between The river and the hill.

You know full well these banks of bloom, The upland's wavy line, And how the sunshine tips with fire The needles of the pine.

Yet, like some old remembered psalm, Or sweet, familiar face, Not less because of commonness You love the day and place.

And not in vain in this soft air Shall hard-strung nerves relax, Not all in vain the o'erworn brain Forego its daily tax.

The lust of power, the greed of gain Have all the year their own; The haunting demons well may let Our one bright day alone.

Unheeded let the newsboy call, Aside the ledger lay The world will keep its treadmill step Though we fall out to-day.

The truants of life's weary school, Without excuse from thrift We change for once the gains of toil For God's unpurchased gift.

From ceiled rooms, from silent books, From crowded car and town, Dear Mother Earth, upon thy lap, We lay our tired heads down.

Cool, summer wind, our heated brows; Blue river, through the green Of clustering pines, refresh the eyes Which all too much have seen.

For us these pleasant woodland ways Are thronged with memories old, Have felt the grasp of friendly hands And heard love's story told.

A sacred presence overbroods The earth whereon we meet; These winding forest-paths are trod By more than mortal feet.

Old friends called from us by the voice Which they alone could hear, From mystery to mystery, From life to life, draw near.

More closely for the sake of them Each other's hands we press; Our voices take from them a tone Of deeper tenderness.

Our joy is theirs, their trust is ours, Alike below, above, Or here or there, about us fold The arms of one great love!

We ask to-day no countersign, No party names we own; Unlabelled, individual, We bring ourselves alone.

What cares the unconventioned wood For pass-words of the town?

The sound of fashion's shibboleth The laughing waters drown.

Here cant forgets his dreary tone, And care his face forlorn; The liberal air and sunshine laugh The bigot's zeal to scorn.

From manhood's weary shoulder falls His load of selfish cares; And woman takes her rights as flowers And brooks and birds take theirs.

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