Selections from the American poets / by William Cullen Bryant [electronic text]

THE WHITE HARE.

IT was the Sabbath eve: we went, My little girl and I, intent The twilight hour to pass, Where we might hear the waters flow, And scent the freighted winds that blow Athwart the vernal grass.

In darker grandeur, as the day Stole scarce perceptibly away, The purple mountain stood, Wearing the young moon as a crest: The sun, half sunk in the far west, Seem'd mingling with the flood.

The cooling dews their balm distill'd; A holy joy our bosoms thrill'd; Our thoughts were free as air; And by one impulse moved, did we Together pour, instinctively, Our songs of gladness there.

The green-wood waved its shade hard by: While thus we wove our harmony: Lured by the mystic strain, A snow-white hare, that long had been Peering from forth her covert green, Came bounding o'er the plain.

Her beauty 'twas a joy to note; The pureness of her downy coat, Her wild, yet gentle eye; The pleasure that, despite her fear, Had led the timid thing so near, To list our minstrelsy!

All motionless, with head inclined, She stood, as if her heart divined The impulses of ours, Till the last note had died, and then Turn'd half reluctantly again Back to her green-wood bowers.

Once more the magic sounds we tried; Again the hare was seen to glide From out her sylvan shade; Again, as joy had given her wings, Fleet as a bird she forward springs Along the dewy glade.

Go, happy thing! disport at will; Take thy delight o'er vale and hill, Or rest in leafy bower: The harrier may beset thy way, The cruel snare thy feet betray! Enjoy thy little hour!

We know not, and we ne'er may know, The hidden springs of joy and wo That deep within thee lie: The silent workings of thy heart, They almost seem to have a part With our humanity!