[_Dated only 1838._] Sometimes I hear the veery's silver clarion, or the brazen note of the impatient jay, or in secluded woods the chickadee doles out her scanty notes, which sing the praise of heroes, and set forth the loveliness of virtue evermore.—_Phe-be._[48] III 1839 (ÆT. 21-22) THE THAW[49] _Jan. 11._ I saw the civil sun drying earth's tears, Her tears of joy, that only faster flowed. Fain would I stretch me by the highway-side, To thaw and trickle with the melting snow, That, mingled soul and body with the tide, I too may through the pores of nature flow. But I, alas, nor trickle can nor fume, One jot to forward the great work of Time, 'Tis mine to hearken while these ply the loom, So shall my silence with their music chime. THE DREAM VALLEY _Jan. 20._ The prospect of our river valley from Tahatawan Cliff appeared to me again in my dreams. Last night, as I lay gazing with shut eyes Into the golden land of dreams, I thought I gazed adown a quiet reach Of land and water prospect, Whose low beach Was peopled with the now subsiding hum Of happy industry, whose work is done. And as I turned me on my pillow o'er, I heard the lapse of waves upon the shore, Distinct as it had been at broad noonday, And I were wandering at Rockaway. LOVE We two that planets erst had been Are now a double star, And in the heavens may be seen, Where that we fixèd are. Yet, whirled with subtle power along, Into new space we enter, And evermore with spheral song Revolve about one centre. _Feb. 3._ The deeds of king and meanest hedger Stand side by side in heaven's ledger. * * * * * 'Twill soon appear if we but look At evening into earth's day-book, Which way the great account doth stand Between the heavens and the land. THE EVENING WIND The eastern mail comes lumbering in, With outmost waves of Europe's din; The western sighs adown the slope, Or 'mid the rustling leaves doth grope, Laden with news from Californ', Whate'er transpired hath since morn, How wags the world by brier and brake, From hence to Athabasca lake.[50] POETIZING _Feb. 8._ When the poetic frenzy seizes us, we run and scratch with our pen, delighting, like the cock, in the dust we make, but do not detect where the jewel lies, which perhaps we have in the meantime cast to a distance, or quite covered up again.[51] _Feb. 9._ It takes a man to make a room silent. THE PEAL OF THE BELLS[52] _Feb. 10._ When the world grows old by the chimney-side, Then forth to the youngling rocks I glide, Where over the water, and over the land, The bells are booming on either hand.