The Mountain Stream Poem by Samuel Griswold Goodrich

One summer morn, while yet the thrilling lay,
Of the dew-loving lark was full and strong,
Trampling the wild flowers in my careless way,
Up the steep mountain-side I strode along--
My only guide, a brook whose joyous song,
Seemed like a boy's light-hearted roundelay,
As down it rushed, the leafy bowers among,
Scattering o'er bud and bloom its pearly spray--
A beauteous semblance of life's opening day.

And looking back to that all-gladdening morn,
When I was free and sportive as the stream--
When roses blushed with no suspected thorn,
And fancy's sunlight gilded every dream--
While hope yet shed its sweet delusive beam,
And disappointment still delayed to warn--
With fond regret, I still pursued the theme--
With clambering step still up the steep was borne,
Too sad to smile, too pleased perchance to mourn.

And now I stood beside that rivulet's spring,
That came unbidden with a bubbling bound--
And stealing forth, a gentle trembling thing,
It seemed an infant fearing all around--
Yet clinging to its mother's breast--the ground.
But soon it bolder grew, and with a wing
It went: its carol was a joyous sound,
Making the silent woods responsive ring,
And the far forest-echoes, sighing, sing.

And now I stood upon the mountain's height--
Like a wide map, the landscape lay unrolled--
There could I trace that rivulet's path of light,
From the steep mountain to the sea of gold;
Now leaping o'er the rocks like chamois bold,--
Now like a crouching hare concealed from sight,--
Now hid beneath the willow's bowering fold,
As if they sought to stay its arrowy flight,
Then give it forth again more swift and bright.

'Twas changeful--beautiful; now dark, now fair--
A tale of life, from childhood to the tomb--
Its birth-place near the skies, in mountain air,
Where wild flowers throw around their sweet perfume,
Like the blest thoughts that often brightly bloom,
At home, beneath a mother's culturing care--
Its form now hid in shadows, such as gloom
Our downward way--its grave in ocean, where
It mingles with the wave--a dweller there!

And though that stream be hidden from the view,
'Tis yet preserved 'neath ocean's briny crest:
That wide eternity of waves is true--
And as the planets anchored in their rest,
The sparkling streamlet lives; and while unblest,
The land-wave stagnant lingers--there the blue
Tide holds the river stainless in its breast--
An image still of life, that sparkles through
The starry deep of heaven, for ever new.