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William Cullen Bryant - The Murdered Traveller
Work rating: Medium

When spring, to woods and wastes around,
Brought bloom and joy again,
The murdered traveller`s bones were found,
Far down a narrow glen.

The fragrant birch above him hung 
Her tassels in the sky;
And many a vernal blossom sprung,
And nodded careless by.

The red-bird warbled as he wrought
His hanging nest o`erhead,
And fearless, near the fatal spot, 
Her young the partridge led.

But there was weeping far away;
And gentle eyes, for him, 
With watching many an anxious day,
Were sorrowful and dim. 

They little knew, who loved him so, 
The fearful death he met,
When shouting o`er the desert snow,
Unarmed, and hard beset;

Nor how, when round the frosty pole 
The northern dawn was red,
The mountain wolf and wildcat stole
To banquet on the dead;

Nor how, when strangers found the bones,
They dressed the hasty bier,
And marked his grave with nameless stones,
Unmoistened by a tear.

But long they looked, and feared, and wept,
Within his distant home;
And dreamed, and started as they slept,
For joy that he was come. 

So long they looked; but never spied
His welcome step again,
Nor knew the fearful death he died
Far down that narrow glen.
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