“ Press On.”
A Rivulet’s Song.
“ Just under an island, ’midst rushes and moss,
I was born of a rock-spring, and dew ;
I was shaded by trees, whose branches and leaves
Ne’er suffered the sun to gaze through.
“ I wandered around the steep brow of a hill,
Where the daisies and violets fair
Were shaking the mist from their wakening eyes,
And pouring their breath on the air.
“ Then I crept gently on, and I moistened the feet
Of a shrub which enfolded a nest—
The bird in return sang his merriest song,
And showed me his feathery crest.
“ How joyous I felt in the bright afternoon,
When the sun, riding off in the west,
Came out in red gold from behind the green trees
And burnished my tremulous breast !
“ My memory now can return to the time
When the breeze murmured low plaintive tones,
While I wasted the day in dancing away,
Or playing with pebbles and stones.
“It points to the hour when the rain pattered down,
Oft resting awhile in the trees ;
Then quickly descending it ruffled my calm,
And whispered to me of the seas !
“ Twas then the first wish found a home in my breast
To increase as time hurries along ;
’Twas then I first learned to lisp softly the words
Which I now love so proudly—‘ Press on
!’
“ I’ll make wider my bed, as onward I tread,
A deep mighty river I’ll be—
‘ Press on’ all the day will I sing on my way,
Till I enter the far-spreading sea.”
It ceased. A youth lingered beside its green edge
Till the stars in its face brightly shone ;
He hoped the sweet strain would re-echo again—
But he just heard a murmur,—“ Press on
!”