 | The collected poems of William Ellery Channing the younger, 1817-1901 |  |
1006
MEMORIES OF FANNY MCGREGOR
[_]
This poem recalls a voyage down Boston Harbor in company with Miss McGregor during the Civil War. She was, not long after, accidentally shot near Franconia, in the New Hampshire mountain-land. A person of great beauty and wit, perhaps exalted poetically in this tribute.
We felt the shadows build the Fort,
And touch Cohassett's withering hills;
The breeze that cooled our Boston port
Ran fresh, as leap the mountain rills
Down gray Franconia's hoary woods,
Saved from the axe, dear solitudes.
And touch Cohassett's withering hills;
The breeze that cooled our Boston port
Ran fresh, as leap the mountain rills
Down gray Franconia's hoary woods,
Saved from the axe, dear solitudes.
The sky's deep blue adorned the Flag,
That pathos of our nation's cause,
Battled in blood from sea to crag,
For home and hearth, for life and laws:
Lovelier than all, a woman's heart,
Reflecting all, and taking part.
That pathos of our nation's cause,
Battled in blood from sea to crag,
For home and hearth, for life and laws:
Lovelier than all, a woman's heart,
Reflecting all, and taking part.
How void the play still Nature makes
Where thrills no breast with human fear!
Dull sets that sun—no wavelet breaks
Till woman's loveliness appear;
Heat of the light we coldly bear,
The radiant of Time's atmosphere.
Where thrills no breast with human fear!
Dull sets that sun—no wavelet breaks
Till woman's loveliness appear;
Heat of the light we coldly bear,
The radiant of Time's atmosphere.
1007
O lovely day that died so soon,
Live long in Her, more fairly planned!
And like the sea when shines the moon,
Reflecting in its ebb the hand
Inscrutable that flings the star,
Thy beauty leads my thoughts afar.
Live long in Her, more fairly planned!
And like the sea when shines the moon,
Reflecting in its ebb the hand
Inscrutable that flings the star,
Thy beauty leads my thoughts afar.
To thee respond the dancing waves,
To thee the grace-encircled shore,
Whose lonely sands old Ocean laves
And pebbles bright flows lisping o'er;
Thy tranquil heart was ever bent
In beauty to be eloquent.
To thee the grace-encircled shore,
Whose lonely sands old Ocean laves
And pebbles bright flows lisping o'er;
Thy tranquil heart was ever bent
In beauty to be eloquent.
From envious skies thy star shines down,
Not unacquainted with its place;
They wreathe for thee an angel's crown,
And gem the virtues of thy face.
Ah, fated shot! devoid of power
O'er her whose beauty was her dower!
Not unacquainted with its place;
They wreathe for thee an angel's crown,
And gem the virtues of thy face.
Ah, fated shot! devoid of power
O'er her whose beauty was her dower!
Called from the voice of life, the tasks of pain,
Thine eye no more the rounding day shalt see
In sunlit hours or chill and sobbing rain;
Nor we hear trace of old-time melody
That told in music of another shore,
Where rests Time's mournful wave, ne'er breaking more.
Thine eye no more the rounding day shalt see
In sunlit hours or chill and sobbing rain;
Nor we hear trace of old-time melody
That told in music of another shore,
Where rests Time's mournful wave, ne'er breaking more.
| The collected poems of William Ellery Channing the younger, 1817-1901 | |