 | The poems and prose writings of Sumner Lincoln Fairfield |  |
“Tarry not, daughter, for these aged limbs!
Dust they soon must be—though the world revered—
And, if my hour be come, the woe is past.
But hasten, daughter! moments have become
Ages—the air, the earth, the ocean blend
Their agonizing energies—away!
Beneath the o'erhung rocks—where fishers wont
To moor their boats, now stranded on the beach,
The pinnace lies I spake of—and the word
Is Marcion! Thither, without let or fear,
Hasten: a Christian from Tergeste
holds
Command, and, ere an hour, its oars and sails
Shall waft you far from ruin round us now.”
Dust they soon must be—though the world revered—
And, if my hour be come, the woe is past.
But hasten, daughter! moments have become
Ages—the air, the earth, the ocean blend
Their agonizing energies—away!
Beneath the o'erhung rocks—where fishers wont
To moor their boats, now stranded on the beach,
The pinnace lies I spake of—and the word
Is Marcion! Thither, without let or fear,
150
Command, and, ere an hour, its oars and sails
Shall waft you far from ruin round us now.”
| The poems and prose writings of Sumner Lincoln Fairfield | |