 | The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer |  |
THE POET'S HOME.
Give answer, rolling waves!
Where must the minstrel go
To find some quiet land,
Unvisited by woe?
Some consecrated spot,
Where partings are unknown,
And on the violet turf
A blight is never thrown?
The waves reply, while bursting on the strand,
“Earth, in her ample bounds, owns no such land.”
Where must the minstrel go
To find some quiet land,
Unvisited by woe?
Some consecrated spot,
Where partings are unknown,
And on the violet turf
A blight is never thrown?
The waves reply, while bursting on the strand,
“Earth, in her ample bounds, owns no such land.”
Answer, ye voiceful winds!
Where can the minstrel find
A wreath amid whose leaves
No cypress is entwined?
A crown of beauteous flowers
That may become a brow
O'er which neglect's cold hand
Hath driven Grief's dark plow?
And the winds answer, “Sunset hath not smiled,
On wreath like this in all our wanderings wild.”
Where can the minstrel find
A wreath amid whose leaves
No cypress is entwined?
A crown of beauteous flowers
That may become a brow
O'er which neglect's cold hand
Hath driven Grief's dark plow?
And the winds answer, “Sunset hath not smiled,
On wreath like this in all our wanderings wild.”
Oh! answer, aged Earth!
Where will the bard obtain
Reward for airy dreams
Created by his brain?
A recompense for toil
In haunts obscure and cold,
While one by one his hopes,
Expiring, turn to mould?
Earth makes reply, “The bard's reward is rest
Under the green robe on his mother's breast.”
Where will the bard obtain
Reward for airy dreams
Created by his brain?
164
In haunts obscure and cold,
While one by one his hopes,
Expiring, turn to mould?
Earth makes reply, “The bard's reward is rest
Under the green robe on his mother's breast.”
Give answer, journeying birds,
That northern fields forsake
In quest of tropic grove,
Green isle and sunny lake—
Will ye not reach a clime
Whose radiance may control
The wild, unsated wish
That haunts the poet's soul?
And the birds warble, “By our flight be taught
That not in vain are homes of beauty sought.”
That northern fields forsake
In quest of tropic grove,
Green isle and sunny lake—
Will ye not reach a clime
Whose radiance may control
The wild, unsated wish
That haunts the poet's soul?
And the birds warble, “By our flight be taught
That not in vain are homes of beauty sought.”
Give answer, twinkling stars!
For lord of lute and lay
Cannot some kingdom fair
Be found far, far away;
Where sleep may fall like balm
Upon his wounded powers—
A sunny land of calm,
Unlike this world of ours?
And the stars answer, “At the fount of song,
In heaven, no more the minstrel suffers wrong.”
For lord of lute and lay
Cannot some kingdom fair
Be found far, far away;
Where sleep may fall like balm
Upon his wounded powers—
A sunny land of calm,
Unlike this world of ours?
And the stars answer, “At the fount of song,
In heaven, no more the minstrel suffers wrong.”
| The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer | |