 | The poetical works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow |  |
LOVER'S ROCK.
[_]
They showed us near the outlet of Sebago, the Lover's Rock, from which an Indian maid threw herself down into the lake, when the guests were coming together to the marriage festival of her false-hearted lover.—
Leaf from a Traveller's Journal.
There is a love that cannot die!—
And some their doom have met
Heart-broken—and gone as stars go by,
That rise, and burn, and set.
Their days were in Spring's fallen leaf—
Tender—and young—and bright—and brief.
And some their doom have met
Heart-broken—and gone as stars go by,
That rise, and burn, and set.
Their days were in Spring's fallen leaf—
Tender—and young—and bright—and brief.
There is a love that cannot die!—
Aye—it survives the grave;
When life goes out with many a sigh,
And earth takes what it gave,
Its light is on the home of those
That heed not when the cold wind blows.
Aye—it survives the grave;
When life goes out with many a sigh,
And earth takes what it gave,
299
That heed not when the cold wind blows.
With us there are sad records left
Of life's declining day:
How true hearts here were broken and cleft,
And how they passed away.
And yon dark rock, that swells above
Its blue lake—has a tale of love.
Of life's declining day:
How true hearts here were broken and cleft,
And how they passed away.
And yon dark rock, that swells above
Its blue lake—has a tale of love.
'T is of an Indian maid, whose fate
Was saddened by the burst
Of passion, that made desolate
The heart it filled at first.
Her lover was false-hearted,—yet
Her love she never could forget.
Was saddened by the burst
Of passion, that made desolate
The heart it filled at first.
Her lover was false-hearted,—yet
Her love she never could forget.
It was a summer-day, and bright
The sun was going down:
The wave lay blushing in rich light
Beneath the dark rock's frown,
And under the green maple's shade
Her lover's bridal feast was made.
The sun was going down:
The wave lay blushing in rich light
Beneath the dark rock's frown,
And under the green maple's shade
Her lover's bridal feast was made.
She stood upon the rocky steep,
Grief had her heart unstrung,
And far across the lake's blue sweep
Was heard the dirge she sung.
It ceased—and in the deep cold wave,
The Indian Girl has made her grave.
Grief had her heart unstrung,
And far across the lake's blue sweep
Was heard the dirge she sung.
It ceased—and in the deep cold wave,
The Indian Girl has made her grave.
| The poetical works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | |