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 | The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer |  |
217
FAREWELL TO AVON.
Dear Avon! my home, looking down on a vale
By its river of sweet waters beautiful made;
Sad music is wandering by on the gale,
And dim lie the scenes of my childhood in shade.
Above is the roof that protected my head
From tempest and rain when an innocent child,
Beneath the same floor that rang out with my tread
When beat my young pulses in ecstasy wild.
Around me are objects that greeted my sight
When hope gave the future a chaplet of light;
And memories, mournful but pleasant, from rest,
Like ghosts that are summoned, awake in my breast.
By its river of sweet waters beautiful made;
Sad music is wandering by on the gale,
And dim lie the scenes of my childhood in shade.
Above is the roof that protected my head
From tempest and rain when an innocent child,
Beneath the same floor that rang out with my tread
When beat my young pulses in ecstasy wild.
Around me are objects that greeted my sight
When hope gave the future a chaplet of light;
And memories, mournful but pleasant, from rest,
Like ghosts that are summoned, awake in my breast.
The desolate moment of parting is near,
And care on my forehead sits mantled in gloom—
Not sadder is maid bending over the bier
Whereon lies her chosen one drest for the tomb;
When the toil and loud tumult of daylight are o'er,
And a family group take their seats by the hearth,
One sigh for the absent—I ask for no more!
A wish he were present to share in the mirth.
I shall miss, when the gale of adversity blows
That being who guarded my cradle-repose—
Where Ocean is baring his breast to the storm,
In visions her kiss on my cheek will be warm.
And care on my forehead sits mantled in gloom—
Not sadder is maid bending over the bier
Whereon lies her chosen one drest for the tomb;
When the toil and loud tumult of daylight are o'er,
And a family group take their seats by the hearth,
One sigh for the absent—I ask for no more!
A wish he were present to share in the mirth.
I shall miss, when the gale of adversity blows
That being who guarded my cradle-repose—
Where Ocean is baring his breast to the storm,
In visions her kiss on my cheek will be warm.
On the morrow I part with my reverend sire,
And vacant my place in his hall will be soon—
Full early the spirit of song on my lyre
Will sleep, for the chords have been long out of tune;
The rich, airy dreams of poetical days,
Like the vapor of morning, have faded away.
On thy loveliness, Avon! the stranger will gaze,
When moulders thy bard in his grave far away:
On the spot where my lute was first tunefully strung,
It is meet, it is meet that my last lay be sung;
Dear home! where companions and relatives dwell,
Fate calls me away—fare thee well! fare thee well!
And vacant my place in his hall will be soon—
218
Will sleep, for the chords have been long out of tune;
The rich, airy dreams of poetical days,
Like the vapor of morning, have faded away.
On thy loveliness, Avon! the stranger will gaze,
When moulders thy bard in his grave far away:
On the spot where my lute was first tunefully strung,
It is meet, it is meet that my last lay be sung;
Dear home! where companions and relatives dwell,
Fate calls me away—fare thee well! fare thee well!
| The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer | |