Specimens of American poetry with critical and biographical notices |
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| 1. | PART I.—THE ISLE. |
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 | Specimens of American poetry |  |
1. PART I.—THE ISLE.
On the verge of the deep, where the dark sea-bird hovers,
Where the wave, in loud fury, bursts wild on the shore;
Near the light-house, whose flame to the wanderer discovers
A beam, like the glance of those long-sever'd lovers,
Who meet in blest rapture, to sever no more;
An isle of white sand, like a desert is seen,
Where no wild flower blushes in meadow of green;
But, where long tangled sea-weed is cast on the strand,
Like the gray locks of age, pluck'd by merciless hand;
For the storm tore it up from its deep oozy bed,
As the ruffian tears locks from the wanderer's head:
Oh! ye who would view “this famed desert” aright,
Go visit the strand by the “pale starry light;”
When the bleak wind is high, and the breakers are gleaming,
And the owl is abroad, and the sea-gull is screaming;
Then, sit near yon circummured castle awhile,
And behold the fell grandeur of Sullivan's isle.
The moonbeam just gleams on yon ruin so bare,
One moment the moonbeam has fled;
Like the quick frantic smile on the face of despair,
When she bends o'er the couch of the dead.
Oft to visit this spot a blest seraph is seen,
With an eye ever bright, and a robe ever green,
And a cheek, where the red rose for ever must bloom:
And she covers with daisies the path to the tomb;
The youth that she smiles on is certainly blest,
He has strength for the chase, and fair visions for rest;
I have wiped the big drops from a brow cold as stone,
But I have seldom seen health on her diamond throne.
Where the wave, in loud fury, bursts wild on the shore;
Near the light-house, whose flame to the wanderer discovers
A beam, like the glance of those long-sever'd lovers,
Who meet in blest rapture, to sever no more;
An isle of white sand, like a desert is seen,
Where no wild flower blushes in meadow of green;
But, where long tangled sea-weed is cast on the strand,
Like the gray locks of age, pluck'd by merciless hand;
For the storm tore it up from its deep oozy bed,
As the ruffian tears locks from the wanderer's head:
Oh! ye who would view “this famed desert” aright,
Go visit the strand by the “pale starry light;”
When the bleak wind is high, and the breakers are gleaming,
And the owl is abroad, and the sea-gull is screaming;
Then, sit near yon circummured castle awhile,
And behold the fell grandeur of Sullivan's isle.
The moonbeam just gleams on yon ruin so bare,
175
Like the quick frantic smile on the face of despair,
When she bends o'er the couch of the dead.
Oft to visit this spot a blest seraph is seen,
With an eye ever bright, and a robe ever green,
And a cheek, where the red rose for ever must bloom:
And she covers with daisies the path to the tomb;
The youth that she smiles on is certainly blest,
He has strength for the chase, and fair visions for rest;
I have wiped the big drops from a brow cold as stone,
But I have seldom seen health on her diamond throne.
Far famed was the castle, now lost in decay,
That frown'd o'er the high surging sea;
Though pale is the blood-stain, and long past the day,
Still, who has not heard of that noble affray,
And its banner, the green island tree?
That frown'd o'er the high surging sea;
Though pale is the blood-stain, and long past the day,
Still, who has not heard of that noble affray,
And its banner, the green island tree?
| Specimens of American poetry | |