 | 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,
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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 | |