 | Poems |  |
A FRAGMENT.
Oh! happy that mortal to whom it is givenTo rest from his task when with toil he has striven!
His footsteps are weary when thousands of miles
He strays from that land where his early home smiles;
When Time in his record hath noted the year
Full often since home, with its blessings, was near.
But joyful at last in his hail of return,
And brighter the flame of his fireside shall burn!
The tempest-tost vessel with sail to the breeze,
Floats wide on the storm-lifted wave of the seas,
Till anchored at last, when the voyage is o'er,
She furls her white wings in the shade of the shore.
So thrice happy he when beneath his own roof
He lists to the bitter wind howling aloof,
Whose life-boat with fortune's mad billow has played,
Till, wave-worn and weary, the haven is made.
Wisconsin territory, Dec. 1836.
| Poems | |