 | Nacoochee ; or, the beautiful star, with other Poems |  |
84
THE HARPER.
Who think it solitude to be alone?—
Young.
Young.
A harper who had left his native land,
A land above all other lands for love—
And one that struck his lyre with David's hand,
Sat down lamenting with his thoughts above:
A land above all other lands for love—
And one that struck his lyre with David's hand,
Sat down lamenting with his thoughts above:
Tell her she sleeps afar,
In that lone silent rest,
Beyond the western star—
Where all are haply blest!
In that lone silent rest,
Beyond the western star—
Where all are haply blest!
Tell her my days are past,
And all my hopes have fled!
For song alone can last,
When those that sung are dead!
And all my hopes have fled!
For song alone can last,
When those that sung are dead!
Tell her the skies are blue,
That roses, too, are sweet—
That friends are very few,
And we no more shall meet!
That roses, too, are sweet—
That friends are very few,
And we no more shall meet!
Tell her my harp alone
Can soothe this silent grief,
Since that dear one is gone
That gave me such relief!
Can soothe this silent grief,
Since that dear one is gone
That gave me such relief!
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Tell her my days are fleet,
That song must soon be o'er—
For she who made it sweet,
Shall hear me sing no more!
That song must soon be o'er—
For she who made it sweet,
Shall hear me sing no more!
Tell her that song is sweet
Because her heart is true—
Tell her that we shall meet
No more on earth—Adieu!
Because her heart is true—
Tell her that we shall meet
No more on earth—Adieu!
I saw him sadly weep
The deep warm tears that sorrow bade him shed,
And sink into himself with silence deep,
And mourn about his long lost Lenah dead!
The deep warm tears that sorrow bade him shed,
And sink into himself with silence deep,
And mourn about his long lost Lenah dead!
The dove that builds her nest
In garden cedar, where, from morn till night,
The loved ones meet, had more secluded rest
Than this same sad—this broken-hearted wight!
In garden cedar, where, from morn till night,
The loved ones meet, had more secluded rest
Than this same sad—this broken-hearted wight!
But now his soul is free
As that sweet harp that he had often strung!
The willow boughs bend over by the sea,
Where never more shall that sweet song be sung!
As that sweet harp that he had often strung!
The willow boughs bend over by the sea,
Where never more shall that sweet song be sung!
And, often, it is said,
At night, when other things are all asleep,
The sea-winds moan about his lonely bed,
And spirits gather round his harp to weep!
At night, when other things are all asleep,
The sea-winds moan about his lonely bed,
And spirits gather round his harp to weep!
| Nacoochee ; or, the beautiful star, with other Poems | |