Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

“The sun is sinking on the sea,”
The dim shades flit along the lea,
The scintillating sunbeams flee,
And tinge the heaving billow;
The night has lowered, and flung her veil
O'er the wold, and o'er the dale,
And swelling is the snowy sail,
And rolling is my pillow.

The ship is bounding in her motion,
The proud waves heave in loud commotion,
The mirage of the restless ocean
Is hanging on the horizon;
The seagull screams, and hastens by,
The porpoise bounds in revelry,
The lurid vestments o'er the sky
Seem to the soul a malison.

The blast is dread on wings of fire,
The billows flash in vivid ire,
The quailing heart dares not aspire,
And draw a hope from heaven;
The death-fires dance among the shrouds,
The wind-god rides the fleecy clouds,
And, wailing, writhe the pallid crowds,
And fiercely is the frail bark driven.

The wave is resting on the deep,
The wanderer's eye is closed in sleep,
The lachrymal fount has ceased to weep,
And the arcade's clothed in brightness;
The gilded spire attracts the view,
The tropic clime, now veiled in dew,
The range of domes, of diverse hue,
And fields in budding whiteness.

The verdant grove is decked with bloom,
The woodbine blushes through the gloom,
The floral petals o'er the tomb,
And the shrubbery redolent,
The bay, where smooth lianas twine,
The rill, whose silver waters shine,
The fane, where rises thought divine,
In one rich view are blent.

The friend of youth is far away,
The shades of beauty dimly play,
The floods of wo have quenched the ray,
And all the charms of love;
The plaintive sigh's not breathed for me,
The joyous board, the mirthful glee,
The loving smile, festivity;—
For I am doomed to rove.

The hope of joy is plumed for all,
The cup, that crowns the festival,
The fond caress, the aulic hall,
And blest is ardent passion;

The sneer, that blasts the love of youth,
The wrath, that scorns celestial ruth,
The ire, unheeding worth and truth,
Have shown me faith is out of fashion.

The saint, who clasped me to his breast,
The voice, that hushed my woes to rest,
The love, imbibed among the blest,
Have sought their silent mansion;
The heart, untainted, high, sincere,
The full soul, unconfined by sphere,
Have been by vipers rendered sear,
And burst in their expansion.

The partner of my childhood pleasures,
The hand, that shared my orient treasures,
The foot, that trod our sportive measures,
(Would thrust—would tramp me into earth;
The bird, that sung, would hush her strain,
The dog, who loved me, ere again
My footsteps tread my natal plain,
Wound me, a form of unknown birth.

The scenes of bliss are gone for ever,
Their charms return to cheer me—never,
The hearts, that fell hate could not sever,
Have broke in earth's collision;
The eyes, that wept for others' woes,
The glance of vengeance now disclose,
And civic form a mantle throws
O'er manhood's sheer derision.