 | Poems |  |
178
THE EMIGRANT'S DREAM.
Once I dreamed that I was crossing,
Exile sad, the lonely ocean,
Ever plunging, ever tossing
In monotony of motion;
All too cramped, and yet too free,
Smothered in a shaking jail,
Driven by the wandering gale
Over wastes of sea.
Exile sad, the lonely ocean,
Ever plunging, ever tossing
In monotony of motion;
All too cramped, and yet too free,
Smothered in a shaking jail,
Driven by the wandering gale
Over wastes of sea.
Swift the senseless ship is cleaving
Death-dark waters, that dissever
Weary hearts, out-worn with grieving,
Weary hearts and homes for ever.
Berth is sickly close below,
Blast above us harshly rings;
—O the early thrush that sings
Where my carnations blow!
Death-dark waters, that dissever
Weary hearts, out-worn with grieving,
Weary hearts and homes for ever.
Berth is sickly close below,
Blast above us harshly rings;
—O the early thrush that sings
Where my carnations blow!
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Mine? alas, that day is vanished!
I am outcast, I am lonely,
I am broken, I am banished,
All my hope is patience only!
—In my dream I moaned aloud,
And behold! a heavenly bliss
Stooping like a mother's kiss
Through the slumbrous cloud.
I am outcast, I am lonely,
I am broken, I am banished,
All my hope is patience only!
—In my dream I moaned aloud,
And behold! a heavenly bliss
Stooping like a mother's kiss
Through the slumbrous cloud.
Thrush from laurel-bough was trilling.
Eyelids not as yet unclosing
Hugged the home-contentment filling
My luxurious heart's reposing,
As the soft embracing air
Was full of spiced carnation-breath,—
'Scaped from the Satan of sleep's death,
The horrible Nightmare!
Eyelids not as yet unclosing
Hugged the home-contentment filling
My luxurious heart's reposing,
As the soft embracing air
Was full of spiced carnation-breath,—
'Scaped from the Satan of sleep's death,
The horrible Nightmare!
Would Death's self, that nurse ungainly,
To a dreamless rest had rocked me—
Ere the chill light showed me plainly
'Twas not slumber that had mocked me.
Ere I saw my thrush's cage
Swinging in the steerage glooms,
Saw the box that held my blooms
On the rough-laid stage.
To a dreamless rest had rocked me—
Ere the chill light showed me plainly
'Twas not slumber that had mocked me.
Ere I saw my thrush's cage
Swinging in the steerage glooms,
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On the rough-laid stage.
“Bird,” I said, “in double prison,
Quickly is your song reviving;
Flowers, your scents have never risen
Sweetlier, when in garden thriving.
O that in my heavy state
Hope could promise that at length
I might gather needful strength
To surmount my fate!”
Quickly is your song reviving;
Flowers, your scents have never risen
Sweetlier, when in garden thriving.
O that in my heavy state
Hope could promise that at length
I might gather needful strength
To surmount my fate!”
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