 | The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer |  |
255
THUNSERA'S LAMENT.
Here, broken-hearted,
Thunsera makes moan—
All have departed,
She lingers alone.
Fast fall her tears, and warm,
On their old graves—
Round her the beating storm
Fitfully raves.
Thunsera makes moan—
All have departed,
She lingers alone.
Fast fall her tears, and warm,
On their old graves—
Round her the beating storm
Fitfully raves.
The scenes of her childhood
How altered are they!
Red sons of the wild wood
Have vanished away.
Oh! once they were stronger
Than pines on the hill—
Their hearts beat no longer,
Their war-shout is still.
How altered are they!
Red sons of the wild wood
Have vanished away.
Oh! once they were stronger
Than pines on the hill—
Their hearts beat no longer,
Their war-shout is still.
Where dome and high steeple
Of pale men are seen,
The oaks of my people
Stood pillar'd and green.
A few, with tops blighted,
Like mourners remain,
From those disunited
Who come not again.
Of pale men are seen,
The oaks of my people
Stood pillar'd and green.
A few, with tops blighted,
Like mourners remain,
From those disunited
Who come not again.
No camp-fire is burning,
The hearth-stone is cold,
And ploughs are upturning
White bones of the bold.
Like mist from the river,
When red is the dawn,
Bow, arrow, and quiver,
And hunter are gone.
The hearth-stone is cold,
And ploughs are upturning
White bones of the bold.
256
When red is the dawn,
Bow, arrow, and quiver,
And hunter are gone.
A bright Isle is lying
Far in the south-west—
The round sun when dying,
Illumines its breast:—
There flowers never wither
Rude winds never blow,
And thither, oh, thither,
Thunsera must go!
Far in the south-west—
The round sun when dying,
Illumines its breast:—
There flowers never wither
Rude winds never blow,
And thither, oh, thither,
Thunsera must go!
| The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer | |