 | Specimens of American poetry |  |
THOMAS O. FOLSOM
CLOUDS.
Beautiful clouds in the quiet sky
Whence come ye, floating so proudly by?
“We come from the land where the forest's gloom
Frowns darkly around the old warrior's tomb,
Where the ramparts he rear'd still their strength retain,
Though ye seek their defender's name in vain.
Whence come ye, floating so proudly by?
“We come from the land where the forest's gloom
Frowns darkly around the old warrior's tomb,
Where the ramparts he rear'd still their strength retain,
Though ye seek their defender's name in vain.
“We have cross'd the streams of the boundless west,
We have cluster'd in wreaths round the mountain's crest,
We have swept the prairie's lonely green,
O'er buffalo herds we have hung a screen,
We have shadow'd the path that the hunters take,
And obscured the gleam of the sunny lake.”
We have cluster'd in wreaths round the mountain's crest,
We have swept the prairie's lonely green,
O'er buffalo herds we have hung a screen,
We have shadow'd the path that the hunters take,
And obscured the gleam of the sunny lake.”
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Clouds that are skirted with golden light,
What have ye seen in your airy flight?
“We have seen stern gloom on the Indian's brow,
And the grief that stung him, but could not bow,
As he left the shore where his fathers rest,
To seek a new home in the far-off west.
What have ye seen in your airy flight?
“We have seen stern gloom on the Indian's brow,
And the grief that stung him, but could not bow,
As he left the shore where his fathers rest,
To seek a new home in the far-off west.
“We have seen the desert from wildness freed,
And the hardy husbandman scattering seed,
Villages rising by every stream,
And the white sail glancing in morning's beam;
Yet we saw that woes every scene deprave,
For we look'd on many a fresh-dug grave.”
And the hardy husbandman scattering seed,
Villages rising by every stream,
And the white sail glancing in morning's beam;
Yet we saw that woes every scene deprave,
For we look'd on many a fresh-dug grave.”
Say, what is the end of your pilgrimage?
“We have seen the mountain oak scathed by age,
On the shiver'd crag there is writ—decay—
Shall we be more happy and strong than they?
Man's labors and glories doth time obscure—
And shall we, things of vapor and shade, endure?
“We have seen the mountain oak scathed by age,
On the shiver'd crag there is writ—decay—
Shall we be more happy and strong than they?
Man's labors and glories doth time obscure—
And shall we, things of vapor and shade, endure?
“Beauteous and dense as we seem to you,
We are vanishing fast from your wondering view,
For the sweeping gust and the sunny ray
Are hurrying and melting our fleeces away;
When the morning comes in its glowing sheen,
Not a mist will tell we have ever been.”
We are vanishing fast from your wondering view,
For the sweeping gust and the sunny ray
Are hurrying and melting our fleeces away;
When the morning comes in its glowing sheen,
Not a mist will tell we have ever been.”
Beautiful clouds, it is ever thus,
Stern time is consuming our works and us;
And ye—though storms in your robe are roll'd,
Though the thunder sleep in your dusky fold,
Though ye boast a heavenly home and birth
Ye must fade away like things of earth.
Stern time is consuming our works and us;
And ye—though storms in your robe are roll'd,
Though the thunder sleep in your dusky fold,
Though ye boast a heavenly home and birth
Ye must fade away like things of earth.
WAR SONG.
Is it the welcome roar
Of thundering signal gun?—
Hark! for the sound bursts through once more,
Rending night's robe of dun.
It is the welcome sound,
The joyous call to war,
For the near bugle screams around
The cry to arms—hurrah!
Of thundering signal gun?—
Hark! for the sound bursts through once more,
Rending night's robe of dun.
It is the welcome sound,
The joyous call to war,
For the near bugle screams around
The cry to arms—hurrah!
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From beauty's straining arms
And banquet pleasures spring,
Bring out the trusty sword and steed,
Our proud old banner bring;
The drum is rolling loud,
Clatters the ponderous car,
And mustering warriors onward crowd
And blithely shout—hurrah!
And banquet pleasures spring,
Bring out the trusty sword and steed,
Our proud old banner bring;
The drum is rolling loud,
Clatters the ponderous car,
And mustering warriors onward crowd
And blithely shout—hurrah!
The early dawn shall glance
On the long gleaming line,
Proudly the buoyant plume will dance,
And burnish'd bayonet shine;
The soldier's heart will leap
As trumpets ring afar,—
They summon him away to reap
His wreaths of fame—hurrah!
On the long gleaming line,
Proudly the buoyant plume will dance,
And burnish'd bayonet shine;
The soldier's heart will leap
As trumpets ring afar,—
They summon him away to reap
His wreaths of fame—hurrah!
Lo! yonder comes the foe—
Rush on with gun and glaive,
For freedom 't is ye strike below
The banner of the brave;
On—on, until they fly,
Their fiercest daring mar—
'T is well! fling down the brand and cry
The victor shout—hurrah!
Rush on with gun and glaive,
For freedom 't is ye strike below
The banner of the brave;
On—on, until they fly,
Their fiercest daring mar—
'T is well! fling down the brand and cry
The victor shout—hurrah!
| Specimens of American poetry | |