The poems of John G. C. Brainard A new and authentic collection, with an original memoir of his life |
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ONE THAT'S ON THE SEA. |
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 | The poems of John G. C. Brainard |  |
ONE THAT'S ON THE SEA.
With gallant sail and streamer gay,
Sweeping along the splendid bay,
That, thronged by thousands, seems to greet
The bearer of a precious freight,
The Cadmus comes; and every wave
Is glad the welcome prow to lave.
What are the ship and freight to me—
I look for one that's on the sea.
Sweeping along the splendid bay,
That, thronged by thousands, seems to greet
The bearer of a precious freight,
The Cadmus comes; and every wave
Is glad the welcome prow to lave.
What are the ship and freight to me—
I look for one that's on the sea.
127
“Welcome Fayette,” the million cries;
From heart to heart the ardor flies,
And drum, and bell, and cannon noise,
In concord with a nation's voice,
Is pealing through a grateful land,
And all go with him.—Here I stand,
Musing on one that's dear to me,
Yet sailing on the dangerous sea.
From heart to heart the ardor flies,
And drum, and bell, and cannon noise,
In concord with a nation's voice,
Is pealing through a grateful land,
And all go with him.—Here I stand,
Musing on one that's dear to me,
Yet sailing on the dangerous sea.
Be thy days happy here, Fayette—
Long may they be so—long—but yet
To me there 's one that, dearest still,
Clings to my heart and chains my will.
His languid limbs and feverish head
Are laid upon a sea-sick bed.
Perhaps his thoughts are fixed on me,
While tossed upon the mighty sea.
Long may they be so—long—but yet
To me there 's one that, dearest still,
Clings to my heart and chains my will.
His languid limbs and feverish head
Are laid upon a sea-sick bed.
Perhaps his thoughts are fixed on me,
While tossed upon the mighty sea.
I am alone. Let thousands throng
The noisy, crowded streets along:
Sweet be the beam of Beauty's gaze—
Loud be the shout that Freemen raise—
Let Patriots grasp thy noble hand,
And welcome thee to Freedom's land;—
Alas! I think of none but he
Who sails across the foaming sea.
The noisy, crowded streets along:
Sweet be the beam of Beauty's gaze—
Loud be the shout that Freemen raise—
Let Patriots grasp thy noble hand,
And welcome thee to Freedom's land;—
Alas! I think of none but he
Who sails across the foaming sea.
So, when the moon is shedding light
Upon the stars, and all is bright
And beautiful; when every eye
Looks upwards to the glorious sky;
How have I turned my silent gaze
To catch one little taper's blaze:—
'T was from a spot too dear to me,
The home of him that's on the sea.
Upon the stars, and all is bright
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Looks upwards to the glorious sky;
How have I turned my silent gaze
To catch one little taper's blaze:—
'T was from a spot too dear to me,
The home of him that's on the sea.
| The poems of John G. C. Brainard | |