A Poetry of Exiles By Douglas B. W. Sladen: An Australian colonist: Second edition, revised |
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THE WATCH TOWER. |
 | A Poetry of Exiles |  |
9
THE WATCH TOWER.
Two children who stood on a windy tower,
And counted the swallows that darted by!
Two lovers who stood at a later hour,
Alone with the sea and the stars and sky,
And made the grim tower a true lovers' bower,
When nought but night was nigh!
And counted the swallows that darted by!
Two lovers who stood at a later hour,
Alone with the sea and the stars and sky,
And made the grim tower a true lovers' bower,
When nought but night was nigh!
“You have not forgotten?” one lover said,
“How I gazed from our cliff at the seas afar,
And fancied that fortune and I were wed
If once I could voyage outside the bar;
The swallows were darting around your head,
As darting still they are.
“How I gazed from our cliff at the seas afar,
And fancied that fortune and I were wed
If once I could voyage outside the bar;
The swallows were darting around your head,
As darting still they are.
“Ah then I could pine in my ancient home,
Bewitched with wild visions of wondrous isles,
And long for long days with the sky and foam,
And fret at your simple and loving wiles:
I would give worlds now could I cease to roam,
And linger in your smiles.”
Bewitched with wild visions of wondrous isles,
And long for long days with the sky and foam,
And fret at your simple and loving wiles:
I would give worlds now could I cease to roam,
And linger in your smiles.”
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A maiden who stood on the same old tower,
Unheeding the swallows that darted by,
But dreaming a dream of that happier hour,
With gleams of a tear in her wistful eye,
And drooping her head like a summer flower
When autumn days are nigh!
Unheeding the swallows that darted by,
But dreaming a dream of that happier hour,
With gleams of a tear in her wistful eye,
And drooping her head like a summer flower
When autumn days are nigh!
The breeze as he moaned through the lattices
Caught a waif that strayed from her shining hair,
And floated it off for a love of his
To sleep on the lap of the sunset air,
While she breathed to her sailor-love's lock a kiss
And a sigh to her care.
Caught a waif that strayed from her shining hair,
And floated it off for a love of his
To sleep on the lap of the sunset air,
While she breathed to her sailor-love's lock a kiss
And a sigh to her care.
He winged back the roses that grew on her face,
(The wind, not the lover, alas to say,)
And ransomed from exile her rare old grace,
That sorrow had stolen and caged away,
Till she shone like herself for a full hour's space,
Herself of a vanished day.
(The wind, not the lover, alas to say,)
And ransomed from exile her rare old grace,
That sorrow had stolen and caged away,
Till she shone like herself for a full hour's space,
Herself of a vanished day.
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For now he was bending a sail to shore,
Till hopes would arise, and a heart would beat
With promise of parting for nevermore
From him whom she trusted so soon to meet:
But the ship, while she gazed at it, tacked and bore
To sea with straining sheet.
Till hopes would arise, and a heart would beat
With promise of parting for nevermore
From him whom she trusted so soon to meet:
But the ship, while she gazed at it, tacked and bore
To sea with straining sheet.
The sail in the swelling horizon sank,
The breeze died away in a calm at night,
And bosom and cheek on the maiden shrank,
As ship after ship would heave into sight,
And anchor and weigh and stand for the bank
At the mouth of the bight.
The breeze died away in a calm at night,
And bosom and cheek on the maiden shrank,
As ship after ship would heave into sight,
And anchor and weigh and stand for the bank
At the mouth of the bight.
Until of a morn on the windy tower
The breeze caught the waifs of bright hair no more:
She had sighed and sorrowed for that dead hour
Till her season for sorrows and sighs was o'er;
But the swallows still darted around her bower
As they darted of yore.
The breeze caught the waifs of bright hair no more:
She had sighed and sorrowed for that dead hour
Till her season for sorrows and sighs was o'er;
But the swallows still darted around her bower
As they darted of yore.
| A Poetry of Exiles | |