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 | Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood |  |
127
ALONE.
Once more alone—and desolate now for ever,
In truth, the heart whose home was once in thine;
Once more alone on Life's terrific river,
All human help exulting I resign.
In truth, the heart whose home was once in thine;
Once more alone on Life's terrific river,
All human help exulting I resign.
Alone I brave the tempest and the terror,
Alone I guide my being's fragile bark,
And bless the Past with all its grief and error,
Since heaven still bends above my pathway dark.
Alone I guide my being's fragile bark,
And bless the Past with all its grief and error,
Since heaven still bends above my pathway dark.
At last, I taste the joy of self-reliance;
At last I reverence, calmly, my own soul;
At last, I glory in serene defiance
Of all the wrong that would my fate control.
At last I reverence, calmly, my own soul;
At last, I glory in serene defiance
Of all the wrong that would my fate control.
Elastic bounds above the waves of sorrow
The bark, wo's lightest breath could once o'erwhelm;
It turns triumphant to the radiant morrow—
Faith at the mast and Courage at the helm.
The bark, wo's lightest breath could once o'erwhelm;
It turns triumphant to the radiant morrow—
Faith at the mast and Courage at the helm.
128
Away! away! its pure sail softly swelling
With the glad gale, that springs to speed its flight,
The beauteous sunset of the Past foretelling
How rich shall be the Future's morning light.
With the glad gale, that springs to speed its flight,
The beauteous sunset of the Past foretelling
How rich shall be the Future's morning light.
Too long it trusted Love, the treacherous pilot,
Who, lingering, lured it toward the whirlpool wild,
And, idly moor'd to many a flowery islet,
Forgot the glorious shore afar that smiled.
Who, lingering, lured it toward the whirlpool wild,
And, idly moor'd to many a flowery islet,
Forgot the glorious shore afar that smiled.
But now untrammell'd, buoyant as a bird,
Without one coward fear, one poor regret,
By heaven's melodious breath to rapture stirr'd,
It springs, inspired, with all its white sails set.
Without one coward fear, one poor regret,
By heaven's melodious breath to rapture stirr'd,
It springs, inspired, with all its white sails set.
And rosy bowers may woo it from its duty,
Where Joy supine sits weaving garlands frail,
And other barks, freighted with love and beauty,
May tempt,—but it glides onward with the gale.
Where Joy supine sits weaving garlands frail,
And other barks, freighted with love and beauty,
May tempt,—but it glides onward with the gale.
True to its destined port, through storm and shine,
Though sails be rent and waves in fury rise,
Its beacon light a burning hope divine,
For ever bright, though tempests sweep the skies!
Though sails be rent and waves in fury rise,
Its beacon light a burning hope divine,
For ever bright, though tempests sweep the skies!
| Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | |