 | Poems |  |
128
THE ISLAND.
I.
THE POINT.
The gray wind flies with speed along,
Yet stand the clouds nor hurry by,—
Alas! 'tis but a voice of song,
To which they send no quick reply.
Yet stand the clouds nor hurry by,—
Alas! 'tis but a voice of song,
To which they send no quick reply.
The sea sleeps on,—its waves' repose
Defies the pathos of the gale,
So in our hearts, the long years' woes
Ride silent with a furled sail.
Defies the pathos of the gale,
So in our hearts, the long years' woes
Ride silent with a furled sail.
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Life's wind speeds on, but we are bound
By memory to our quiet state,
And sleep in solitude profound,
Within the caverns of our fate.
By memory to our quiet state,
And sleep in solitude profound,
Within the caverns of our fate.
With patient arms enfolded, mute,
We watch the clouds' unmoving day,
And mourn above our stringless lute,
Which still refuses us to play.
We watch the clouds' unmoving day,
And mourn above our stringless lute,
Which still refuses us to play.
Yet many a bark drives gaily by,
And cuts the white crest's curling foam,
While over it, the azure sky
Shines like a dear, domestic home.
And cuts the white crest's curling foam,
While over it, the azure sky
Shines like a dear, domestic home.
Our anchored boat among the flowers,
Is tufted with their yellow crests,
In which a merry troop of hours
Build with sweet song their circling nests.
Is tufted with their yellow crests,
In which a merry troop of hours
Build with sweet song their circling nests.
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Yet not our song, nor home, nor mate;—
We smile upon them half resigned,
And view them not made desolate,
By our dim days and sad gray wind.
We smile upon them half resigned,
And view them not made desolate,
By our dim days and sad gray wind.
II.
THE LITTLE BAY.
Thy waves are still this gentle day,
They sweep no more with angry voice,
The wind lies sleeping far away,
And bids thee in repose, rejoice.
They sweep no more with angry voice,
The wind lies sleeping far away,
And bids thee in repose, rejoice.
I love to skim thy peaceful breast,
My little skiff so gently tossed,
For here I feel perpetual rest,
Where never wind my path has crossed.
My little skiff so gently tossed,
For here I feel perpetual rest,
Where never wind my path has crossed.
I sweetly feel within thy arms,
Such peaceful life will dwell with me,
Day shed a rain of shining charms,
And night glow golden passed with thee.
Such peaceful life will dwell with me,
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And night glow golden passed with thee.
O little bay!—O little bay!
Why need I shun thy tranquil tide?
Why need I weep the gusty day,
When I at sea shall fiercely ride?
Why need I shun thy tranquil tide?
Why need I weep the gusty day,
When I at sea shall fiercely ride?
Alas! my little skiff drifts down
Thy peaceful current, but to be
The victim of the ocean's frown,
The plaything of the misty sea.
Thy peaceful current, but to be
The victim of the ocean's frown,
The plaything of the misty sea.
III.
THE LITTLE ISLANDS.
With what a dauntless, unconfined air
They eye askant this other island scene,
Now when the whole expanse is smiling fair,
And with what bold and satisfied demean
They gaze for ever at the rolling sea,—
Their glance interpreteth my destiny.
They eye askant this other island scene,
Now when the whole expanse is smiling fair,
And with what bold and satisfied demean
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Their glance interpreteth my destiny.
So I, an island in the cold world's tide,
Boldly stand looking at to-morrow's rise,
To-day I feel no fear what comes beside,
Nor shade with trembling hand my weakened eyes,
Yet yonder ocean rolls with fearful might,
And has its clouds and unexpected night.
Boldly stand looking at to-morrow's rise,
To-day I feel no fear what comes beside,
Nor shade with trembling hand my weakened eyes,
Yet yonder ocean rolls with fearful might,
And has its clouds and unexpected night.
My good right hand is all I have for aid,
My soul's own armor makes my whole defence,
Yet not a power I supplicate, afraid;
They shine content, but very far from hence;
Nor any man can be my constant law,
With all mankind I wage a secret war.
My soul's own armor makes my whole defence,
Yet not a power I supplicate, afraid;
They shine content, but very far from hence;
Nor any man can be my constant law,
With all mankind I wage a secret war.
133
IV.
THE BRIDGES.
Lo! how hastes the coming tide,
Plying with main strength its task,
Tossing weeds and shells aside,
No assistance does it ask.
Plying with main strength its task,
Tossing weeds and shells aside,
No assistance does it ask.
So may we our lives control,
Cast aside what we desire,
Feeling that the sweeping soul
Has than earthly path, a higher.
Cast aside what we desire,
Feeling that the sweeping soul
Has than earthly path, a higher.
Life has bridged our destiny,
Walled our woes within its breast,
Runs through us a troubled sea,
Which perceiveth here no rest.
Walled our woes within its breast,
Runs through us a troubled sea,
Which perceiveth here no rest.
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Death shall sweep the works away,
Set our current flowing free,
Leave us no more yesterday,
And be the thing we feebly see.
Set our current flowing free,
Leave us no more yesterday,
And be the thing we feebly see.
Then by the bridge I dauntless swear
I will rise higher than before,
My head shall breathe a freer air
Than any scattered on this shore.
I will rise higher than before,
My head shall breathe a freer air
Than any scattered on this shore.
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