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The vision of Cortes, Cain, and other poems

Simms, William Gilmore (1806-1870)

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[section]
  
[dedication]
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THE VISION OF CORTES.
  
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 1. 
I.
 2. 
II.
 3. 
III.
 4. 
IV.
 5. 
V.
 6. 
VI.
 7. 
VII.
 8. 
VIII.
 9. 
IX.
 10. 
X.
 12. 
XII.
 13. 
XIII.
 14. 
XIV.
 15. 
XV.
 16. 
XVI.
 17. 
XVII.
 18. 
XVIII.
 19. 
XIX.
 20. 
XX.
 21. 
XXI.
 22. 
XXII.
 23. 
XXIII.
 24. 
XXIV.
 25. 
XXV.
 26. 
XXVI.
 27. 
XXVII.
 28. 
XXVIII.
 29. 
XXIX.
 30. 
XXX.
 31. 
XXXI.
 32. 
XXXII.
 33. 
XXXIII.
  
CAIN.
  
ASHLEY RIVER.
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MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
  
THE STARS.
  
STANZAS TO IDA.
  
DIRGE OF THE LEAVES.
  
THE LAST LEAF.
  
STANZAS TO IDA.
  
TO THE SAME.
  
TO THE SAME.
  
STANZAS.
  
TO THYRZA.
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SONNETS.
  
[Come down, ye dark brow'd ministers of thought]
  
[Can I not lay me down, at once, and die?]
  
[Thou wilt remark my fate, when I am dead]
  
[Ambition owns no friend—yet be thou mine]
  
[To-morrow, I shall have no charge in life]
  
[The barque is ready, for your carriage hence]
  
[Ay, I have heard enough]
  
[Last night, the moon shone suddenly in streams]
  
[It was a picture of much loveliness]
  
[My child, my beautiful child, when I am gone]
  
[I saw it in my dream. O! could I task]
  
[Thou hast enamor'd me of woodland scenes]
  
[Ah! me, that sleeping, like Endymion]
  
[Moonlight is down among the pleasant hills]
  
[Sweetness, and gamesome images, surround]
  
[Come, sit thee down beside me—I would rest]
  
[The spirits that do dress the flow'rs with dew]
  
[I think, good shepherd, you did dream of this]
  
FAREWELL TO IDA.

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[The barque is ready, for your carriage hence]

The barque is ready, for your carriage hence,
My friend—and you are now about to tread
The English shore again. Alas! I sigh,
When aught diverts my thought to my own land;
For in my heart a labor lies conceal'd,
137

That is not the less irksome. I've had dreams,
Eustace—and, tho' I would not be a boy,
They've had much weight upon me, and I feel
A strong forecast, that I shall never more,
Be, on the English shore, a visitor.
I have a sister Eustace, you will find
At Sheffield—bid her be of cheer, I pray,
For I am well. Be sure and send her this—
'Tis a small token, but to her enough—
Since, 'tis the giver's thought, and not his gift,
The token carries with it. Be her friend,
As you have been her brother's—he, I feel,
Will need nor hate, nor friendship from you more.
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