Poems by James Hyslop ... With a Sketch of his Life, and Notes on his Poems, By the Rev. Peter Mearns |
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| LX. | LX.
A Ball on Board.
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 | Poems by James Hyslop |  |
LX.
A Ball on Board.
The starlight is shining, the waves are asleep,
The moon throws her yellow veil o'er the blue deep;
Around all is beauty on sea, sky, and earth;
And all on the quarter-deck, music and mirth.
The moon throws her yellow veil o'er the blue deep;
Around all is beauty on sea, sky, and earth;
And all on the quarter-deck, music and mirth.
For the ensigns of death are removed afar,
And the big, heavy guns breathing thunder and war;
And our proud flag, in glory that streams o'er the seas,
O'er-canopies bright lamps, and flowers, and green trees.
And the big, heavy guns breathing thunder and war;
And our proud flag, in glory that streams o'er the seas,
O'er-canopies bright lamps, and flowers, and green trees.
And brave men, that trod with the sword on their thigh,
And rank on their shoulders, and pride in their eye,
Have lightened their dark brow, and softened their glance,
To mingle with beauty and love in the dance.
And rank on their shoulders, and pride in their eye,
Have lightened their dark brow, and softened their glance,
To mingle with beauty and love in the dance.
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For the path of the watchman at midnight's dark noon,
By enchantment is changed to a magic saloon;
Where bright eyes are smiling, and ladies are gay,
And the light foot of love trips to music away.
By enchantment is changed to a magic saloon;
Where bright eyes are smiling, and ladies are gay,
And the light foot of love trips to music away.
Yes! light are the fairy forms floating along;
Each gesture is music, each motion is song;
With the languishing melody, soft looks increase,
And War's temple is wreath'd with the branches of peace.
Each gesture is music, each motion is song;
With the languishing melody, soft looks increase,
And War's temple is wreath'd with the branches of peace.
But tho' gay be the scene, it for me has no charms;
But my heart would be sick in the loveliest one's arms,
For its thoughts glide away, o'er the wide-spreading sea,
To the hours it has spent, my dear Susan, with thee.
But my heart would be sick in the loveliest one's arms,
For its thoughts glide away, o'er the wide-spreading sea,
To the hours it has spent, my dear Susan, with thee.
| Poems by James Hyslop | |