 | Specimens of American poetry |  |
CHARLES J. LOCKE
A DREAM OF THE OCEAN.
A mermaid uprose in a golden dream,
And cried, “come, follow me”—
We glided away, on a swift moon-beam
To the brighest cave of the sea.
And cried, “come, follow me”—
We glided away, on a swift moon-beam
To the brighest cave of the sea.
'T was the festal hall of the waves, and there
Bright gems were cluster'd round;
And glowing shells in the liquid air
Made melody of sound.
Bright gems were cluster'd round;
And glowing shells in the liquid air
Made melody of sound.
I danced with the spirits o'er diamond sands
And quaff'd of happiness;
And wore a robe which their fairy hands
Had twined of light and bliss.
And quaff'd of happiness;
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Had twined of light and bliss.
I linger'd in ecstacy 'mid the grove
Of corals glancing bright,
And heard the pure song of the Mermaid's love
For a star in fields of light.
Of corals glancing bright,
And heard the pure song of the Mermaid's love
For a star in fields of light.
The water-sprites gather'd around to hear
The song that seem'd to wail
With the harmony soft, of the shell-tones clear,
And the surface-sighing gale.
The song that seem'd to wail
With the harmony soft, of the shell-tones clear,
And the surface-sighing gale.
“Oh! come” sung the mermaid, “thou beauteous star,
Come o'er the distant sea;
The bright moon has vanish'd and sail'd afar,
And thou may'st come to me.
Come o'er the distant sea;
The bright moon has vanish'd and sail'd afar,
And thou may'st come to me.
Oh! I have watch'd on the cold, cold rock,
And rode the ocean foam,
And laugh'd at the lightning and thunder-shock
As they crush'd my sparry home;
And rode the ocean foam,
And laugh'd at the lightning and thunder-shock
As they crush'd my sparry home;
And have wish'd I could catch on the lightning-lance
And guide it back to thee,
For the moon-beam wearies and falls askance
Far e'er it gains thy sea.
And guide it back to thee,
For the moon-beam wearies and falls askance
Far e'er it gains thy sea.
I built me a grotto of tinted shells
All glean'd from ocean's shores,
And sat there uttering fondest spells
'Mid howling tempest's roars;
All glean'd from ocean's shores,
And sat there uttering fondest spells
'Mid howling tempest's roars;
And I hoped thou would'st come—but I hope not now
For coldly thou didst smile,
And I gather'd some nightshade to bind my brow,
And my heart was sad the while.
For coldly thou didst smile,
And I gather'd some nightshade to bind my brow,
And my heart was sad the while.
Yet I love, pretty star, on the rock to sing
And twine in wreaths thy gleam”—
The moon sank down, the dark spread his wing,
And I woke from this lovely dream.
And twine in wreaths thy gleam”—
The moon sank down, the dark spread his wing,
And I woke from this lovely dream.
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THE HARP OF THE BATTLE.
Strike the harp! strike the harp! let the soft-toned lute
Be still in these halls tonight;
Its mellowing cadence shall now be mute;—
And cease to breathe on that silvery flute;—
It gives me no more delight;
For my soul is mad with ambition and care,
And I cannot list to a plaintive air.
Be still in these halls tonight;
Its mellowing cadence shall now be mute;—
And cease to breathe on that silvery flute;—
It gives me no more delight;
For my soul is mad with ambition and care,
And I cannot list to a plaintive air.
Strike the harp! strike the harp! let its swelling tones
Rise full on the midnight damp;
Strike the rage of the battle, the dying moans,
That mingle so wild with the frighten'd groans
And shrieks of a slaughtering camp,
And sound me the guns and the clash of arms
And all the fierce horrors of war's alarms.
Rise full on the midnight damp;
Strike the rage of the battle, the dying moans,
That mingle so wild with the frighten'd groans
And shrieks of a slaughtering camp,
And sound me the guns and the clash of arms
And all the fierce horrors of war's alarms.
I hear it—I see it—the warriors in strife
Are thick in the struggling fight;
And madly they rush to the field where life
Is thrown to the wind, but where glory is rife
On its smoke and its bloody light.
And he with the white plume is snatching the wreath
From the blackening brow of his foe in death.
Are thick in the struggling fight;
And madly they rush to the field where life
Is thrown to the wind, but where glory is rife
On its smoke and its bloody light.
And he with the white plume is snatching the wreath
From the blackening brow of his foe in death.
See, he flies to the onset; again and again;—
Hark! his shout o'er the fallen foe,
Oh! God, he has shouted, and fought in vain,
For, stretch'd by a mightier hand on the plain
He lies in his life-blood low;—
His friends quail around him—“ye dastards fly not,
But give me the brand that his hand has forgot.”
Hark! his shout o'er the fallen foe,
Oh! God, he has shouted, and fought in vain,
For, stretch'd by a mightier hand on the plain
He lies in his life-blood low;—
His friends quail around him—“ye dastards fly not,
But give me the brand that his hand has forgot.”
“Fly not, ye base cowards, come quick to the fight,”
They turn to the battle again.
“Now strike home for vengeance—spare not in your might
The faithless invaders”—they 're routed in flight—
The red earth is strown with the slain—
List, list to the shrieking—'t is fainter—all 's o'er—
The harp-tone hath ceased and the battle 's no more
They turn to the battle again.
“Now strike home for vengeance—spare not in your might
The faithless invaders”—they 're routed in flight—
The red earth is strown with the slain—
List, list to the shrieking—'t is fainter—all 's o'er—
The harp-tone hath ceased and the battle 's no more
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THE QUEEN OF THE MIST.
Beautiful Spirit! that glidest away,
Light o'er the mountain, I pray thee stay!
Stay but a moment, for I would know,
Whence thou hast come, and whither dost go!
Beautiful Spirit! bound by my spell!
Oh! tell, oh! tell,
Murmuring echo, too, bids thee tell.
Light o'er the mountain, I pray thee stay!
Stay but a moment, for I would know,
Whence thou hast come, and whither dost go!
Beautiful Spirit! bound by my spell!
Oh! tell, oh! tell,
Murmuring echo, too, bids thee tell.
Why didst thou sail o'er the calm blue lake
All the dark night, and at morning take
Gently thy shadowy robes and fly
Softly away to the glowing sky?—
Sometimes I fancy thee bride of the Sun;
The Sun, the Sun,
Yes, echo calls thee the bride of the Sun.
All the dark night, and at morning take
Gently thy shadowy robes and fly
Softly away to the glowing sky?—
Sometimes I fancy thee bride of the Sun;
The Sun, the Sun,
Yes, echo calls thee the bride of the Sun.
Flowerets are weeping, because thou art cold,
While in thy presence they sweetly fold
Closer their beauties, so blooming bright,
Striving to keep thee, thou child of light:—
When thou art vanish'd they dry their tears,
Their tears, their tears,
Echo repeats it, they dry their tears.
While in thy presence they sweetly fold
Closer their beauties, so blooming bright,
Striving to keep thee, thou child of light:—
When thou art vanish'd they dry their tears,
Their tears, their tears,
Echo repeats it, they dry their tears.
Oh! for a bride that would haste to me,
Lovely as thou art—in ecstacy—
Melting away in each fond embrace.—
Now thou hast vanish'd, nor left a trace,
Faintly to answer my broken spell;—
Farewell, farewell,
Murmuring echo, now bids farewell.
Lovely as thou art—in ecstacy—
Melting away in each fond embrace.—
Now thou hast vanish'd, nor left a trace,
Faintly to answer my broken spell;—
Farewell, farewell,
Murmuring echo, now bids farewell.
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