 | Specimens of American poetry |  |
A. M. WELLS.
HOPE.
There sits a woman on the brow
Of yonder rocky height;
There, gazing o'er the waves below,
She sits from morn till night.
Of yonder rocky height;
There, gazing o'er the waves below,
She sits from morn till night.
She heeds not how the mad waves leap
Along the rugged shore;
She looks for one upon the deep
She never may see more.
Along the rugged shore;
She looks for one upon the deep
She never may see more.
As morning twilight faintly gleams,
Her shadowy form I trace;
Wrapt in the silvery mist, she seems
The Genius of the place!
Her shadowy form I trace;
Wrapt in the silvery mist, she seems
The Genius of the place!
361
Far other once was Rosalie;
Her smile was glad; her voice,
Like music o'er a summer sea,
Said to the heart—rejoice.
Her smile was glad; her voice,
Like music o'er a summer sea,
Said to the heart—rejoice.
O'er her pure thoughts did sorrow fling
Perchance a shade, 't would pass,
Lightly as glides the breath of Spring
Along the bending grass.
Perchance a shade, 't would pass,
Lightly as glides the breath of Spring
Along the bending grass.
A sailor's bride 't was hers to be:—
Wo to the faithless main!
Nine summers since he went to sea,
And ne'er returned again.
Wo to the faithless main!
Nine summers since he went to sea,
And ne'er returned again.
But long, where all is wrecked beside,
And every joy is chased,
Long, long will lingering Hope abide
Amid the dreary waste!
And every joy is chased,
Long, long will lingering Hope abide
Amid the dreary waste!
Nine years—though all have given him o'er,
Her spirit doth not fail;
And still she waits along the shore
The never coming sail.
Her spirit doth not fail;
And still she waits along the shore
The never coming sail.
On that high rock, abrupt and bare,
Ever she sits, as now;
The dews have damped her flowing hair,
The sun has scorched her brow.
Ever she sits, as now;
The dews have damped her flowing hair,
The sun has scorched her brow.
And every far-off sail she sees,
And every passing cloud,
Or white-winged sea-bird, on the breeze,
She calls to it aloud.
And every passing cloud,
Or white-winged sea-bird, on the breeze,
She calls to it aloud.
The sea-bird answers to her cry;
The cloud, the sail float on.—
The hoarse wave mocks her misery,
Yet is her hope not gone:—
The cloud, the sail float on.—
The hoarse wave mocks her misery,
Yet is her hope not gone:—
It cannot go:—with that to part,
So long, so fondly nursed,
So mingled with her faithful heart,
That heart itself would burst.
So long, so fondly nursed,
So mingled with her faithful heart,
That heart itself would burst.
362
When falling dews the clover steep,
And birds are in their nest,
And flower-buds folded up to sleep,
And ploughmen gone to rest,
And birds are in their nest,
And flower-buds folded up to sleep,
And ploughmen gone to rest,
Down the rude track her feet have worn,
—There scarce the goat may go;—
Poor Rosalie, with look forlorn,
Is seen descending slow.
—There scarce the goat may go;—
Poor Rosalie, with look forlorn,
Is seen descending slow.
But when the gray morn tints the sky,
And lights that lofty peak,—
With a strange lustre in her eye,
A fever in her cheek,
And lights that lofty peak,—
With a strange lustre in her eye,
A fever in her cheek,
Again she goes, untired, to sit
And watch, the live-long day;
Nor till the star of eve is lit,
E'er turns her steps away.
And watch, the live-long day;
Nor till the star of eve is lit,
E'er turns her steps away.
Hidden, and deep, and never dry,—
Or flowing, or at rest,
A living spring of hope doth lie
In every human breast.
Or flowing, or at rest,
A living spring of hope doth lie
In every human breast.
All else may fail, that soothes the heart,—
All, save that fount alone;
With that and life at once we part,
For life and hope are one.
All, save that fount alone;
With that and life at once we part,
For life and hope are one.
THE TAMED EAGLE.
He sat upon his humble perch, nor flew
At my approach;
But as I nearer drew,
Looked on me, as I fancied, with reproach,
And sadness too:
At my approach;
But as I nearer drew,
Looked on me, as I fancied, with reproach,
And sadness too:
And something still his native pride proclaim'd,
Despite his wo;
Which, when I marked,—ashamed
To see a noble creature brought so low,
My heart exclaim'd,
Despite his wo;
Which, when I marked,—ashamed
To see a noble creature brought so low,
My heart exclaim'd,
363
Where is the fire that lit thy fearless eye,
Child of the storm,
When from thy home on high,
Yon craggy-breasted rock, I saw thy form
Cleaving the sky?
Child of the storm,
When from thy home on high,
Yon craggy-breasted rock, I saw thy form
Cleaving the sky?
It grieveth me to see thy spirit tamed;
Gone out the light
That in thine eye-ball flamed,
When to the midday sun thy steady flight
Was proudly aimed!
Gone out the light
That in thine eye-ball flamed,
When to the midday sun thy steady flight
Was proudly aimed!
Like the young dove forsaken, is the look
Of thy sad eye,
Who in some lonely nook,
Mourneth upon the willow bough her destiny,
Beside the brook.
Of thy sad eye,
Who in some lonely nook,
Mourneth upon the willow bough her destiny,
Beside the brook.
While somewhat sterner in thy downward gaze
Doth seem to lower,
And deep disdain betrays,
As if thou cursed man's poorly acted power,
And scorned his praise.
Doth seem to lower,
And deep disdain betrays,
As if thou cursed man's poorly acted power,
And scorned his praise.
Oh, let not me insult thy fallen dignity,
Poor injured bird,
Gazing with vulgar eye
Upon thy ruin;—for my heart is stirr'd
To hear thy cry;
Poor injured bird,
Gazing with vulgar eye
Upon thy ruin;—for my heart is stirr'd
To hear thy cry;
And answereth to thee, as I turn to go,
It is a stain
On man!—Thus, even thus low
Be brought the wretch, who could for sordid gain,
Work thee such wo!
It is a stain
On man!—Thus, even thus low
Be brought the wretch, who could for sordid gain,
Work thee such wo!
| Specimens of American poetry | |