Mr. and Mrs. Woodbridge with other tales, representing life as it is and intended to show what it should be |
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THE SAILOR BOY'S LAMENT. |
 | Mr. and Mrs. Woodbridge |  |
THE SAILOR BOY'S LAMENT.
BY MRS. CAROLINE ORNE.
Alas! why did I leave
My pleasant home
A wanderer o'er the waves,
Afar to roam?
Ah! why was I the first
To rend apart
Those household ties that long
Bound heart to heart,
'Tis night: the waves are round,
The sky above,
Whence the bright stars look down
On those I love;
On those whose fondest thoughts
Will still be given
To me, whene'er they lift
Their hearts to Heaven.
For this yon beaming stars
Seem friends to me,
But soon on distant seas
My pleasant home
A wanderer o'er the waves,
Afar to roam?
Ah! why was I the first
To rend apart
Those household ties that long
Bound heart to heart,
'Tis night: the waves are round,
The sky above,
Whence the bright stars look down
On those I love;
On those whose fondest thoughts
Will still be given
To me, whene'er they lift
Their hearts to Heaven.
For this yon beaming stars
Seem friends to me,
But soon on distant seas
165
My course will be —
Seas where a stranger host
Will meet my gaze,
That ne'er on those I love,
Poured their soft rays.
Then will there nought be left
Save mem'ry's chain,
To link my thoughts with those
Beyond the main;
But many a lovely flower,
Unheeded when
I mingled joys with them,
Will bloom again.
The sunny places where
The violet
Nestled amid the grass,
With dew still wet —
The fount, the mossy rock,
The old oak tree,
Will, in my night-watch, oft
Come back to me.
Oh, for one hour with those
I left behind,
Whose voices in the night,
Borne on the wind,
Like the low wind-harp's notes
Oft seem to come,
Wafted from flowery fields,
Near by my home.
Seas where a stranger host
Will meet my gaze,
That ne'er on those I love,
Poured their soft rays.
Then will there nought be left
Save mem'ry's chain,
To link my thoughts with those
Beyond the main;
But many a lovely flower,
Unheeded when
I mingled joys with them,
Will bloom again.
The sunny places where
The violet
Nestled amid the grass,
With dew still wet —
The fount, the mossy rock,
The old oak tree,
Will, in my night-watch, oft
Come back to me.
Oh, for one hour with those
I left behind,
Whose voices in the night,
Borne on the wind,
Like the low wind-harp's notes
Oft seem to come,
Wafted from flowery fields,
Near by my home.
166
Why did I leave the fount,
The rock, the tree —
The glades where wild-flowers bloomed,
And roved the bee?
Why did I leave my home,
And those I love,
O'er the wild, pathless sea,
Afar to rove?
The rock, the tree —
The glades where wild-flowers bloomed,
And roved the bee?
Why did I leave my home,
And those I love,
O'er the wild, pathless sea,
Afar to rove?
| Mr. and Mrs. Woodbridge | |