 | A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England |  |
276
LAND HO! OR THE SHIP IN PORT.
FROM THE SAME.
My heart has been the plaything, love, of woman, like a ship,
That every fickle wandering gale may toss about at will;
Now wooed to hidden danger, by the south wind's wanton lip,
Now shivering in the northern gale, with fever-fit, and chill.
That every fickle wandering gale may toss about at will;
Now wooed to hidden danger, by the south wind's wanton lip,
Now shivering in the northern gale, with fever-fit, and chill.
But escaped from syren treachery, it has found a haven at last,
Where the whirlpool cannot lure to death, nor breakers lash its rails;
By thy dear side the pilot Love has moored it safe and fast,
Dropped anchor at thy fairy feet, and furled its flying sails!
Where the whirlpool cannot lure to death, nor breakers lash its rails;
By thy dear side the pilot Love has moored it safe and fast,
Dropped anchor at thy fairy feet, and furled its flying sails!
| A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England | |