 | [Poems by Whittier in] A Study of Whittier's Apprenticeship as a Poet |  |
128
PSALM 137
Euphrates' stormy tide
Rolled hoarsely murmuring on,
We sat upon its sounding side,
And thought of moments gone.
Remembrance of our home was nigh,
Of Salem's shrines we thought—
Tears glistened in each captive's eye,
With mournful wildness fraught.
The warrior's sigh, the matron's wail
Was mingled in the passion gale.
Rolled hoarsely murmuring on,
We sat upon its sounding side,
And thought of moments gone.
Remembrance of our home was nigh,
Of Salem's shrines we thought—
Tears glistened in each captive's eye,
With mournful wildness fraught.
The warrior's sigh, the matron's wail
Was mingled in the passion gale.
Unstrung on willow trees,
That o'er the waters flung
Their shadows varied by the breeze,
Our tuneless harps were hung,
And scornful foes, exulting o'er
Our nation's nameless wrongs,
Bade us awake their chords once more,
With Zion's holy songs,
With strains that erst were wont to fill
The altars on her hallowed hill.
That o'er the waters flung
Their shadows varied by the breeze,
Our tuneless harps were hung,
And scornful foes, exulting o'er
Our nation's nameless wrongs,
Bade us awake their chords once more,
With Zion's holy songs,
With strains that erst were wont to fill
The altars on her hallowed hill.
How could we raise the song
Within the stranger's land?
Could we the sacred notes prolong
Amidst a pagan band?
O Salem! if I thee forget,
If Zion's holy hill
Depart from my remembrance, let
My hand forget its skill,
To touch the harp with sweetness strong,
And deathless silence chain my tongue.
Within the stranger's land?
Could we the sacred notes prolong
Amidst a pagan band?
O Salem! if I thee forget,
If Zion's holy hill
Depart from my remembrance, let
My hand forget its skill,
To touch the harp with sweetness strong,
And deathless silence chain my tongue.
Haverhill Gazette, April 1, 1827
| [Poems by Whittier in] A Study of Whittier's Apprenticeship as a Poet | |