Chips, fragments and vestiges by Gail Hamilton collected and arranged by H. Augusta Dodge |
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“NOT ALL A DREAM” |
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 | Chips, fragments and vestiges by Gail Hamilton |  |
105
“NOT ALL A DREAM”
God bless the barque! with eager heart
I launched it on the tide,
In new-born life exultant—proud,
It flung the spray aside.
Its banners streamed—its white sails gleamed,
Its spars were all a-quiver,
As freighted with my young hope it passed
Right royally down the river.
I launched it on the tide,
In new-born life exultant—proud,
It flung the spray aside.
Its banners streamed—its white sails gleamed,
Its spars were all a-quiver,
As freighted with my young hope it passed
Right royally down the river.
I knew its sides were the fleeciness
That floats in the summer cloud;
I knew that the spider's matchless skill
Had woven each silken shroud;
I knew that the snowy swelling sails
From the lily's cup were given,
And the colors that swayed so aerily,
From the bow that encircles Heaven.
That floats in the summer cloud;
I knew that the spider's matchless skill
Had woven each silken shroud;
I knew that the snowy swelling sails
From the lily's cup were given,
And the colors that swayed so aerily,
From the bow that encircles Heaven.
But the river was blue as blue could be,
Blue was the summer sky,
And calm as the rippleless lake of light
That sleeps in a baby's eye.
The breeze just kissed the billowy sail,
Then hushed its murmuring breath,
And the fairy barque moved so statelily,
Was there aught to betoken death?
Blue was the summer sky,
And calm as the rippleless lake of light
That sleeps in a baby's eye.
The breeze just kissed the billowy sail,
Then hushed its murmuring breath,
And the fairy barque moved so statelily,
Was there aught to betoken death?
106
Woe—woe is me! the wind grows chill,
The sky looks dull and gray,
The water is black beneath the prows,
And icy cold the spray;
The white-capped waves are dashing on
In maniac madness foaming—
What loometh there above the waves
So shadowy in the gloaming!
The sky looks dull and gray,
The water is black beneath the prows,
And icy cold the spray;
The white-capped waves are dashing on
In maniac madness foaming—
What loometh there above the waves
So shadowy in the gloaming!
O cloud-wrought barque! O ill-starred barque!
Against the black rocks driven!
O wild, wild wail of agony
Up-piercing unto Heaven!
O pitiless waves! O demon waves!
Are ye rioting in my woe?
Ye have swept my hopes, my beautiful hopes,
To the coral groves below.
Against the black rocks driven!
O wild, wild wail of agony
Up-piercing unto Heaven!
O pitiless waves! O demon waves!
Are ye rioting in my woe?
Ye have swept my hopes, my beautiful hopes,
To the coral groves below.
O coral groves! Give up your dead
Beneath the sounding sea.
They are stiff and stark—they are naught to you—
They were more than life to me.
In vain! the coral groves are deaf
To all but the ocean's roar—
My cloud-wrought barque—my fair young hopes
Come back to me no more.
Beneath the sounding sea.
They are stiff and stark—they are naught to you—
They were more than life to me.
In vain! the coral groves are deaf
To all but the ocean's roar—
My cloud-wrought barque—my fair young hopes
Come back to me no more.
Hartford, Conn., July 2, 1855.
| Chips, fragments and vestiges by Gail Hamilton | |