 | Judith, Esther, and other poems |  |
Written on the margin of the little river St. Charles.
Beats there a heart that cannot spring
Elastic from its sorrows' pressure?
Glows there a lip that cannot sing
On such a day a song of pleasure.
Elastic from its sorrows' pressure?
Glows there a lip that cannot sing
On such a day a song of pleasure.
Mild as the sigh from bosom meek,
Sweet as the breath of those we love,
The tender air upon my cheek
Seems shaken from the wing of dove!
Sweet as the breath of those we love,
The tender air upon my cheek
Seems shaken from the wing of dove!
How the delighted sun-beams kiss,
St. Charles, each little wave of thine!
That glows and trembles in its bliss,
Like bride that seeks yon holy shrine.
St. Charles, each little wave of thine!
That glows and trembles in its bliss,
Like bride that seeks yon holy shrine.
83
Lofty Quebec, St. Lawrence' pride,
Thy spires amid the tender dye
Of mounts that rise on every side
Beam like the light of Love's blue eye!
Thy spires amid the tender dye
Of mounts that rise on every side
Beam like the light of Love's blue eye!
How like some wild bird's towering nest,
Built on a rock as bleak and bare,
While warm as those beneath her breast,
Dearest affections flourish there.
Built on a rock as bleak and bare,
While warm as those beneath her breast,
Dearest affections flourish there.
I gaze, fair Nature, on thy charms
Like infant on caressing mother,
Oh! keep me in thy beauteous arms
And every sigh of sorrow smother.
Like infant on caressing mother,
Oh! keep me in thy beauteous arms
And every sigh of sorrow smother.
| Judith, Esther, and other poems | |