The Hope of the World and other poems by Charles Mackay |
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THE WISHING-GATE. |
 | The Hope of the World and other poems |  |
THE WISHING-GATE.
[_]
[In the Vale of Grasmere, in Westmoreland, there is a gate, known by the name of “The Wishing-Gate,” to which popular superstition attaches the belief that all reasonable wishes there formed will be fulfilled.]
'Tis dreamy midnight's solemn hour,
The busy village sleeps,
And the pale moon with silver sheen
Her nightly vigil keeps;
The pole-star twinkles in the blue,
The hour is growing late,
Then haste thee, maiden, and away,
And seek the Wishing-Gate:
And if thy heart be free from guile,
Thy thoughts serene and holy,
Go breathe thy prayer, go wish thy wish,
And banish melancholy.
The busy village sleeps,
And the pale moon with silver sheen
Her nightly vigil keeps;
The pole-star twinkles in the blue,
The hour is growing late,
Then haste thee, maiden, and away,
And seek the Wishing-Gate:
172
Thy thoughts serene and holy,
Go breathe thy prayer, go wish thy wish,
And banish melancholy.
The maiden leaves her busy wheel,
And dons her hose and shoon,
And hastens to that ancient gate,
While shines the quiet moon—
“There is a bark upon the wave,
A bark I fain would see,
And one who treads her gallant deck,
Who vow'd to cherish me!
Who vow'd, in spite of fortune's frown,
His love should never vary—
Would he were here in safety now,
Conversing with his Mary!”
Pale clouds obscured the thoughtful moon,
The hour was growing late,
The maiden, pensive and alone,
Leant o'er the Wishing-Gate.—
Was it a robber in the dark,
That stole along so weary?—
“'Tis he! 'tis he! my Henry dear,
Restored to love and Mary!”
And dons her hose and shoon,
And hastens to that ancient gate,
While shines the quiet moon—
“There is a bark upon the wave,
A bark I fain would see,
And one who treads her gallant deck,
Who vow'd to cherish me!
Who vow'd, in spite of fortune's frown,
His love should never vary—
Would he were here in safety now,
Conversing with his Mary!”
173
The hour was growing late,
The maiden, pensive and alone,
Leant o'er the Wishing-Gate.—
Was it a robber in the dark,
That stole along so weary?—
“'Tis he! 'tis he! my Henry dear,
Restored to love and Mary!”
| The Hope of the World and other poems | |