The Vision of Prophecy and Other Poems By James D. Burns ... Second Edition |
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THE BAY OF BARCELONA. |
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| XXVIII. |
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 | The Vision of Prophecy and Other Poems |  |
210
THE BAY OF BARCELONA.
'Tis evening, and the thunder-cloud
Sinks spent behind the western hill,
The light has rent its lurid shroud,
And breezes waft it at their will;
The golden rays of sunset stream
On castled mount and turret grey,
The clear air quivers in the gleam
That falls upon the glassy bay.
Sinks spent behind the western hill,
The light has rent its lurid shroud,
And breezes waft it at their will;
The golden rays of sunset stream
On castled mount and turret grey,
The clear air quivers in the gleam
That falls upon the glassy bay.
The scattered barks to land return,
Their toils forgot in sight of home,—
They bravely dared the lowering morn,
And clove their path through mist and foam;
At noon the cloudy north-wind blew,
The answering waves rose wild and high,
And drifting vapours swept from view
The landmarks sacred to the eye.
Their toils forgot in sight of home,—
They bravely dared the lowering morn,
And clove their path through mist and foam;
At noon the cloudy north-wind blew,
The answering waves rose wild and high,
And drifting vapours swept from view
The landmarks sacred to the eye.
211
But now, like sea-birds, to the land
They gladly stretch a snowy wing,
And cloudless skies and breezes bland
Their homeward course are welcoming.
The sails reflect the brimming light,
And, as the shallops onward glide,
A softened shadow, dim and white,
Floats far beneath them in the tide.
They gladly stretch a snowy wing,
And cloudless skies and breezes bland
Their homeward course are welcoming.
The sails reflect the brimming light,
And, as the shallops onward glide,
A softened shadow, dim and white,
Floats far beneath them in the tide.
How blest the life which, in its prime,
Some testing ill hath bravely borne,
To hail a tranquil evening-time,
And skies that wear the tints of morn!
But woe to him who wakes at last
From listless dreams and false repose,
To see at even the gathering blast,
And life first darkened at its close!
Some testing ill hath bravely borne,
To hail a tranquil evening-time,
And skies that wear the tints of morn!
But woe to him who wakes at last
From listless dreams and false repose,
To see at even the gathering blast,
And life first darkened at its close!
| The Vision of Prophecy and Other Poems | |