The New Northwest/1871/October 27/One Hour
One Hour.
INSCRIBED TO B. W. M.
Behold, at last, my changeful fate!
I should not think of thee, I know;
But whither can my lone heart go,
In all this wide world desolate?
My early love, lift up thy brow;
Embalmed in many a secret tear,
We have been silent many a year;
O, let us speak together now.
'Tis but a little boon I ask
For one who wanders, con amore,
And loves to seek a novel shore;
It will not be a dreary task.
There is a place—a lonely spot—
Beside a wild, sequestered sea;
Go there sometime and think of me,
And mourn an hour our severed lot.
They'll point thee out a spot where oft,
In pensive mein and thoughtful mood,
Full many a time a maiden stood,
When ships were sending lights aloft.
My spirit in that place you'll find;
The tinted shell upon the shore
All knew of me in days of yore;
The rocks and trees were never blind.
Fit place for love's young dream is this;
A pleasing music fills the air;
The sailing moon cast anchor there;
The streaming stars all weep for bliss.
An ancient pair, the sea and strand;
He, hoary headed, speaketh sweet,
And checks for her his battling feet,
And smoothes her wrinkles with his hand.
Seek then, my love, but once that sea,
And out upon the cliff's dark brow
Regret, one hour, the broken vow,
And consecrate that hour to me.
Salem, Oregon.