miscellaneous poems.
111
Forsaken—yet life's stream flows on,
And it beareth on its foam
The wreck of towers, built in happier hours,
When the spirit loved to roam.
And it beareth on its foam
The wreck of towers, built in happier hours,
When the spirit loved to roam.
And the murmuring of its restless wave,
(For memory such thou art,)
Tho' its every tone be but a moan,
Findeth echo in my heart.
(For memory such thou art,)
Tho' its every tone be but a moan,
Findeth echo in my heart.
I'll dream no more; dreams are not bliss,
When the heart and lute are riven;
We can weave no spell despair to quell,
'Till we forth the fiend have driven.
When the heart and lute are riven;
We can weave no spell despair to quell,
'Till we forth the fiend have driven.
THE PACKET-SHIP ASHBURTON.
The gallant ship is riding free
Upon the dancing wave,
Her snowy sails are filled—the breeze
Its gentle impulse gave.
Upon the dancing wave,
Her snowy sails are filled—the breeze
Its gentle impulse gave.
