miscellaneous poems.
79
I awake, as from sleeping the manner springs
From his hammock, when loudly the storm o'er him sings,
And the breakers are dashing white foam round the prow
Of the vessel, that strikes, e'er sleep leaveth his brow.
Ah! the waters that close o'er that lone seaman's head,
Are calm, to the bosom whose last hope hath fled!
From his hammock, when loudly the storm o'er him sings,
And the breakers are dashing white foam round the prow
Of the vessel, that strikes, e'er sleep leaveth his brow.
Ah! the waters that close o'er that lone seaman's head,
Are calm, to the bosom whose last hope hath fled!
Yet bring me the wine-cup, let music breathe on;
Shall my cheek, for the lost smile of woman, grow wan?
No! we'll part whilst the perfume of flowers floats around;
And I'll drown thy false words in the harp's ringing sound,—
As the famed bird of beauty that pines for its mate,
And mourns, in sweet numbers, its nest desolate!
Shall my cheek, for the lost smile of woman, grow wan?
No! we'll part whilst the perfume of flowers floats around;
And I'll drown thy false words in the harp's ringing sound,—
As the famed bird of beauty that pines for its mate,
And mourns, in sweet numbers, its nest desolate!
