74
POEMS.
An Underground Stream.
What hand, in ages long ago,
O subterranean river,
Restricted thus thy overflow,
And fixed thy bounds forever?
O subterranean river,
Restricted thus thy overflow,
And fixed thy bounds forever?
Why hidest thou in solitude?
Has some dark deed of slaughter,
Outcome of rash, despairing mood,
Stained thy pellucid water?
Has some dark deed of slaughter,
Outcome of rash, despairing mood,
Stained thy pellucid water?
Within thy gloomy chiseled walls
Thy current roars and hisses
With maddening swiftness, till it falls
In deep and dark abysses.
Thy current roars and hisses
With maddening swiftness, till it falls
In deep and dark abysses.
No painted ship has ever crossed
The channel where thou flowest—
No summer's sun, nor winter's frost
Nor autumn fair thou knowest!
The channel where thou flowest—
No summer's sun, nor winter's frost
Nor autumn fair thou knowest!
No dropping flower-petals sweet
Thy bosom ever freighted—
Thy rapid flow no truant feet
Have idly penetrated!
Thy bosom ever freighted—
Thy rapid flow no truant feet
Have idly penetrated!
