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(From Norombega)
MIDSUMMER’S crimson moon, | |
| Above the hills like some night-opening rose, | |
| Uplifted, pours its beauty down the vale | |
| Where broad Penobscot flows. * * * * * | |
| And I remember now | 5 |
| That this is haunted ground. In ages past | |
| Here stood the storied Norembega’s walls | |
| Magnificent and vast. | |
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| The streets were ivory paved, | |
| The stately walls were built of golden ore, | 10 |
| Its domes outshone the sunset, and full boughs | |
| Hesperian fruitage bore. | |
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| And up this winding flood | |
| Has wandered many a sea-tossed daring bark, | |
| While eager eyes have scanned the rugged shore, | 15 |
| Or pierced the wildwood dark. | |
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| But watched in vain; afar | |
| They saw the spires gleam golden on the sky, | |
| The distant drum-beat heard, or bugle-note | |
| Wound wildly, fitfully. | 20 |
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| Banners of strange device | |
| Beckoned from distant heights, yet as the stream | |
| Narrowed among the hills, the city fled | |
| A mystery,—or a dream. | |
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| In the deep forest hid | 25 |
| Like the enchanted princess of romance, | |
| Wooing an endless search, yet still secure | |
| In her unbroken trance. | |
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| O city of the Past! | |
| No mirage of the wilderness wert thou! | 30 |
| Though yet unfreed from the mysterious spell, | |
| I deem thee slumbering now. | |
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| Perhaps invisible feet, | |
| White-sandalled, pass amid the moonbeams pale; | |
| Yon shadowy wave may be some lordly barge | 35 |
| Drifting with phantom sail. | |
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| The legend was not all | |
| A myth, it was a prophecy as well; | |
| In Norembega’s cloud-rapt palaces | |
| The living yet shall dwell. | 40 |
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| Fed by its hundred lakes, | |
| Here shall the river run o’er golden sands! | |
| These hills in burnished tower and temple shine | |
| Beneath the Builder’s hands. | |
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| Where tarries still the hour | 45 |
| When the true knight shall the enchantment break? | |
| Unveil the peerless city of the East, | |
| The charméd princess wake? | |
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| Till then, O river! tell | |
| To none but dreaming bards the Future’s boon! | 50 |
| Till then, guard thou the mystery of the vale, | |
| Midsummer midnight moon! | |
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