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(Excerpt)
ISLE of eternal spring, thou ’rt desolate | |
| To me; thy limpid seas, thy fragrant shores, | |
| Whither I ’ve sighed to come | |
| And make a tranquil home, | |
| Have lost to me their charm; my heart deplores, | 5 |
| Vainly, of two it loved, the melancholy doom. | |
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| Well may I weep you, gentle souls, that while | |
| On earth responded to the love of mine, | |
| Through eyes of heavenly blue, | |
| More deeply, fondly true, | 10 |
| Haply, than He, who lent his breath divine, | |
| May give again on earth to cheer me with their smile. | |
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| My George, if thou hadst faults, they only were | |
| That thou wert gifted ill for this poor sphere | |
| Where first he faints who spares | 15 |
| Earth’s selfish, sordid cares; | |
| And what might faults to baser eyes appear, | |
| When ta’en where angels dwell, must be bright virtues there. | |
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| Men toil, betray, nay, even kill, for gold; | |
| But had some wretch pressed by misfortune sore | 20 |
| Asked thy last piece of thee | |
| To ease his misery, | |
| When thou couldst only look to Heaven for more, | |
| That last piece had been given, and thine own safety sold. | |
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| Oft when the noisome streams of pestilence | 25 |
| Poisoned the air around thee, hast thou stayed | |
| By friends, while thirsty Death | |
| Lurked near, to quaff their breath; | |
| And soothed and saved while others were afraid, | |
| And hardier hearts and hands than thine rushed wildly thence. | 30 |
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| Oh, could I find thee in some palm-leaf cot, | |
| Still for this earth, with thy sweet brothers too, | |
| Though scarce our worldly hoard | |
| Sufficed a frugal board, | |
| Hope should beguile no more: I ’d live for you, | 35 |
| Disclaim all other love—and sing, and bless my lot. * * * * * | |
| How could I kneel and kiss the hand of Fate, | |
| Were it but mine to decorate some hall— | |
| Here, where the soil I tread | |
| Colors my feet with red— | 40 |
| Far down these isles, to hear your voices call, | |
| Then haste to hear and tell what happed while separate! | |
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| Beautiful isles! beneath the sunset skies | |
| Tall silver shafted palm-trees rise between | |
| Full orange-trees that shade | 45 |
| The living colonnade; | |
| Alas! how sad, how sickening, is the scene | |
| That were ye at my side would be a paradise! | |
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| E’en one of those cool caves which, light and dry, | |
| In many a leafy hillside, near this spot, | 50 |
| Seem as by Nature made | |
| For shelter and for shade | |
| To such as bear a homeless wanderer’s lot, | |
| Were home enough for me, could those I mourn be nigh. | |
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| Palace or cave (where ’neath the blossom and lime | 55 |
| Winter lies hid with wreaths) alike may be, | |
| If love and taste unite, | |
| A dwelling for delight, | |
| And kings might leave their silken courts to see | |
| O’er such wild, garnished grot the grandiflora climb. | 60 |
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| Thus, thus, doth quick-eyed Fancy fondly wait | |
| The pauses of my deep remorse between; | |
| Before my anxious eyes | |
| ’T is thus her pictures rise; | |
| They show what is not, yet what might have been; | 65 |
| Angels, why came I not?—why have I come too late? | |
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| The cooling beverage—strengthening draught—as craved | |
| The needs of both, could but these hands have given; | |
| Could I have watched the glow— | |
| The pulse, too quick, or slow— | 70 |
| My earnest, fond, reiterate prayers to Heaven, | |
| Some angel might have come, besought, returned, and saved. | |
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| To stay was imbecility—nay, more— | |
| ’T was crime—how yearned my panting heart to see, | |
| When, by mere words delayed, | 75 |
| ’Gainst the strong wish, I stayed | |
| (Trifling with that which inly spoke to me), | |
| And longed, and hoped, and feared, till all I feared was o’er! | |
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| Mild, pitying George, when maple leaves were red | |
| O’er Ladaüanna, in his much-loved north, | 80 |
| Breathed here his last farewell— | |
| And when the tears that fell | |
| From April, called Mohecan’s violets forth, | |
| Edgar, as following his, thy friendly spirit fled. | |
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| Now, side by side, ’neath cross and tablet white | 85 |
| Is laid, sweet brothers, all of you that ’s left; | |
| Yet, all the tropic dew | |
| Can damp would seem not you: | |
| Your finer particles from earth are reft, | |
| Haply (and so I ’ll hope) for lovelier forms of light. * * * * * | 90 |
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