Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/255
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THE PRISONER OF ST. HELENA.
237
And the waters of Sarn, and the waves of the ocean
Were lashed into foam by the dreadful commotion;
And the caves of Capreï were felt to rebound,
And the rocks of Misenum re-echoed the sound,—
The black heavens lowered, and the pestilent air
Was filled with wild tumult and shrieks of despair,
In vain the bold rider urged forward his steed—
In vain the fleet courser exerted his speed,
For the blast of destruction came fast as the wind,
Or the dreadful simoom in the desert of Ind.
There the warrior lay stretched in the midst of his pride,
And the bridegroom fell dead by the corpse of his bride;
Unswept was the lyre, and forsaken the lute,
And the lips of the minstrel for ever was mute.
But who can describe the wild anguish and sorrow,
And the sighs and the tears that were poured on the morrow,
When the horrible night of destruction was past,
And the dawn sadly smiled on the desolate waste?
Or who can describe the poor wanderer's despair,
When with heart full of love and bright visions so fair,
He turned to his house, all his wanderings o'er,
But found his poor home and his country no more?
What, a feeling of lonely desertion came o'er him,
As he gazed on the soul-rending prospect before him!
And the heart at that moment remembered too well
His wife's sad adieu, and his children's farewell;
And he struck his sad breast in the depth of his woe,
And the big drops of anguish burst forth from his brow.
And he turned once again from the land of his birth
To wander forlorn on the face of the earth.
Were lashed into foam by the dreadful commotion;
And the caves of Capreï were felt to rebound,
And the rocks of Misenum re-echoed the sound,—
The black heavens lowered, and the pestilent air
Was filled with wild tumult and shrieks of despair,
In vain the bold rider urged forward his steed—
In vain the fleet courser exerted his speed,
For the blast of destruction came fast as the wind,
Or the dreadful simoom in the desert of Ind.
There the warrior lay stretched in the midst of his pride,
And the bridegroom fell dead by the corpse of his bride;
Unswept was the lyre, and forsaken the lute,
And the lips of the minstrel for ever was mute.
But who can describe the wild anguish and sorrow,
And the sighs and the tears that were poured on the morrow,
When the horrible night of destruction was past,
And the dawn sadly smiled on the desolate waste?
Or who can describe the poor wanderer's despair,
When with heart full of love and bright visions so fair,
He turned to his house, all his wanderings o'er,
But found his poor home and his country no more?
What, a feeling of lonely desertion came o'er him,
As he gazed on the soul-rending prospect before him!
And the heart at that moment remembered too well
His wife's sad adieu, and his children's farewell;
And he struck his sad breast in the depth of his woe,
And the big drops of anguish burst forth from his brow.
And he turned once again from the land of his birth
To wander forlorn on the face of the earth.
The Prisoner of St. Helena.
Perched on a rock and caged afar
From Europe's peace, or Europe's war,
Left to myself, to groan and smart,
But gifted with a marble heart;
I still can live—and free from pain,
Dream all my battles o'er again.
Walk in the sun, and breathe the air,
Enjoy my bed and daily fare.
And having won and lost the earth,
Reflect how little it is worth.
From Europe's peace, or Europe's war,
Left to myself, to groan and smart,
But gifted with a marble heart;
I still can live—and free from pain,
Dream all my battles o'er again.
Walk in the sun, and breathe the air,
Enjoy my bed and daily fare.
And having won and lost the earth,
Reflect how little it is worth.