Oh! let but these dark days be once gone by, And thou, unwilling captive, that dost strain, With tiptoe longing, vainly, towards the sky,

O'er the whole kingdom of my life shalt reign. But, while I'm doomed beneath the yoke to bow, Of sordid toiling in these caverns drear, Oh, look upon me sometimes with thy brow

Of shining brightness; sometimes let me hear Thy blessed voice, singing the songs of Heaven, Whence thou and I, together, have been driven; Give me assurance that thou still art nigh, Lest I sink down beneath my load, and die.

A LAMENT FOR THE WISSAHICCON.

THE waterfall is calling me
With its merry gleesome flow,

And the green boughs are beckoning me,
To where the wild flowers grow:

I

may not go, I may not go,

To where the sunny waters flow,

To where the wild wood flowers blow;

I must stay here

In prison drear,

Oh, heavy life, wear on, wear on,
Would God that thou wert done!

The busy mill-wheel round and round
Goes turning, with its reckless sound,
And o'er the dam the waters flow
Into the foaming stream below,
And deep and dark, away they glide,
To meet the broad, bright river's tide;

A LAMENT FOR THE WISSAHICCON.

And all the way

They murmuring say:

107

"Oh, child! why art thou far away? Come back into the sun, and stray Upon our mossy side!"

I may not go, I may not go,

To where the gold green waters run,
All shining, in the summer's sun,
And leap from off the dam below
Into a whirl of boiling snow,
Laughing and shouting as they go;
I must stay here

In prison drear,

Oh, heavy life, wear on, wear on,
Would God that thou wert done!

The soft spring wind goes passing by,
Into the forests wide and cool;

The clouds go trooping thro' the sky,
To look down on some glassy pool;
The sunshine makes the world rejoice,
And all of them, with gentle voice,
Call me away,

With them to stay,

The blessed, livelong summer's day.

I may not go, I may not go,

Where the sweet breathing spring winds blow, Nor where the silver clouds go by,

Across the holy, deep blue sky,

Nor where the sunshine, warm and bright,
Comes down like a still shower of light;
I must stay here

In prison drear,

Oh, heavy life, wear on, wear on,
Would God that thou wert done!

Oh, that I were a thing with wings!
A bird, that in a May-hedge sings!
A lonely heather bell that swings
Upon some wild hill-side;

Or even a silly, senseless stone,

With dark, green, starry moss o'ergrown, Round which the waters glide.

TO THE WISSAHICCON.

My feet shall tread no more thy mossy side,
When once they turn away, thou Pleasant Water,
Nor ever more, reflected in thy tide,

Will shine the eyes of the White Island's daughter. But often in my dreams, when I am gone

Beyond the sea that parts thy home and mine, Upon thy banks the evening sun will shine, And I shall hear thy low, still flowing on. And when the burthen of existence lies Upon my soul, darkly and heavily, I'll clasp my hands over my weary eyes, Thou Pleasant Water, and thy clear waves see. Bright be thy course for ever and for ever,

Child of pure mountain springs, and mountain

snow;

And as thou wanderest on to meet the river,

Oh, still in light and music mayst thou flow!
I never shall come back to thee again,
When once my sail is shadowed on the main,
Nor ever shall I hear thy laughing voice
As on their rippling way, thy waves rejoice,