144
poems.
Oh, cease a little while, thou wind!
Stream, hush thy voice, let mine arise,
That I my wanderer may find;—
Salgar! it is Colma cries!
Here is the tree, yet unforgot,
The rock that shades this desert spot.
Oh, Salgar, dearest, I am here;
Why linger, why not now appear?
Stream, hush thy voice, let mine arise,
That I my wanderer may find;—
Salgar! it is Colma cries!
Here is the tree, yet unforgot,
The rock that shades this desert spot.
Oh, Salgar, dearest, I am here;
Why linger, why not now appear?
Lo, calmly through the mournful sky
The moon glides silently; the flood
Streaming through yonder vale doth lie
Beauteous in light; the rocks have stood
Gray on the steep, where melting rays
Reveal the barren height to me;
But, ah, the light,—the light betrays
No glimpse of him I fain would see.
His dogs, who erst did joyous give
Some token that he now was near,
No tidings bring, and I must live
Distracted, lone, this hour here.
The moon glides silently; the flood
Streaming through yonder vale doth lie
Beauteous in light; the rocks have stood
Gray on the steep, where melting rays
Reveal the barren height to me;
But, ah, the light,—the light betrays
No glimpse of him I fain would see.
His dogs, who erst did joyous give
Some token that he now was near,
No tidings bring, and I must live
Distracted, lone, this hour here.
(No answer came to that sad heart;
The moon still glided bright above,
Like some fair spirit to impart
The tale of grief, the smile of love.)
The moon still glided bright above,
Like some fair spirit to impart
The tale of grief, the smile of love.)
