the gold-seeker.
171
Turning then, and onward passing, left they there the dying man,
For a weary way to westward still the promised river ran.
For a weary way to westward still the promised river ran.
One there was, a comrade faithful, who the longest lingered there,
While he wrung his hand in parting, bidding him not yet despair;
For they would return at morning, from the river- banks, he said,
And, a silken scarf unfolding, laid it o'er the sufferer's head,
Then, full often backward glancing, took the weary march again,
Onward pressing toward the waters, gleaming far across the plain.
While he wrung his hand in parting, bidding him not yet despair;
For they would return at morning, from the river- banks, he said,
And, a silken scarf unfolding, laid it o'er the sufferer's head,
Then, full often backward glancing, took the weary march again,
Onward pressing toward the waters, gleaming far across the plain.
Silent lies the one forsaken, in this hour of pain and fear,
While their farewells and their footsteps die upon his failing ear,—
With the withered turf his death-couch, 'neath the burning heat of day,
All unhearing and unheeding, for his soul is far away!
While their farewells and their footsteps die upon his failing ear,—
With the withered turf his death-couch, 'neath the burning heat of day,
All unhearing and unheeding, for his soul is far away!
