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430 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF THE EMIGRANT'S VOYAGE
EVENING
T
HE white sails are filled, and the wind from the shore Blows sad from the hills we shall visit no more; And our ship slowly moves o'er the ocean at rest, From the land of our hearts, in the light of the West.
Though few are the friends on the land's sinking rim, Yet our eyes, straining into the sunset, grow dim ; We are leaving forever the walks where we strayed, And the graves where the dust of our dearest is laid.
Now twilight has covered the isle in its gloom; Dark the village, and lost the old place of the tomb; And we see but yon dusk mountain line in the light, We have watched from our cottage doors many a night.
Ah! the stars on the ocean are glimmering nigh, Like the eyes of the dead looking up at the sky; And our ship speeds along, as heart-wearied we sleep, 'Mid the waters of God and the clouds of the deep.
MORNING
Full stretched are the sails, dim and dewy the spars; On the spray-wetted deck falls the light of the stars, And the blue lonely morning breaks coldly, as we, In the wind, cleave the hurrying heaps of the sea.
All alone in the world, without riches below, We have memories that wander wherever we go; |
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