| Share page | Visit Us On FB |
|
348 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
||
|
DIGBY PILOT STARKEY THE EMIGRANTS
B
EHOLD ! a troop of travelers descending to the shore — Strong, stalwart youths and maidens, mixed with those in years and hoar; With stealth they glide towards the tide, like walkers
in their sleep: Where are ye going, lonely ones, that thus ye walk, and weep?
No answer: but the lip compressed argues a tale to tell —
A studied silence seems to hold them bound, as with a spell,
They pass me by abstractedly, their gaze where, near at hand,
Rolls through the shade the heavy wave upon the sullen strand.
Stop—whither go ye? See, behind, e'en yet the landscape smiles —
The broad sunset illumines yet these pleasant western isles,—
Why, why is it that none will turn and take one look behind,
But rather face the billows then, to light and counsel blind? |
||
|
|
||