Page:Poems Welby.djvu/196

Some spot, where led by fancy's sweet assistance
 Our wandering feet o'er silvery sands may stray,
Where prattling waters urge with soft resistance
Their wavelets on, till lost in airy distance,
      And far away!

Oft the lone Indian o'er these low-toned waters
 Has bent perhaps his swarthy brow to lave!
It seems the requiem of their dark-eyed daughters—
 Those sweet wild notes that wander o'er the wave!
Hast thou no relic of their ancient glory,
 No legend, lonely cavern! linked with thine?
No tale of love—no wild romantic story
Of some warm heart whose dreams were transitory
      And sweet as mine?

It must be so! the thought your spell enhances—
 Yet why pursue this wild, romantic dream?
The heart, afloat upon its fluttering fancies,
 Would lose itself in the bewildering theme!
And yet, ye waters! still I list your surging,
 And ever and anon I seem to view,
In fancy's eye, some Indian maid emerging
Through the deep gloom, and o'er your waters urging
      Her light canoe.

Oh silent cave! amid the elevation
 Of lofty thought could I abide with thee,
My soul's sad shrine, my heart's lone habitation,
 For ever and for ever thou shouldst be!