Onward ever
Lovely river.
Softly calling to the sea;
Time that scars us,
Maims and mars us,
Leaves no track or trench on thee.
Spring's green witchery is weaving
Braid and border for thy side;
Grace forever haunts thy journey,
Beauty dimples on thy tide.
Through the purple gates of morning
Now thy roseate ripples dance ;
Golden, then when, day departing,
On thy waters trails his lance.
Waltzing, flashing,
Tinkling, plashing,
Limpid, volatile and free —
Always hurried
To be buried
In the bitter moon-mad sea.
In thy crystal deeps, inverted
Swings a picture of the sky;
Like those wavering hopes of Aiden
Dimly in our dreams that lie;
Clouded often, drowned in turmoil.
Faint and lovely far away.
Wreathing sunshine on the morrow,
Breathing fragrance 'round today.
Love would wander
Here and ponder —
Hither Poetry would dream;
Life's old questions.
Sad suggestions,
"Whence and wither?" throng thy stream,
On the roaring wastes of Ocean
Shall thy scattered waves be tossed ;
'Mid the surge's rythmic thunder
Shall thy silver tongues be lost.
Oh ! thy glimmering rush of gladness
Mocks this turbid life of mine.
Racing to the wild Forever
Down the sloping paths of time !
Onward ever.
Lovely river.
Softly calling to the sea ;
Time that scars us.
Maims and mars us,
Leaves no track or trench on thee.
Frances Fuller Victor already noticed as the historian of Oregon, was also distinguished as a writer of verses of rare merit; her poems were collected and published ten years ago, two years before her death in this city, and cover 109 pages and 42 subjects.
