Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/393

When the snowy mists that bound thee
Like the drapery of an angel,
Are woven into rainbows,
In the pathway of the sun.

Thou art peerless, when the twilight
Of a quiet summer even
Binds the eastern sky with shadows,
As the day goes doAvn to rest ;
When the gold and crimson curtains,
Looped around the gates of heaven,
And the pathway of the angels
Are painted on thy breast.

Thou art lovely, when the vine-hills
Are pictured in thy waters ;
Or when storm-winds from the Jura
Crown thy waves with starry foam ;
And the children of thy valleys,
Helvetia's sons and daughters.
When they leave thee, lake of beauty.
Never find another home.

But I dwell by thee a stranger,
Of my exile grown so weary
That my soul is sick with sighing,
Waiting, longing to depart ;
And the music of thy voices
Makes me homesick, makes me dreary ;
! I cannot learn to love thee.
While my own land fills my heart.

I have climbed the snow-capped mountains.
Sailed on many a storied river,
And brushed the dust of ages
From gray monuments sublime ;
I have seen the grand old pictures
That the world enshrines forever,
And the statues that the masters
Left along the paths of Time.

But my pilgrim feet are weary.
And my spirit dim with dreaming
Where the long, dead Past has wi-itten
Misty, hieroglyphic lore ;
In a land whose pulses slumber,
Or only beat in seeming.
And the pathway of the Caesars
Is a ruin evermore.

Bear me back, O mighty ocean !
From this Old World, gray and gory,
To the forests and the prairies.
Far beyond thy stormy waves;
To the land that Freedom fostered
To gigantic strength and gloi-y,
To my home-land, with its loved ones.
And its unforgotten graves.

Give me back my little cottage.
And the dear old trees I planted,
And the common, simple blossoms
That bloomed around my door ;
And the old, familiar home-songs
That my children's voices chanted.
And the few who used to love me.
And my heart will ask no more.

HOPE ON, HOPE EVER.

Hope on, hope ever ; if thy lot
Be forlorn and lowly,
Thou mayst gain a brighter spot.
Though thy steps move slowly.
Reckless of the rich man's scorn,
On thyself relying,
Strive to win, though lowly born.
Name, renown undying.
In the path that heaven assigned.
Rest thee idly never ;
Work with might and soul and mind.
And hope on, hope ever.

Hope on, hope ever, while the day
On thy path is shining ;
Let no moment bear away
Murmurs of repining.