Poems (Markham)/The departure
For works with similar titles, see The departure.
The Departure
Adieu, adieu, the Ocean Bird
Has took her flight to yonder bay,
And ploughing through the foaming surge
She bears from us our friends away.
Has took her flight to yonder bay,
And ploughing through the foaming surge
She bears from us our friends away.
That glittering gold is dearly won,
That disunites congenial minds,
Our fathers, husbands, friends and sons,
Have fled to California's mines.
That disunites congenial minds,
Our fathers, husbands, friends and sons,
Have fled to California's mines.
A weeping mother bathed in tears,
In black despair her bosom swells,
And wrapped in dark foreboding fears,
A mother's love, what tongue can tell.
In black despair her bosom swells,
And wrapped in dark foreboding fears,
A mother's love, what tongue can tell.
It's like the thornless, budding rose,
Its treasures are as yet untold;
It's lasting as Mount Helen's snows,
And purer than the virgin gold.
Its treasures are as yet untold;
It's lasting as Mount Helen's snows,
And purer than the virgin gold.
She heeds no dangers, toil, or death,
Nor fears to search the desert's wild,
And in her last expiring breath,
Her richest prayer is for her child.
Nor fears to search the desert's wild,
And in her last expiring breath,
Her richest prayer is for her child.
The father leaves his happy home,
Let fancy paint the parting scene,
His weeping consort sad and lone,
The troubled ocean rolls between.
Let fancy paint the parting scene,
His weeping consort sad and lone,
The troubled ocean rolls between.
He leaves the babes he loves so dear,
To search for wealth that golden ore,
One lingering look, a sigh, a tear,
They part, perhaps to meet no more.
To search for wealth that golden ore,
One lingering look, a sigh, a tear,
They part, perhaps to meet no more.
Blow, blow, ye winds, a pleasant gale,
And speed them on their trackless way.
Ye Ocean Bird, unfurl your sails,
Till safe in San Francisco's Bay.
And speed them on their trackless way.
Ye Ocean Bird, unfurl your sails,
Till safe in San Francisco's Bay.
Time's rolling wheels pass swiftly by,
And usher in that happy morn,
On every breeze we'll send a sigh,
A prayer to God for their return.
E. M.
Oregon Spectator, November 1, 1849.
And usher in that happy morn,
On every breeze we'll send a sigh,
A prayer to God for their return.
E. M.
Oregon Spectator, November 1, 1849.