Poems (Procter)/The Settlers

by Adelaide Anne Procter

THE SETTLERS

WO stranger youths in the Far West, Beneath the ancient forest trees,Pausing, amid their toil to rest, Spake of their home beyond the seas;Spake of the hearts that beat so warmly, Of the hearts they loved so well,In their chilly Northern country. "Would," they cried, "some voice could tellWhere they are, our own beloved ones!" They looked up to the evening skyHalf hidden by the giant branches, But heard no angel-voice reply.All silent was the quiet evening; Silent were the ancient trees;They only heard the murmuring song  Of the summer breeze, That gently played among  The acacia-trees.

And did no warning spirit answer, Amid the silence all around:"Before the lowly village altar She thou lovest may be found, Thou, who trustest still so blindly, Know she stands a smiling bride!Forgetting thee, she turneth kindly To the stranger at her side.Yes, this day thou art forgotten, Forgotten, too, thy last farewell,All the vows that she has spoken, And thy heart has kept so well.Dream no more of a starry future, In thy home beyond the seas!"But he only heard the gentle sigh  Of the summer breeze, So softly passing by  The acacia-trees.

And vainly, too, the other, looking Smiling up through hopeful tears,Asked in his heart of hearts, "Where is she, She I love these many years?"He heard no echo calling faintly: "Lo, she lieth cold and pale,And her smile so calm and saintly Heeds not grieving sob or wail,—Heeds not the lilies strewn upon her, Pure as she is, and as white,Or the solemn chanting voices, Or the taper's ghastly light."But silent still was the ancient forest, Silent were the gloomy trees;He only heard the wailing sound  Of the summer breeze, That sadly played around  The acacia-trees!