Ultima Thule/The Iron Pen
THE IRON PEN,
Made from a fetter of Bonnivard, the Prisoner of Chillon; the handle of wood from the Frigate Constitution, and bound with a circlet of gold, inset with three precious stones from Siberia, Ceylon, and Maine.
I thought this Pen would ariseFrom the casket where it lies— Of itself would arise and writeMy thanks and my surprise.
When you gave it me under the pines,I dreamed these gems from the mines Of Siberia, Ceylon, and MaineWould glimmer as thoughts in the lines;
That this iron link from the chainOf Bonnivard might retain Some verse of the Poet who sangOf the prisoner and his pain;
That this wood from the frigate's mastMight write me a rhyme at last, As it used to write on the skyThe song of the sea and the blast.
\But motionless as I wait,Like a Bishop lying in state Lies the Pen, with its mitre of gold,And its jewels inviolate.
Then must I speak, and sayThat the light of that summer day In the garden under the pinesShall not fade and pass away.
I shall see you standing there,Caressed by the fragrant air, With the shadow on your face,And the sunshine on your hair.
I shall hear the sweet low toneOf a voice before unknown, Saying, "This is from me to you—From me, and to you alone."
And in words not idle and vainI shall answer and thank you again For the gift, and the grace of the gift,O beautiful Helen of Maine!
And forever this gift will beAs a blessing from you to me, As a drop of the dew of your youthOn the leaves of an aged tree.