Read Ebook: The Santa Fe Trail and Other Poems by Wilson Joseph Robert

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Ebook has 108 lines and 9323 words, and 3 pages

Alone she sits, nor marks the dying day. Alone on earth, she bows her weary head, And dusky spirits bear her soul away; A race extinct. The last Tasmanian dead.

APOSTROPHE.

Where are thy dark sons, Tasmania, Tasmania? Where are the lords who once swayed o'er thy shore? Gone to their fathers; Oh! weep ye, Tasmania, Weep for the race thou shalt see never more.

Weep for the race on thy fair bosom nourished, Tutored by nature, untrammeled, so free; Kings of thy green hills and valleys they flourished, Kings who now sleep in their graves by the sea.

Proud were the race who knew not their beginning, To whom the long past was as sealed as their fate, Who counted their seasons when insects were winging, The time by the shadows, the suns for their date.

Skilled were thy dark sons, Tasmania! Tasmania! Virtuous, gentle and peaceful their ways; Till civilization o'ertook thee, Tasmania, And civilized habits renumbered their days.

Set is the sun of thy people, Oh, country! Strangers now trample unawed o'er they race; Forgotten, the dusky-hued sons that a century Past were the monarchs of all thy sweet place.

Soft may they sleep by thy shores, Oh! Tasmania, Where sea-dirges swell for the child of the past; Sleep as thy guardian spirits, Tasmania, Hovering round thy dear land to the last.

AN ENGLISH LANE.

Tall elms on either side with stately heads, With here and there an oak of ancient days, Sweet briar hedges flanked with clover beds, In which the feathered songster trills his lays.

WORDS TO MENDELSSOHN'S "CONSOLATION."

Lord, my poor heart, with sadness now is breaking, Longing for light, that I may find belief, Aching for rest from these tumultuous doubtings, Seeking to find the path that leads to peace. But Oh! dear Lord, my soul refuses comfort; Vainly I strive for the goal beyond this sad, sweet world. Rest for eternity. Grant then, Oh! Lord, the enlightenment of sorrow, That gentle faith which comes through grief alone; Ripened in hours of darkest tribulation, When my poor soul stood face to face with Thee.

A MAIDEN OF TE PITO TE HENUA, AN ISLAND IN THE SOUTH PACIFIC.

On her beautiful puoka Hung her raven-black rauoko While love filled her mokoikoi Her alabaster kiri Gleamed on her kapu hivi . And her petticoats came down to her kuri .

Sweet was her aerero ; White were her even niho , And graceful her kakari munava ; Voluptuous her ngutu And shapely were her heru . Well developed were her kiko ua-ua .

Oh, this maid of Rapa Nin Bore a rima tuhi hana . Beloved was she by a tangala , Who in his little vaka Caught a wedding gift of ika And breathed his tale of love in her ringa .

AN ACTOR'S EPITAPH.

Here lies a body whose majestic grace Drew from his fellow-man unstinted praise; Who lured emotion from her hiding place, And thrilled the world with deeds of other days. He that possessed, which unto Art is dear, A grand conception of unvarnished truth; He oft provoked a smile, more oft a tear, Sublime and beauteous in his manly youth.

Full in the zenith of his great renown, God gave to him his final part to play; While Death untimely rung the curtain down On that great scene where man doth pass away. The rustling leaves soft whisper o'er his head, And robins fill the air with sweetest sound; Within the theatre of the mighty dead The actor sleeps beneath the sacred ground.

THE LOVED ONES LEFT BEHIND.

There are sounds of martial music, But the laugh is hushed within, As the soldier boys march bravely down the street; A little child is weeping, As she listens to the din, Of kettle-drum and tramp of many feet.

"Oh! my papa! Oh! my papa!" Wailed the tiny little mite. "You have gone and left poor mamma all alone; Come back, my darling papa, Oh! do come home tonight, And see how good your little girl has grown.

"I won't be naughty, papa, And I won't make any noise, When papa's head is aching him so bad; I will walk about so quietly And put away my toys, Your little girl won't make her father sad."

But the tiny voice fell empty, On the shadows in the room, And the music in the distance fainter grew; This is but a single instance Of the scenes within the gloom, Which the loved ones left behind are passing through.

LIFE'S VOYAGE IN VAIN.

With eyes upcast to the glistening stars, Full of a strange mysterious awe, I watch the lights on the heavenly bar, And think of the ships that are sailing in, Cargoless, empty, their voyage in vain.

THE SONG OF THE STREAM.

Born on some distant mountain top, A happy wanderer from its birth, From stone to stone with merry laugh It dances o'er its mother earth.

Then with some gathering streamlet meets, With bubbling laughter on they fling Their glittering sprays through sweet retreats, And cool abodes of sylvan king.

The mighty river next appears, And to its arms the youngsters race, Then separate with baby tears, While current marshalls each in place.

And last the ocean heaves in view, Then dies for aye the streamlet's span; Death is the ocean, all life through, Whose outstretched arms wait every man.

DRY THINE EYES.

Dry thine eyes, love; cease thy weeping, For thy boy will soon be sleeping Safe within the angels' keeping-- Dry thine eyes.

Hold my hand; the tide is flowing, Down the stream my boat is going, On the banks the kine are lowing, In the skies.

See, my love, the shadows creeping, Round my bed while I am sleeping, List! I hear a sound of weeping! Now it dies.

Raise me up, the day is breaking; Streaks of gray proclaim its waking; Sleep my weary eyes forsaking, In the light.

Raise me up that I may, nearer, Watch the shades becoming clearer; Ebbing life seems growing dearer. But my sight

Fails again; the sombre fretting Changes now to golden netting. See! the blood-red sun is setting! Love, good-night.

Unto God my soul is winging; I can hear the angels singing; Joy bells overhead are ringing! Dry thine eyes.

HONOR.

When aloft two young hearts are soaring To those realms of pleasure and pain, The law and the prophets ignoring, There's a something recalls them again.

And the truths that we see in reflection, Sad but sweetly encircle the soul, For honor's more kind than affection That creates, then destroys the loved goal.

SONG TO THE MOON.

Orb of some mighty potent power In thine exalted sphere, Thy soft light maketh sweet the hour Within the fairy woodland bower, To maidenhood, so dear.

Empress of Night, thy beauteous spell Superb and matchless given, Thy light the lover loves so well, The gentle tale of old to tell While earth becomes, his Heaven.

Luna, thou goddess of the night, Chaste harbinger of love, I feel in thy sweet fairy light My heart again grow glad and bright, When thou dost ride above.

TO MY MOTHER.

Awake, fond heart, to life again, For why should sorrow ever Enshroud the past with endless pain, Cause bitter tears to flow in vain For those passed o'er the river?

The dead are gone--they ne'er return, Life's troubles here are ended; And though to see them back we yearn, Christ's teachings lead us to discern 'Tis not what God intended.

Who can the curtain thrust aside, Or gaze through Death's dark portals? Short space on earth doth each abide, Then comes his call to swell the tide, Whose waves are dying mortals.

We all must die, mayhap this night Our souls are drifting thither, Where those dear loved ones lost to sight Await us there in glory bright, Across the shining river.

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