Lo, as the cresting plume is seen aloft,
The footing of its strength on sudden slips
And all is whelmed in thunderous recoils!
Ah, tragedy of lusty life! How oft
Some high emprise a soul divinely grips,
But as it crests fate's undertow despoils!
[GLOOSCAP.]
Dim name, yet grand, that ever winks serene
In the red fagot's light, and like a ghost
Hovers above these raucous tides, this coast,
Wreathing weird webs of arrowy salts and keen!
Under the black blue night's unrollëd screen
The loon is calling to the fiery host,
And yet no answer comes to keep thy boast,—
Far years their mellow thunders roll between.
Divinest of the red man's race and name,
Fulness of Hiawatha's dawning day,
Giver of laws, priest, prophet, all confest!
Thou'lt come again, appeased thy wrath and shame,
Thy speed in all thy limbs, up yonder Bay
In white canoe from out the naked west.
[SILAS TERTIUS RAND.]
Oft did thy spell enthrall me, spite the cost!
Thou brought'st a charmed and fadeless holiday—
Stories and songs and Indian epic lay—
Whene'er thy eager step the threshold crost.
Imagination all its plumes uptost
To follow where thy spirit led the way!—
(The sense that thou saw'st God when thou didst pray
I never through the dimming years have lost.)