PAULINA.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
THIS OCEAN.
| I've stood and watch'd the inconstant Ocean's wave, Till it within my mind has grown to life, And when the hoarse, loud storm did wildly rave, I've loved the dashing, boisterous, foaming strife; And when the angry tempest died away, I've gazed upon its bright unruffled breast, Till my responsive soul in quiet lay, Just like the scene it view'd—so calm—so blest. Wide Ocean! I have mark'd thy silvery sheen, And when the dark cloud frown'd upon thy face, I've felt my soul expanding with the scene, And glowing with thy bright enchanting grace; But when I think that thy proud billows heave Between ten thousand hearts that once have twined, And still to their lost friends would fondly cleave, A pensive sadness steals upon my mind. 'Tis hard that in our pilgrimage below, In all the storms and trials of the heart, A friend, the only balm to sooth our woe, That from that friend we should be forced to part, Proud Ocean, thou hast borne a brother o'er Thy heaving bosom to another strand; Tho' not unfriended was the distant shore, Still, still, it was a strange and foreign land. My brother—if my heart could but disclose Its warmest wish, it is with thee to be. My brother—if the fondest feeling glows Within my bosom, it still points to thee. My brother—does thy heart in transport hear The name of friends, of country, and of home? My brother—does thy soul these things revere, As once in early days untaught to roam? My brother—does a hope thy breast inflame, To clasp those dear loved objects to thy heart? I fear the charm has faded from their name, The bliss forgot, that it could once impart: No, no—upon thy heart are deep portray'd The home, the friends that thou hast left behind; 'Tis not in time's destructive power to fade Those generous feelings from a noble mind. |
J. M. C. D.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.