The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1852-04-15


wend my stormy way
Where the lightest touch of my blasting breath
Plays over the withered branch,
And the eagle screams from his cyry of death
In the fearful avalanche
On the lofty heights Of the Daurian chain
sit on my regal throne,
Where my snowy turrets look out Der the main,
On the waste of the Arctic zone
Alone--alone-in my might dwell
Where human foot ne'er trod,
Where a human voice neer broke the spc!
Lying bound DER the icy sod,
breathe in my wrath DER the flaming forge
Where the laboring Cyclops dwelt,
Till the lava rolls o er the mountain gorge
And forge and furnace melt;
Till the fiery arm Of Vulcan yields
To the might of my threatening roar,
And the red flames flow Ger the blooming fields
And the light of the sandcd shore.
Away through the hollow caves sweep,
Whcrs the giant arm OF Thor
Shakes his cleaning spear DER tho raging deep,
And marshals his stccds to war;
Through the depths Of the lurid sky.
And the wild waves foam, and the sea-bell tolls
To my voice it passes by
In the lonely halls where Odin dwels,
In his palace of kingly might,
am free from the chain Of his Runc spells,
And rcvel by day and night;
/ sit mt the board where heroes fell,
Whore their blood flowed like the wave,
And the white spears FLASHED with the wild war yell
Meath the snowy architrave.
Then away bound from the Halls of Death,
Where the beautiful Lena flows,
And wave the wand Of my Jagged breath,
Der its banks of crested SHOWS;
And 10 the pillar tall and fair
With many quaint device,
Springs up in the grace Of its beauty rare
A column of fretted ice
Oh, the earth is calm in its silent rest,
When the south wind, soft and Free
Floats up like cloud from the vineyards bIcst
OF the glowing Araby;
From the land where the myrtle and cypress wave
In the breath of the perfumed shore;
And the dnllying breeze, whero their waters lave,
Keeps time TO the golden oar
The earth is fair where tho west wind blows,
When the wcaried birds are mute;
And il signs through the trees at evenings close,
To the tone Of a minstrels lutte;
When the rays of the sun from his purple dome
Der the sunny south arc she'd
And the peasant brings to his cottage home
The vintage ripe and red.
But the earth is dark where my foot has trod,
twino no 6owcry wreath
In the track Of my path lies blasted sod
And the waste of barren heath;
Ger the yellow harvest of waving grain
In my giant strength ride,
And blackencd and sere II lies dead on tho plain.
In the wealth Of its golden pride.
The mariner sings, for his heart is light
When the south wind ellis his sail,
And the good ship flies Ger the waters bright
To the breath of the favoring gale.
But his song shall be Of a weItcring surge,
Ofwavcs dashed mountain high,
When chant DER the ship ita deathly dirge
To mooncss sea and sky
r When the rafting hail DER the icy shroud,
And the wreck Of drifting mast,
Is poured DER the deep from the angry cloud,
In the torrents thick and fast
When the sir-spirits shrek thro the bowling storm
And the water 6ends below
Bear away 10 their home the mariners form,
Through tho blackcned waters flow.
Then, crowned with my shsdowy laurels, fec
To my homo On the snow-ridged peak,
As the eagle returns 10 his rock er the sen,
With the prey in his blood-erested hoax
The requiem bell from the coast Is rung
As sweep DER the oceans bed
And hear the low chant by the choristers sung
For the rest Of the saintod dead
And come not again till my banners iade,
And my starry spears grow dim
Till tho harvest is gone from the sunny glade,
Where Hoated the reapcrs hymn
Till tho winters sun looks YEARLY forth,
And yiedeth his strength 10 me
Then sweep again from the frozen North
Der the waste Of the traekIess sea.
Boston, November, 1851
n A -.