| |
| ON these swift waters borne along, | |
| A poet from the farther shore | |
| Framed as he went his solemn song, | |
| And set it by the boatman’s oar. | |
| |
| It was his being’s law to sing | 5 |
| From morning dawn to evening light; | |
| Like nature’s chorister’s, his wing | |
| And voice were only stilled at night. | |
| |
| Nor did all nights bring him repose; | |
| For by the moon’s auspicious ray, | 10 |
| Like Philomela on her rose, | |
| His song eclipsed the songs of day. | |
| |
| He came a stranger summer-bird, | |
| And quickly passed; but as he flew | |
| Our river’s glorious song he heard, | 15 |
| His tongue was loosed,—he warbled too! | |
| |
| And, mark the moral, ye who dream | |
| To be the poets of the land: | |
| He nowhere found a nobler theme | |
| Than you, ye favored, have at hand. | 20 |
| |
| Not in the storied Summer Isles, | |
| Not mid the classic Cyclades, | |
| Not where the Persian sun-god smiles, | |
| Found he more fitting theme than these. | |
| |
| So, while the boat glides swift along, | 25 |
| Behold above there looketh forth | |
| The star that lights the path of song,— | |
| The constant star that loves the north! | |
| |
