The Huron Chief, and Other Poems

by Adam Kidd


 

TO MARY.

WRITTEN FROM THE BANKS OF THE ST. LAWRENCE, NEAR CORNWALL, 1828.


 

To thee, to thee, though far away,
    My every inward thought I turn,
And gladly hope, some future day,
    This wearied heart may cease to mourn.

May cease to mourn, when thou art nigh
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    To soothe and lull its woes to rest,
To calm the swell, the bursting sigh,
    That labours in this tortured breast.

For, Mary! when the shades of care,
    In darkness floated o’er my mind,
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The pensive hour thou couldst repair,
    And for each pang a solace find. [Page 164]

But here, through dreary wilds, unknown,
    The muse her dirge of sadness sings,
Unheard, unheeded, and alone,
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    Wherever chance her pathway brings.

AMERICA! thy boasted charms,
    Are merely fleeting shades of bliss—
My every onward step alarms—
    Some lurking reptile sleeps in this.
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Oh! give me back my own green hills,
    And humble cot on Branno’s side,
Whence flow the deep Pierian rills,
    That haste to meet Bann’s glassy tide:

Where Ossian sung, in happier days,
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    The mighty deeds of each loved Chief—
And still, responsive to his lays,
    His gentle harp woke joy or grief. [Page 165]

There may the setting star of life,
    Which long has wandered for repose,
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Secluded from this world’s strife,
    With thee, my Mary, meet its close!
[Page 166]