Song of Emigration.
There was heard a song on the chiming sea.
A mingled breathing of grief and glee;
Man’s voice, unbroken by sighs, was there,
Filling with triumph the sunny air;
Of fresh, green lands, and of pastures new,
It sang, while the bark through the surges flew.
But ever and anon
A murmur of farewell
Told, by its plaintive tone,
That from woman’s lip it fell.
“Away, away o’er the foaming main!”
This was the free and the joyous strain,
“There are clearer skies than ours, afar,
We will shape our course by a brighter star;
There are plains whose verdure no foot hath press’d,
And whose wealth is all for the first brave guest.”
“But, alas! that we should go,”
Sang the farewell voices then,
“From the homesteads, warm and low,
By the brook and in the glen!”
“We will rear new homes under trees that glow
As if gems were the fruitage of every bough;
O’er our white walls we will train the vine,
And sit in its shadow at day’s decline;
And watch our herds, as they range at will
Through the green savannas, all bright and still.
“But woe for that sweet shade
Of the flowering orchard-trees,
Where first our children play’d
Midst the birds and honey-bees!
“All, all our own shall the forests be,
As to the bound of the roebuck free!
None shall say, ‘Hither, no further pass!’
We will track each step through the wavy grass
We will chase the elk in his speed and might,
And bring proud spoils to the hearth at night.”
“But, oh! the gray church-tower,
And the sound of Sabbath bell,
And the shelter’d garden-bower,
We have bid them all farewell!
“We will give the names of our fearless race
To each bright river whose course we trace;
We will leave our memory with mounts and floods,
And the path of our daring in boundless woods;
And our works unto many a lake’s green shore,
Where the Indians’ graves lay, alone, before.”
“But who shall teach the flowers,
Which our children loved, to dwell
In a soil that is not ours?
Home, home and friends, farewell!”