Page:Poems Cook.djvu/214

Welcoming the beams that come
Upon his gilded prison-home.
Wearied pilgrim, thou hast march'd
O'er the desert dry and parch'd,
Where no little flower is seen,
No dewdrop, no Oasis green,—
What saw'st thou there? the Ostrich, fast.
As Arab steed or tempest blast,
And the stately Pelican,
Wondering at intrusive man.

Pilgrim, say, who was it show'd
 A ready pathway to the Alp?
Who was it cross'd your lonely road
 From the valley to the scalp?
Tired and timid friends had fail'd,
 Resting in the hut below;
But your bold heart still was hail'd
 By the Eagle and the Crow.
Pilgrim, when you sought the clime
Of the myrtle, palm, and lime,
Where the diamond loves to hide
Jostling rubies by its side,—
Say, were not the brightest gleams
 Breaking on your dazzled eye
From the thousand glancing beams
 Pour'd in feather'd blazonry?
Pilgrim, hast thou seen the spot
Where the winged forms came not?

 

Mariner! mariner! thou mayst go
Far as the strongest wind can blow,
But much thou'lt tell when thou comest back
Of the sea running high and the sky growing black,
Of the mast that went with a rending crash,
Of the lee-shore seen by the lightning's flash,
And never shalt thou forget to speak

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