Southern garland . he Almightys smile is born To follow westward with the breeze :For first on us the light of God Each matin from the heaven is bowed,Swift as the fury of the sword. Soft as the rainbow in the cloud! Around us are white-woven waves That neer have felt a tyrants roll above old heroes graves To thunder in a breaking peal;And overhead the snowy scars, Where never foot of man hath clomb,Point to the everlasting stars That lustre all the Southern dome. Glad rivers from the forest flow Or fall in frolic from the peaks,In myriad flowers our spirits know The sweetness of Jeh
Southern garland . he Almightys smile is born To follow westward with the breeze :For first on us the light of God Each matin from the heaven is bowed,Swift as the fury of the sword. Soft as the rainbow in the cloud! Around us are white-woven waves That neer have felt a tyrants roll above old heroes graves To thunder in a breaking peal;And overhead the snowy scars, Where never foot of man hath clomb,Point to the everlasting stars That lustre all the Southern dome. Glad rivers from the forest flow Or fall in frolic from the peaks,In myriad flowers our spirits know The sweetness of Jehovah speaks;And through the woods low murmurs run, Blent voices from the circle seaThat whisper we and they are one, Bred of the ocean, and as free! The thunder of the moas gorge Shall be our answer to the foe;As sparks that feather from the forge Our souls shall rise in battles glow :So Peace shall wreathe our iron capes That frown defiance to the foamThat smites with fury and escapes In hissing ruin to its home !. Che MYRA UlcstlUind ._^.__ ^ SAW you by the border of the ocean, Seated upon a rock in pensive mood,Lulled by the anthem of the minds devotion To the enamelled beauties of the floodSwaying itself in tesselated motionWith lips that sang a Spring beatitude,Foam notes awakened by the virgin seasSent to you by the Oceanides! What do they murmur on the pebbles umber ? What is the vision of your steadfast eyes?—Planets that rest them in half-lidded slumber Poised to the spirits wayward melodies—Songs of the soul, where Memory loves to number The white-waked days long lost beneath the skiesThat drop no more their balmy overflowThat bathed our very being, long ago. What are you weaving to the foamy pealingTen thousand wavelets ring about your feet ? Are you beneath the emerald curve concealingThe paven grotto where the mermaids meet? Or is your fancy w^ith the seagull w^heeling In a white w^ealth of cloud, w^here he may greet The steepy sun-shower from the empyrean hurl
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1900, bookidsoutherngarl, bookyear1904
