A lonely grave, far from all kindred ties; Lonely like life, and that was past afar From friends and home. 'Tis well that youth has hopes That gladden with the future present hours; Or else how sorrowful would seem the time Which parts the young bird from its parent nest, To wing its passage through the dreary world. Alas! hope is not prophecy, -- we dream, But rarely does the glad fulfillment come: We leave our land, and we return no more; Or come again, the weary and the worn. But yonder grave, where the dark branches droop, The only sign of mourning, early closed O'er the young English stranger; -- former love And other days were warm about his heart, When it grew cold forever ....... And many are the tombs that scatter'd lie Alone neglected, o'er the Indian plains -- 'Tis the worst curse, on this our social world, Fortune's perpetual presence -- wealth, which now Is like life's paramount necessity. For this, the household band is broken up, The hearth made desolate -- and sundered hearts Left to forget or break. For this the earth Is covered with a thousand English graves, By whose side none remain to weep or pray; Alas! we do mistake, and vainly buy Our golden idols at too great a price. I'd rather share the lowest destiny, That dares not look beyond the present day, But treads on native ground, breathes native air, -- Than win the wealth of worlds beyond the wave; And pine and perish 'neath a foreign sky. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PSALM 8. MAN'S PLACE IN CREATION by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE GOBLIN MARKET by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI AT A COWBOY DANCE by JAMES BARTON ADAMS PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 9. AL-HATHIM by EDWIN ARNOLD S. JAMES YE APOSTLE by JOSEPH BEAUMONT REDFIELD FARM, MICHIGAN by HERBERT BUCKLEN BRADY |