Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE MAIDEN OF OTAHEITE, by GEORGE MURRAY (1830-1910)


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE MAIDEN OF OTAHEITE, by                    
First Line: And wilt thou fly me? Must thy fickle sail
Last Line: She was not with the stranger, out at sea!
Subject(s): Beauty; Sailing & Sailors


"And wilt thou fly me? Must thy fickle sail
Soon waft thee hence before the favouring gale?
From my quick senses I would fain conceal
The nameless trifles which the truth reveal;
My jealous eyes confirm my boding heart—
I cannot doubt that thou wilt soon depart!
This very eve while roaming o'er the wet
And shell-strewn beach, where we so oft have met,
(Thou dost remember well the Giant Cave
There we would sit and hear old Ocean rave)
I saw thy ship, at anchor in the bay,
Clean, bright and trim, as for some holiday;
I watched thy sailors folding many a tent,
I heard their shouts with songs and laughter blent,
I guessed the cause of all their glee and crept
Within our cave, where bitterly I wept!

Why quit our isle? Around thine island home
Doth Ocean more magnificently foam?
Are the blue skies more exquisitely clear,
Is there less sorrow in thy clime than here?
Are the flowers fairer, or the trees more grand,
Do brighter shells and pebbles deck the strand,
Or if by sickness thou shouldst stricken be,
Will far-off friends more fondly wait on thee?
Hast thou forgotten when the zephyr bore
Thy weary vessel to our welcome shore?
I gazed upon thee as upon some star
And thou didst call me to the woods afar;
'Twas the first time I saw thy smiling eyes,
And yet I came obedient to thy cries.
Then I was beautiful—but beauty's flower
Fades, droops and withers in one stormy hour,
And so with me—salt bitter tears, in truth,
Have marred my comeliness, O stranger youth!
But if thou stayest, I will bloom again,
As flowers revive in sunshine after rain.
Stay then, sweet stranger—bid me not farewell—
Tales of thy tender mother thou shalt tell,
And sing the ballads of thy native land
That thou hast taught me half to understand.
To thee I yield myself—to thee who art
My being's breath, the life-blood of my heart—
Who fillest all my days—whose form of light
Haunts my rapt soul in visions of the night—
Whose very life is so involved with mine
That my last hour must be the same as thine!

Alas! Thou goest; on thy natal hills
Perchance some virgin for thy coming thrills;
'Tis well: still deign, O master, deign to take
Thy slave along with thee; for thy dear sake
E'en to thy bride I will submissive prove,
If thy delight be centred in her love.
Far from my birthplace and my parents old,
Whose fond affection never can be told;
Far from the woods where scared by no alarms,
When thou didst call, I sank into thy arms;
Far from my flowers and palm-trees I may sigh,
But here, by thee deserted, I shall die!
If ever thou didst love me in the past,
Hear now my prayer—it is the first and last—
Frown not upon me—thou wast wont to smile—
Fly not without me to thy cherished isle,
Lest my sad ghost, when death hath stilled my heart,
Should hover round thee, wheresoe'er thou art!"

Day dawned and reddened the receding sails
Of a great ship, far distant out at sea.
Her playmates sought the maiden in her tent,
But never more beneath the forest boughs,
Or on the shore of ocean was she seen.
The gentle girl no longer wept—but still
She was not with the stranger, out at sea!





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