Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Samuel Kettell, ed. Specimens of American Poetry. 1829.

By The Water Excursion

Charles C. Beaman

THE EARTH it was gay,

And the air was bland

With the summer ray

Of a sunny land;

And the evening hour

Of soul-witching power,

With her radiant train,

Lit the earth and main;

When a beautiful barque was seen to glide,

Like a fairy sylph on the silver tide;

Not a zephyr breathed in her snow-white sails,

What cared she for the prospering gales?

Full many a rower was plying the oar,

And she was flying away from the shore,

To wander alone on the trackless deep,

While the world was hush’d in a breathless sleep.

All that the hand of taste could do,

Banners floating of every hue,

Flowery wreath and sparkling gem,

Girdled her round from stern to stem;

The fairest of the land was there,

With snowy robe and raven hair,

Bright eyes that beam’d expression’s fire,

Beauty, all that hearts desire;

The flower of youthful chivalry,

With the young love’s idolatry,

Offer’d homage at the shrine

Of woman’s loveliness divine;

While the sweet and blithesome song,

Uprose from the joyous throng;

And the barque moved on in light,

Graceful as the queen of night,

Beautiful isles sprinkled the bay,

Silver’d o’er with the moonbeam’s ray;

Verdure-clad isles, where shrubs and flowers,

The foliage of trees and bowers,

With fanciful dwellings woven between,

An air of enchantment breathed o’er the scene;

The beauties of nature blended with art,

Delight the most soothing gave to the heart;

The air around them was freighted with balm;

The harp’s soft notes added grace to the charm;

As it broke from the covert of a flowery grove,

With woman’s sweet voice—the tones that we love!

They passed the island—alone on the sea

Broke the sound of their mirth and minstrelsy;

The barque glided on to the music’s swell,

The silvery foam from the oar-blade fell,

When suddenly broke on the ravish’d ear,

Sounds that seem’d borne from a happier sphere;

The oarsmen plied no more their task,

Hush’d was the jest and jocund song;

And one more bold was heard to ask,

To whom do all these notes belong?

No answer came—they look’d and saw

What made them wonder and adore;

Seraphic forms in radiant white,

Sparkling in the moonbeam’s light;

Circling round in the ocean’s breast,

They lull’d every care to rest;

With golden harps they woke a strain,

No mortal hand can e’er attain,

Then mingling voices thrill’d the frame,

With rapture’s most ecstatic flame—

The vision fled—I woke to see

Thy duller scenes—reality!