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Title: The Settlers
Author: Adelaide Anne Procter [
More Titles by Procter]
Two stranger youths in the Far West,
Beneath the ancient forest trees,
Pausing, amid their toil to rest,
Spake of their home beyond the seas;
Spake of the hearts that beat so warmly,
Of the hearts they loved so well.
In their chilly northern country.
"Would," they cried, "some voice could tell
Where they are, our own beloved ones!"
They looked up to the evening sky
Half hidden by the giant branches,
But heard no angel-voice reply.
All silent was the quiet evening;
Silent were the ancient trees;
They only heard the murmuring song
Of the summer breeze,
That gently played among
The acacia trees.
And did no warning spirit answer,
Amid the silence all around;
"Before the lowly village altar
She thou lovest may be found,
Thou, who trustest still so blindly,
Know she stands a smiling bride!
Forgetting thee, she turneth kindly
To the stranger at her side.
Yes, this day thou art forgotten,
Forgotten, too, thy last farewell,
All the vows that she has spoken,
And thy heart has kept so well.
Dream no more of a starry future,
In thy home beyond the seas!"
But he only heard the gentle sigh
Of the summer breeze,
So softly passing by
The acacia trees.
And vainly, too, the other, looking
Smiling up through hopeful tears,
Asked in his heart of hearts, "Where is she,
She I love these many years?"
He heard no echo calling faintly:
"Lo, she lieth cold and pale,
And her smile so calm and saintly
Heeds not grieving sob or wail--
Heeds not the lilies strewn upon her,
Pure as she is, and as white,
Or the solemn chanting voices,
Or the taper's ghastly light."
But silent still was the ancient forest,
Silent were the gloomy trees,
He only heard the wailing sound
Of the summer breeze,
That sadly played around
The acacia trees
[The end]
Adelaide Anne Procter's poem: Settlers
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