Page:Poets of John Company.djvu/73

Rh

Cut off from the land that bore us,
 * Betrayed by the land we find,

When the brightest have gone before us.
 * And the dullest remain behind;

Stand! stand! to your glasses! steady!
 * 'Tis all we have left to prize;

One cup to the dead already—
 * Hurrah! for the next that dies.

Dread power, beside thy sacred wave,
 * We meet as ever now;

To thee we pray, for thee we lave.
 * But where, oh where, art thou!

The charmed lamp floats trembling by,
 * And braves the tempest's burst;

'Tis thus for thee we burn and die,
 * But let us find thee first.

I've sought thee in the cell of stone
 * From which thy waters rise;

I've sought thee where thy icy throne
 * Is lost amid the skies;

And where the sister current meets
 * Thine own in billowy jar;

In Cashee's ancient dark retreats.
 * In wild and lone Hurdwar;

I've shouted where thy torrent boiled,
 * I've slumbered where it slept.

From eager youth, to age o'ertoiled,
 * I've looked for thee and wept;

Where'er thy sacred wave is drunk,
 * In every haunted spot,

I've sought thee—till my spirit sunk.
 * For oh! I found thee not.