To My Sister (Gordon poem)

Across the trackless seas I go, No matter when or where, And few my future lot will know, And fewer still will care. My hopes are gone, my time is spent, I little heed their loss, And if I cannot feel content, I cannot feel remorse. My parents bid me cross the flood, My kindred frowned at me; They say I have belied my blood, And stained my pedigree. But I must turn from those who chide, And laugh at those who frown; I cannot quench my stubborn pride, Nor keep my spirits down. I once had talents fit to win Success in life's career, And if I chose a part of sin, My choice has cost me dear, But those who brand me with disgrace Will scarcely dare to say They spoke the taunt before my face, And went unscathed away. My friends will miss a comrade's face, And pledge me on the seas, Who shared the wine-cup or the chase, Or follies worse than these. A careless smile, a parting glass, A hand that waves adieu, And from my sight they soon will pass, And from my memory too. I loved a girl not long ago, And, till my suit was told, I thought her breast as fair as snow, 'Twas very near as cold; And yet I spoke with feelings more Of recklessness than pain, Those words I never spoke before, Nor never shall again. Her cheek grew pale, in her dark eye I saw the tear-drop shine; Her red lips faltered in reply, And then were pressed to mine, A quick pulsation of the heart! A flutter of the breath! A smothered sob — and thus we part, To meet no more till death. And yet I may at times recall Her memory with a sigh; At times for me the tears may fall And dim her sparkling eye. But absent friends are soon forgot, And in a year or less 'Twill doubtless be another's lot Those very lips to press! With adverse fate we best can cope When all we prize has fled; And where there's little left to hope, There's little left to dread! Oh, time glides ever quickly by! Destroying all that's dear; On earth there's little worth a sigh, And nothing worth a tear! What fears have I? What hopes in life? What joys can I command? A few short years of toil and strife In a strange and distant land! When green grass sprouts above this clay (And that might be ere long), Some friends may read these lines and say, The world has judged him wrong. There is a spot not far away Where my young sister sleeps, Who seems alive but yesterday, So fresh her memory keeps; For we have played in childhood there Beneath the hawthorn's bough, And bent our knee in childish prayer I cannot utter now! Of late so reckless and so wild, That spot recalls to me That I was once a laughing child, As innocent as she; And there, while August's wild flow'rs wave, I wandered all alone, Strewed blossoms on her little grave, And knelt beside the stone. I seem to have a load to bear, A heavy, choking grief; Could I have forced a single tear I might have felt relief. I think my hot and restless heart Has scorched the channels dry From which those sighs of sorrow start To moisten cheek and eye. Sister, farewell! farewell once more To every youthful tie! Friends! parents! kinsmen! native shore! To each and all good-bye! And thoughts which for the moment seem To bind me with a spell, Ambitious hope! love's boyish dream! To you a last farewell!