ON COMING TO THE NEW-OLD LAND—AMERICA
Sleeping memories,
Of friends once more to be
Did greet me — sailing o’er the sea —
Sensing my coming
The Pilgrim Land to adore.
The distant sleeping shore
Lay in the twinkling night,
Dim through the vanished light.
The breeze wafted strong;
Strange thoughts
My brain did throng,
Hopes sweet and richly wrought.
A raven-wingèd gloom did perch
On portals of my mind, to search
My soul, my strength to awe;
But then with joy what crowds I saw,
Of phantom friends
Now come to lend
Their cheer,
And end my fear!
