Edward MacDowell eBook

Lawrence Gilman
This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 31 pages of information about Edward MacDowell.

A.D. 1620

  Exiled from home, for sake of faith held dear,
  To distant shores the Pilgrim Fathers turned. 
  Their grief-stung hearts for Freedom’s blessing yearned,
  Where persecution’s lash they need not fear. 
  In stately ships they sailed the ocean drear,
  And more of trial and of hardship learned;
  But in their loyal bosoms still there burned
  Religious zeal that lent heroic cheer.

  One hundred souls from Mother England came,
  And many days fared on a storm-tossed sea,
  Men, women, children, to be known to Fame
  For braving death for sacred Liberty. 
  To our bleak, shelt’ring port they gave a name,
  And marked an epoch in our history.


  A merry song the pilgrim sang
  To check the sigh of pain,
  At thought of leaving his dear home
  He ne’er might see again. 
  ’Twas o-ho-ho and ah-ha-ha,
  He laughed and sang alway;
  When comrades’ eyes were filled with tears,
  Or sad heads turned away.

  A cheery song, a merry song,
  As o’er Life’s sea we sail,
  Will send a thrill of courage new
  To hearts about to fail. 
  So sound a note, oh singer brave,
  Whate’er your own soul’s pain;
  When time repeats its echo sweet,
  ’Twill bless your life again.


  A solitary soul, I walk at eve
  Without the village walls, and in the deep
  And sacred hush of woods, where fairies sleep,
  Calm Nature soothes my senses, and I live
  In realms that only creatures can conceive,
  Who with their holy guardian spirits keep
  Firm faith, and into loving arms I creep,
  And mundane cares no more my spirit grieve.

  Cool breezes blow about me, and I hear
  The mellow bells of distant churches chime. 
  I wander on, with never thought of fear,
  Secure as in some peaceful heav’nly clime. 
  Majestic, mystic things seem close and clear,
  And all my soul is wrapt in thoughts sublime.


  We two sat watching the shadows dance,
  (Long years had passed since we were young),
  And o’er the days that had fled there hung
  A mist of sorrow and sad romance.

  From out the gloom of an old stone wall,
  The moon drew creatures of wondrous shape,
  And none of our lost dreams could escape,
  A cruel magic revealed them all.

  They bowed and swayed with a mocking grace,
  And held our gaze as they flitted by;
  Our deep-drawn breaths were our sole reply,
  As one by one we beheld each face.

  A dream of Wealth and a dream of Fame,
  And Love’s dream, these were the foremost three,
  Each with its shadowy train, till we
  Could greet the phantoms of youth by name.

  Our faces paled and we trembled there,
  Watching the shadows dance on the wall;
  Wealth, Fame and Love—­we had missed them all,
  And Sorrow’s chalice had been our share.

Project Gutenberg
Edward MacDowell from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
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