Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=426731" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sable Island</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dark Isle of Mourning--aptly art thou named,<br> For thou hast been the cause of many a tear;<br> For deeds of treacherous strife too justly famed,<br> The Atlantic's charnel--desolate and drear;<br> A thing none love--though wand'ring thousands fear--<br> If for a moment rests the Muse's wing<br> Where through the waves thy sandy wastes appear,<br> 'Tis that she may one strain of horror sing,<br> Wild as the dashing waves that tempests o'er thee fling.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> The winds have been thy minstrels--the rent shrouds<br> Of hapless barks, twanging at dead of night,<br> Thy fav'rite harp strings--the shriek of crowds<br> Clinging around them feebly in their fright,<br> The song in which thou long hast had delight,<br> Dark child of ocean, at thy feasts of blood;<br> When mangled forms, shown by Heaven's lurid light,<br> Rose to thy lip upon the swelling flood,<br> While Death, with horrid front, beside thee gloating stood.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> As lurks the hungry tiger for his prey,<br> Low crouch'd to earth with well dissembled mien,<br> Peace in his eye--the savage wish to slay<br> Rankling around his heart--so thou art seen<br> Stretch'd harmlessly on ocean's breast of green,<br> When winds are hush'd, and sleeps the placid wave<br> Beneath the evening ray--whose glittering sheen<br> Gilds the soft swells thy arid folds that lave,<br> Unconscious that they cling around a yawning grave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> The fascination of the Siren's song,<br> The shadow of the fatal Upas tree;<br> The Serpent's eye that lures the bird along<br> To certain doom--less deadly are than thee<br> Even in thy hours of calm serenity,<br> When on thy sands the lazy seals repose,<br> And steeds, unbridled, sporting carelessly,<br> Crop the rank grass that on thy bosom grows,<br> While round the timid hare his glance of caution throws.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> But when thy aspect changes--when the storm<br> Sweeps o'er the wide Atlantic's heaving breast;<br> When, hurrying on in many a giant form,<br> The broken waters by the winds are prest--<br> Roaring like fiends of hell which know no rest,<br> And guided by the lightning's fitful flash;<br> Who dares look on thee then--in terror drest,<br> As on thy length'ning beach the billows dash,<br> Shaking the heavens themselves with one long deaf'ning crash.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> The winds are but thy blood-hounds, that do force<br> The prey into thy toils; th' insidious stream<br> That steadily pursues its noiseless course,<br> Warmed by the glow of many a tropic beam,<br> To seas where northern blasts more rudely scream<br> Is thy perpetual Almoner, and brings<br> All that to man doth rich and lovely seem,<br> Earth's glorious gifts,--its fair and holy things,<br> And round thy dreary shores its spoils profusely flings.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> The stateliest stems the Northern forest yields,<br> The richest produce of each Southern shore,<br> The gathered harvests of a thousand fields,<br> Earn'd by man's sweat--or paid for by his gore.<br> The splendid robes the cavern'd Monsters wore,<br> The gold that sparkled in Potosi's mine,<br> The perfumed spice the Eastern islands bore,<br> The gems whose rays like morning's sunbeams shine,<br> All--all--insatiate Isle--these treasures all are thine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> But what are these, compared with the rich spoils<br> Of human hearts, with fond affections stored:<br> Of manly forms, o'ertaken by thy toils--<br> Of glorious spirits, 'mid thy sands outpoured.<br> Thousands who've braved War's desolating sword,<br> Who've walk'd through earth's worst perils undismayed,<br> Now swell the treasures of thy ample hoard;<br> Deep in thy vaults their whitening bones are laid,<br> While many a burning tear is to their mem'ries paid.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And oft--as though you sought to mock man's eye--<br> Thy shifting sands their treasured spoils disclose:<br> There may we some long-missing wreck descry,<br> Some broken mast, that once so proudly rose<br> Above the peopled deck; some toy, that shows<br> The fate of her upon whose breast it hung,<br> But who now sleeps in undisturbed repose,<br> Where by the waves her beauteous form was flung,<br> May peace be with her manes--the lovely and the young.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Why does the Father, at the dawn of day,<br> Fly from his feverish couch and horrid dreams,<br> And up the mountain side pursue his way,<br> And turn to gaze upon the sea, which seems<br> Blent with the heavens--until the gorgeous beams<br> Of the bright sun each cloud and wave reveal?<br> Whence comes the tear that o'er that pale cheek streams--<br> As, tired with gazing, on the earth he kneels,<br> And pours in prayer to God the anguish that he feels?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Why does the matron heave that constant sigh?<br> Why does she start at every distant sound?<br> Her cheerful fire is blazing 'neath her eye,<br> Her fair and happy children sporting round,<br> Appealing to her heart at every bound,<br> While on her lap one rose-lipped babe reclines,<br> And looks into her face with joy profound.<br> But yet the mother secretly repines,<br> And through a tearful eye her spirit dimly shines.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br> Why does the maiden shun the giddy throng,<br> And find no pleasure in the festive hour?<br> Strange that the mazy dance, and choral song,<br> O'er one so young should hold no spell of power.<br> Why droops her head, as in her fairy bower<br> Her lute is only tuned to sorrow's strain?<br> Is there no magic in the perfumed flower,<br> To lure her thoughts from off the bounding main?<br> Oh! when shall joy return to that pure breast again?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br> Canst thou not read this riddle, gloomy isle?<br> Say--when shall that old man behold his boy?<br> When shall a son's glad voice--a son's bright smile<br> Wake in that mother's heart the throb of joy?<br> When shall glad thoughts that maiden's hours employ?<br> When shall her lover spring to her embrace?<br> Ask of the winds accustomed to destroy--<br> Ask of the waves which know their resting-place--<br> And they in thy deep caves their early graves may trace.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br> Farewell! dark Isle--the Muse must spread her wing,<br> To seek for brighter themes in scenes more fair,<br> Too happy if the strain she strove to sing,<br> Shall warn the sailor of thy deadly snare;<br> Oh! would the gods but hear her fervent prayer,<br> The fate of famed Atlantis should be thine--<br> No longer crouching in thy dangerous lair,<br> But sunk far down beneath the 'whelming brine,<br> Known but to History's page--or in the poet's line.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Joseph+Howe">Joseph Howe</a><div class=q>
<img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share">
<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=426731" data-title="Sable Island de Joseph Howe" data-description="Dark Isle of Mourning--aptly art thou named,
 For thou hast been the cause of many a tear;
 For deeds of treacherous strife too justly famed,
 The Atlantic's charnel--desolate and drear;
 A thing none love--though wand'ring thousands fear--
 If fo..."></div>
</div>
</div>