Anne Charlotte Lynch Botta Poems

Like the ancient Grecian marbles,
Is his soul with beauty fraught,
And as polished and enduring
Is the sculpture of his thought.
...

The honey-bee that wanders all day long,
The field, the woodland, and the garden o'er,
To gather in his fragrant winter store,
Humming in calm content his quiet song,
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Where the dark primeval forests
Rise against the western sky
And 'the Father of the Waters'
In his strength goes rushing by:
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The mountain lake, o'ershadowed by the hills,
May still gaze heavenward on the evening star,
Whose distant light its dark recesses fills,
Though boundless distance must divide them far;
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The wail of France comes o'er the sea, -
She mourns for thee, departed chief;
And we, the children of the Free,
Re-echo back the notes of grief.
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A beauty like young womanhood's
Upon the green earth lies,
And June's sweet smile hath waked again
All summer's harmonies.
...

As some dark stream within a cavern's breast,
Flows murmuring, moaning for the distant sun,
So ere I met thee, murmuring its unrest,
Did my life's current coldly, darkly run.
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Go forth in life, oh friend! not seeking love;
A mendicant, that with imploring eye
And outstretched hand asks of the passers by
The alms his strong necessities may move.
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When the fitful fever of the soul
Is awakened in thee first;
And thou goest like Judah's children forth,
To slake thy burning thirst; -
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Those spirits God ordained,
To stand the watchmen on the outer wall,
Upon whose souls the beams of truth first fall;
...