The Frost looked forth, one still, clear night,
And he said, 'Now I shall be out of sight;
So through the valley and over the height
ALONE I walked the ocean strand;
A pearly shell was in my hand:
I stooped and wrote upon the sand
My name—the year—the day.
Down in my solitude under the snow,
Where nothing cheering can reach me;
Here, without light to see how to grow,
Lady, the fairest flowers the morn disclosed
Are glowing on thy bosom; while within,
Thousands of clustering joys are still in bud:
God, is thy throne accessible to me-
Me of the Ethiop skin? May I draw near
Thy sacred shrine, and humbly bend the knee,
With cherub smile, the prattling boy,
Who on the veteran's breast reclines,
Has thrown aside his favorite toy,
And round his tender finger twines
O Thou, who hear'st the feeblest prayer,
The humblest heart dost see,
Upon the chilly midnight air
I pour my soul to thee!
I am feeble, pale, and weary,
And my wings are nearly furled;
I have caused a scene so dreary,
I am glad to quit the world!
'I look on the bow that my father bent,
And I know the ways where the warrior went.
I remember the flash of the chieftain's eye;
The careless eye, and the piteous one
Poor lost Maria alike will shun.
She loves to roam with her fearless child