Evening in the West Indies, by Elizabeth Jones
I.
A night of beauty veils the Atlantic isles,
The star of evening with her softest glance
Sheds o'er the faded west her silver smile,
Lighting the captive's wearied countenance;--
Beacon of bliss!--the wild delirious dance
Circles around, through twilight shadows seen,
Visions of daylight vanish in the trance,
Lost in the madness of the magic scene,
Chased by the dashing drum and gentle tambourine.
II.
There is a wanderer in the woods apart,
He cannot mingle with the mirthful band,
Slave of the bending head and broken heart!
Meek mourner! pining for thy distant land,
Thy mother's cottage and thy maiden's hand,--
To thee, sweet evening's star, amid thy tears,
Seems like a pale funereal light to stand
O'er that far tomb of buried hopes and fears,
Where lies thy heart enshrined with joys of other years.
III.
Yes!--'tis a false imaginary tale,
That captive spirits breathe unbroken rest;
They proudly fling the light delusive veil,
O'er the cold fetters bound upon the breast,
And keen philosophers pronounce them blest!
But they have eyes that can their darkness see,
Brows by the lightning of the lash deprest,
Hearts that would give the jewelled East to be
Children of light and love,--the sons of liberty!
Elizabeth Jones.
1826.