TYRE
by: Bayard Taylor (1825-1878)
- HE wild and windy morning is lit
with lurid fire;
- The thundering surf of ocean beats on the rocks of Tyre,
--
- Beats on the fallen columns and round the headland roars,
- And hurls its foamy volume along the hollow shores,
- And calls with hungry clamor, that speaks its long desire:
- "Where are the ships of Tarshish, the mighty ships of
Tyre?"
-
- Within her cunning harbor, choked with invading sand,
- No galleys bring their freightage, the spoils of every land,
- And like a prostrate forest, when autumn gales have blown,
- Her colonnades of granite lie shattered and o'erthrown;
- And from the reef the pharos no longer flings its fire,
- To beacon home from Tarshish the lordly ships of Tyre.
-
- Where is thy rod of empire, once mighty on the waves, --
- Thou that thyself exalted, till Kings became thy slaves?
- Thou that didst speak to nations, and saw thy will obeyed,
--
- Whose favor made them joyful, whose anger sore afraid, --
- Who laid'st thy deep foundations, and thought them strong
and sure,
- And boasted midst the waters, Shall I not aye endure?
-
- Where is the wealth of ages that heaped thy princely mart?
- The pomp of purple trappings; the gems of Syrian art;
- The silken goats of Kedar; Sabæa's spicy store;
- The tributes of the islands thy squadrons homeward bore,
- When in thy gates triumphant they entered from the sea
- With sound of horn and sackbut, of harp and psaltery?
-
- Howl, howl, ye ships of Tarshish! the glory is laid waste:
- There is no habitation; the mansions are defaced.
- No mariners of Sidon unfurl your mighty sails;
- No workmen fell the fir-trees that grow in Shenir's vales
- And Bashan's oaks that boasted a thousand years of sun,
- Or hew the masts of cedar on frosty Lebanon.
-
- Rise, thou forgotten harlot! take up thy harp and sing:
- Call the rebellious islands to own their ancient king:
- Bare to the spray thy bosom, and with thy hair unbound,
- Sit on the piles of ruins, thou throneless and discrowned!
- There mix thy voice of wailing with the thunders of the sea,
- And sing thy songs of sorrow, that thou remembered be!
-
- Though silent and forgotten, yet Nature still laments
- The pomp and power departed, the lost magnificence:
- The hills were proud to see thee, and they are sadder now;
- The sea was proud to bear thee, and wears a troubled brow,
- And evermore the surges chant forth their vain desire:
- "Where are the ships of Tarshish, the mighty ships of
Tyre?"
"Tyre" is reprinted from
The Little Book of American Poets: 1787-1900. Ed. Jessie
B. Rittenhouse. Cambridge: Riverside Press, 1915. |
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POEMS BY BAYARD TAYLOR |
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