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To a Star.
By W. M. MacKeracher
Dreary and dismal and dark
Is the night of life to me,
With nothing but clouds in the heaven above,
Cruelly hiding the star that I love,
Whose radiance was rapture to see.
While the blasts from the cold frozen North
Are biting right in to my soul -
While the pitiless blasts from the bleak, barren shore
Of the crystalline ocean incessantly roar,
And the tempests that sweep from the pole.
Oh! the gloom of the dark, dreary night,
Concealing the star that I love!
Oh! how bitter the anguish, bereft of its beam!
While the beings around me are such that I seem
In a dungeon of demons to move.
Oh! when will the clouds clear away?
And brighten the heaven above?
Oh! when to the starry-lit realm of the sky
In a golden car of thy beams shall I fly
To live with the star that I love?
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