The Kentucky Gazette

On the bosom of a river,
Where the sun unloosed his quiver,
And the starlight gleamed forever,
Sailed a vessel light and free.
Morning dewdrops hung like manna
In the bright folds of her banner,
While the zephyrs rose to fan her
Softly to the radiant sea.
At her prow a pilot beaming,
In the flush of youth stood dreaming,
And he was in glorious seeming
Like an angel from above.
Through his hair the breezes sported,
And as on the waves he floated
Oft that pilot angel-throated
Warble lays of hope and love.
Through those locks so blithely flowing
Buds of laurel bloom were blowing
And his hands anon were throwing
Music from a lyre of gold
Swiftly down the stream he glided
Soft the purple wave divided,
And a rainbow arch abided
On his canvas snowy fold.
Anxious hearts with fond devotion
Watched him sailing to the ocean,
Prayed that never wild commotion
Midst the elements might rise.
And he seemed some young Apollo
Charming summer winds to follow,
While the water flags' corolla
Trembled to his music sighs.
But those purple waves enchanted
Rolled beside a city haunted
By an awful spell that daunted
Every comer to her shore.
Night shades rank the air encumbered
And pale marble statues numbered
Where the lotus eaters slumbered
And awoke to life no more.
Then rushed with lightning quickness
O'er his face a mortal sickness
And the dews in fearful thickness
Gathered o'er his temples fair.
And there swept a dying murmur
Through the lovely southern summer
As the beauteous pilot's number
Perished by that city there.
Still rolls on that radiant river
And the sun unbinds his quiver,
And the starlight gleams forever
On its bosom as before
But that vessel's rainbow banner
Greets no more the gay savanna,
And the pilot's late drops manna
On the purple waves no more.