---

WELTON'S VALLEYS.

Let us sine of old Welton's sweet valleys,
    Be the tune when the summer is nigh,
And the lark overhead gaily sallies,
    Addressing his song to the sky;
Lov'd Welton, thy valleys so green
    'Should surely be honoured in song,
So pretty is each sylvan scene
    As we wander thy wild woods among.

Oh ! near to thy green wooded bowers,
    My ancestors long have they dwelt,
And oft in the warm sunny hours
    The keenest emotions I've felt,
When musing o'er times that are passed
    And picture's that fill up life's scene,
And the friends who have bid adieu last
    To Welton's old valleys so green.

I have viewed the sweet vale of Avoca,
    And other famed valleys I've seen,
But none bore such exquisite charms
    As Welton's old valleys so green ;
So long let us sing of old Welton,
    To me 'tis the dearest of dales,
And the memories that cling round my heart
    Proclaim it the sweetest of vales.

---

THE OCEAN MAIL.

Over the deep speeds the ocean mail,
    Over the deep and afar ;
Steaming along with a cloud of sail,
    She crosses the harbour bar ;
Dashing away through the bounding sea,
    Ploughing the waters blue,
The iron-wrought ship goes speeding free,
    Manned by a goodly crew.

What romance lies hid in the ocean mail!
    Tidings of sorrow and joy ;
Some have been favoured by Fortune's gale,
    While others bright hopes destroy ;
The same old story crosses the sea
    That often has crossed of yore,
Of a tender heart that will faithful be
    To its love on a distant shore.

Letters of love and letters of hate,
    Lie hid in the ocean mail ;
Letters of intrigue, letters of State,
    Lie under its cloud of sail ;
Some will rejoice, and some will weep,
    When cometh the ocean mail,
At the news it brings o'er the mighty deep,
    Safe through the tempest gale.

---

"THE CITY OF BOSTON."

"We only know she sailed away,
And ne'er was heard of more."

Waves of the ocean that thunder and roar,
Where is the ship that we sent from our shore ?
Tell, as ye dash on the quivering strand
Where is the crew that comes never to land ?
Where are the hearts that unfearing and gay,
Broke from the clasp of affection away ?
Where are the faces that smiling and bright
Sailed for the death-darkened regions of night
Waves of the ocean that thunder and roar,
Where is the ship that we sent from our shore ?
Storms of the ocean, that bellow and sweep,
Where are the friends that went forth on the deep
Where are the faces ye paled with your sneer
Where are the hearts ye have frozen with fear ?
Where is the maiden, young, tender, and fair,
Where is the grandsire, of silvery hair?
Where is the glory of womanhood's time ?
Where the warm blood of man's vigour and prime?
Storms of the ocean, that bellow and pour,
Where is the ship that we sent from our shore ?
Birds of the ocean, that scream through the gale,
What have ye seen of a wind-beaten sail
Perched ye for rest on the shivering mast,
Beaten and shattered, and bent by the blast
Heard ye the storm-threatened mariner's plea,
Birds of the bitter and treacherous sea
Heard ye no. message to carry away
Home to the hearts that are yearning to-day ?
Birds of the ocean, that hover and soar
Where is the ship that we sent from our Shore ?
Depths of the ocean, that fathomless lie,
Where is the crew that no more cometh nigh ?
What of the guests that so silently sleep
Low in thy chambers relentlessly deep?.
Cold is the couch they have haplessly won,
Long is the night they have entered upon ;
Still must they sleep till the trumpet o'erhead
Summons the sea to uncover the dead.
Depths of the ocean, with treasures in store,
Where is the ship that we sent from our shore ?
                    WILL CARLETON.

---

" THE CITY OF BOSTON.'

(REPLY TO WILL CARLETON.)

" Where is the ship that ye sent from your shore ? "
Under the ocean she lies evermore ;
Sleep all her mariners far from the strand,
Distant from home and their own native land ;
Motionless they in the deeps far away,
Silent and cold to the storm winds a prey ;
The sea in its strength, the main in its might,
Vanquish'd the barque on a chaotic night ;
The " City of Boston " that sail'd from your shore
Sails on the sea with her crew nevermore.

Wistfully went they abroad on the deep,
Where the winds rave and the hoarse waters leap ;
Friends and companions they leave with a tear,
Blind to the fate that was fast drawing near ;
Adieu, bade the maiden, winsome and fair ;
Adieu, bade the grandsire, hoary his hair;
Farewell for a awhile till home-coming time,
Promised return from a far, distant clime ;
Little they knew of a grave evermore
Under the ocean, away from the shore.

Birds of the ocean, that flit thro' the gale,
Perchance may have seen a torn, tatter'd sail,
May for a moment have perch'd on the mast
And heard the wild wail that fell on the blast,
Or listen'd in fear to the heartrending plea
Ere the lost crew were engulf 'd in the sea ;
These birds on the ocean are soaring away,
Clanging their wings o'er the nebulous spray ;
Nor tidings they bring, nor news to the shore
Of those that lie under the sea evermore.

" Where is the ship that ye sent from your shore?"
The " City of Boston " that sails nevermore ;
Down in the ocean her mariner's lie,
Nor message or token e'er cometh nigh,
Making the grave where the ill-fated sleep,
Down in the depths of the fathomless deep ;
Doubtless the main in its fury and might
Vanquish'd the barque in a terrible fight;
The beautiful ship, her seamen, and store,
That swim o'er the treach'rous deep nevermore.

---

ONLY A BIT OF BLUE RIBBON.

Only a bit of blue ribbon,
    As it lies in the casket there ;
Only a bit of blue ribbon
    That tied up her bonny black hair.

It 'minds me of one who was constant,
    Of one who was faithful and true,
And the last time she wore that blue ribbon
    She bade me a tender adieu.

Oh ! little I thought when we parted,
    That my beautiful ebon-eyed queen
Would so soon from this world have departed,
    And left it a desolate scene.

And, oh, what a priceless treasure,
    As it lies in the casket there;
Tho' 'tis only a bit of blue ribbon,
    That tied up her bonny black hair.

Poems by Thomas Jefferson Monkman (1885)
Scanned by Graham Metcalf ©2003
OCRd and checked by Colin Hinson ©2003