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The Wanderer

WANDERER.

YOUNG woman, may God bless thee,
Thee, and the sucking infant
Upon thy breast!
Let me, 'gainst this rocky wall,
Neath the elm-tree's shadow,
Lay aside my burden,
Near thee take my rest.

WOMAN.

What vocation leads thee,
While the day is burning,
Up this dusty path?
Bring'st thou goods from out the town
Round the country?
Smil'st thou, stranger,
At my question?

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poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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The Wanderer

Oh well Im the type of guy who will never settle down
Where pretty girls are well, you know that Im around
I kiss em and I loveem cause to me theyre all the same
I hug em and I squeeze em they dont even know my name
They call me the wanderer yeah the wanderer
I roam around around around...
Oh well theres flo on my left and theres mary on my right
And janie is the girl with that Ill be with tonight
And when she asks me which one I love the best
I tear open my shirt I got rosie on my chest
cause Im the wanderer yeah the wanderer
I roam around around around...
Oh well I roam from town to town
I go through life without a care
til Im as happy as a clown
With my two fists of iron and Im going nowhere
Im the type of guy that likes to roam around
Im never in one place I roam from town to town
And when I find myself a-fallin for some girl
I hop right into that car of mine and ride around the world

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song performed by Beach Boys
Added by Lucian Velea
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Lost and Found

In a southern city lived a wealthy family;
In a southern city was the happy home
Of a father and mother and a little daughter.
In peace and contentment they lived alone.

But one summer evening there happened a misfortune,
Which caused the parents to weep and mourn,
For this little daughter, a loving little treasure,
Was a poor little wanderer far, far from home.

It happened thus, -- the mother went out calling
On a widow friend, who lived all alone;
She left her little daughter in the care of her father,
And through his neglect she wandered from home.

The father rocked his child, till her eyes closed in slumber;
Thought he to himself, I'll go over across the way,
And see a neighbor friend; he'll be there this evening,
And I must see him before he goes away.

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poem by Julia A Moore
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Tiriel

1

And Aged Tiriel. stood before the Gates of his beautiful palace
With Myratana. once the Queen of all the western plains
But now his eyes were darkned. & his wife fading in death
They stood before their once delightful palace. & thus the Voice
Of aged Tiriel. arose. that his sons might hear in their gates
Accursed race of Tiriel. behold your father
Come forth & look on her that bore you. come you accursed sons.
In my weak arms. I here have borne your dying mother
Come forth sons of the Curse come forth. see the death of Myratana
His sons ran from their gates. & saw their aged parents stand
And thus the eldest son of Tiriel raisd his mighty voice
Old man unworthy to be calld. the father of Tiriels race
For evry one of those thy wrinkles. each of those grey hairs
Are cruel as death. & as obdurate as the devouring pit
Why should thy sons care for thy curses thou accursed man
Were we not slaves till we rebeld. Who cares for Tiriels curse
His blessing was a cruel curse. His curse may be a blessing
He ceast the aged man raisd up his right hand to the heavens

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poem by William Blake (1789)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Light on the Wreck

Out there by the rocks, at the end of the bank,
In the mouth of the river, the Wanderer sank.
She is resting where meet the blue water and green,
And only her masts and her funnel are seen;
And you see, when is fading the sunset’s last fleck,
On her foremast a lantern—a light on a wreck.
’Tis a light on a wreck, warning ships to beware
Of the drowned iron hull of the Wanderer there;
And the ships that come in and go out in the night
Keep a careful lookout for the Wanderer’s light.
There are rules for the harbour and rules for the wave;
But all captains steer clear of the Wanderer’s grave.

And the stories of strong lives that ended in wrecks
Might be likened to lights over derelict decks;
Like the light where, in sight of the streets of the town,
In the mouth of the channel the Wanderer went down.
Keep a watch from the desk, as they watch from the deck;
Keep a watch from your home for the light on the wreck.

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poem by Henry Lawson
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Winter Wanderer

Walking stealthily,
Meowing steadily
The winter wanderer.

He is no hunter, man nor beast,
But cat, the greatest of them all,
The winter wanderer.

This feline beast
Relies on man
To feed and comfort him,
The winter wanderer.

He came to us
One frosty night,
That winter wanderer.

poem by Charlotte Pinkney
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Homecoming Of A Wanderer (To Bhupen Hazarika)

He returned home through the same village roads,
Some morning declaring his fight against time and its tides,
through which he had gone.
Declaring miles and miles of road shorter than his dreams through which he had gone..
Declaring himself anonymous and wanderer and leaving promises of returning winner.
through which he had gone,,,
He returned.

On his return, the village road saw the same villager and he returned on the same wheels of his dreams
And those dreams were still full of life.
On his return but he was no longer an anonymous, he earned a name which could travel boundaries of land, river, ocean and time as well..
And when he returned he was no longer a wanderer for everywhere he went he left a mark of the river of his village where he belonged and now he owned a home in thousands heart
On his return he was no longer a wanderer

He returned through the same village roads
but not without gifts of eternity..
gifts from the zenith of human limits,,
gifts of pride and honour,,
gifts of travelling the roads of life,,
larger than travelled by any one ever,,,

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poem by Aman Saa
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The Princes' Quest - Part the Third

So without rest or tarriance all that night,
Until the world was blear with coming light,
Forth fared the princely fugitive, nor stayed
His wearied feet till morn returning made
Some village all a-hum with wakeful stir;
And from that place the royal wayfarer
Went ever faster on and yet more fast,
Till, ere the noontide sultriness was past,
Upon his ear the burden of the seas
Came dreamlike, heard upon a cool fresh breeze
That tempered gratefully a fervent sky.
And many an hour ere sundown he drew nigh
A fair-built seaport, warder of the land
And watcher of the wave, with odours fanned
Of green fields and of blue from either side;-
A pleasant place, wherein he might abide,
Unknown of man or woman, till such time
As any ship should sail to that far clime
Where lived the famous great astrologer.

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poem by William Watson
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The Princes' Quest - Part the Ninth

And passing through the city he went out
Into the fat fields lying thereabout,
And lo the spirit of the emerald stone
With secret influence to himself unknown
Guided the wandering of his errant feet,
The servants of the errant soul; and sweet
The meadows were, with babble of birds, and noise
Of brooks, the water's voice and the wind's voice.
Howbeit he gave small heed to any of them;
And now the subtile spirit of the gem
Led him along a winding way that ran
Beyond the fields to where the woods began
To spread green matwork for the mountains' feet;
A region where the Silence had her seat
And hearkened to the sounds that only she
Can hear-the fall of dew on herb and tree;
The voice of the growing of the grass; the night
Down-fluttering breathless from the heaven's height;
And autumn whispering unawares at times
Strange secrets and dark sayings, wrapt in rhymes

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poem by William Watson
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The Domestic Affections

WHENCE are those tranquil joys, in mercy giv'n,
To light the wilderness with beams of Heav'n?
To sooth our cares, and thro' the cloud diffuse,
Their tempered sun-shine, and celestial hues?
Those pure delights, ordain'd on life to throw
Gleams of the bliss ethereal natures know?
Say, do they grace Ambition's regal throne,
When kneeling myriads call the world his own?
Or dwell with luxury, in th' enchanted bow'rs,
Where taste and wealth exert creative pow'rs?

Favor'd of Heav'n! O Genius! are they thine,
When round thy brow the wreaths of glory shine;
While rapture gazes on thy radiant way,
'Midst the bright realms of clear and mental day?

No! sacred joys! 'tis yours to dwell enshrin'd,
Most fondly cherish'd, in the purest mind;
To twine with flowers, those lov'd, endearing ties,
On earth so sweet,—so perfect in the skies!

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poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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