When his glad mother on him stole

And snatched him to her breast ! GONE, gone from us! and shall we see O, thoughts were brooding in those eyes, Those sibyl-leaves of destiny,

That would have soared like strongThose calm eyes, nevermore?

winged birds Those deep, dark eyes so warm and Far, far into the skies, bright,

Gladding the earth with song,
Wherein the fortunes of the man | And gushing harmonies,
Lay slumbering in prophetic light, Had he but tarried with us long!
In characters a child might scan ? O stern word – Nevermore!
So bright, and gone forth utterly !
Ostern word - Nevermore!

How peacefully they rest,

Crossfolded there
The stars of those two gentle eyes Upon his little breast,
Will shine no more on earth;

Those small, white hands that ne'er were Quenched are the hopes that had their I still before, birth,

But ever sported with his mother's hair, As we watched them slowly rise, Or the plain cross that on her breast she Stars of a mother's fate;

wore ! And she would read them o'er and o'er, Her heart no more will beat Pondering, as she sate,

To feel the touch of that soft palm, Over their dear astrology,

That ever seemed a new surprise
Which she had conned and conned before, Sending glad thoughts up to her eyes
Deeming she needs must read aright To bless him with their holy calm,
What was writ so passing bright. Sweet thoughts ! they made her eyes as
And yet, alas ! she knew not why,

Her voice would falter in its song, How quiet are the hands
And tears would slide from out her eye, That wove those pleasant bands !
Silent, as they were doing wrong. But that they do not rise and sink
O stern word - Nevermore!

With his calm breathing, I should think

That he were dropped asleep. The tongue that scarce had learned to Alas! too deep, too deep claim

Is this his slumber !
An entrance to a mother's heart

Time scarce can number
By that dear talisman, a mother's name, The years ere he shall wake again.
Sleeps all forgetful of its art !

10, may we see his eyelids open then ! I loved to see the infant soul

O stern word - Nevermore ! (How mighty in the weakness Of its untutored meekness !)

As the airy gossamere, Peep timidly from out its nest,

Floating in the sunlight clear, His lips, the while,

Where'er it toucheth clingeth tightly, Fluttering with half-fledged words, Round glossy leaf or stump unsightly, Or hushing to a smile

So from his spirit wandered out That more than words expressed, | Tendrils spreading all about,

Knitting all things to its thrall

“To the shore With a perfect love of all :

Follow ! O, follow ! O stern word – Nevermore !

To be at rest forevermore !

Forevermore !"
He did but float a little way
Adown the stream of time,

Look how the gray old Ocean
With dreamy eyes watching the ripples From the depth of his heart rejoices,

Heaving with a gentle motion,
Or hearkening their fairy chime ; When he hears our restful voices ;
His slender sail

List how he sings in an undertone,
Ne'er felt the gale;

Chiming with our melody; He did but Hoat a little way,

And all sweet sounds of earth and air And, putting to the shore

Melt into one low voice alone, While yet 't was early day,

That murmurs over the weary sea, Went calmly on his way,

And seems to sing from everywhere, - ' To dwell with us no more!

“ Here mayst thou harbor peacefully, No jarring did he feel,

Here mayst thou rest from the aching No grating on his shallop's keel;

car; A strip of silver sand

Turn thy curved prow ashore, Mingled the waters with the land And in our green isle rest forevermore ! Where he was seen no more :

Forevermore !" O stern word - Nevermore !

And Echo half wakes in the wooded hill,

And, to her heart so calm and deep, Full short his journey was; no dust Murmurs over in her sleep, Of earth unto his sandals clave;

Doubtfully pausing and murmuring still, The weary weight that old men must, “Evermore!" He bore not to the grave.

Thus, on Life's weary sea, He seemed a cherub who had lost his

Heareth the marinere way

Voices sweet, from far and near, And wandered hither, so his stay

Ever singing low and clear, • With us was short, and 't was most meet

Ever singing longingly.
That he should be no delver in earth's

Is it not better here to be,
Nor need to pause and cleanse his feet Than to be toiling late and soon ?
To stand before his God:

| In the dreary night to see O blest word — Evermore !

Nothing but the blood-red moon
Go up and down into the sea ;

Or, in the loneliness of day,

To see the still seals only

Solemnly lift their faces gray,
The sea is lonely, the sea is dreary, Making it yet more lonely?
The sea is restless and uneasy ;

Is it not better than to hear
Thou seekest quiet, thou art weary, Only the sliding of the wave
Wandering thou knowest not whith Beneath the plank, and feel so near

A cold and lonely grave,
Our little isle is green and breezy, A restless grave, where thou shalt lie
Come and rest thee ! () come hither, Even in death unquietly?
Come to this peaceful home of ours, Look down beneath thy wave-worn baik,
Where evermore

Lean over the side and see The low west-wind creeps panting up The leaden eye of the sidelong shark the shore

Upturned patiently, To be at rest among the flowers ;

Ever waiting there for thee : Full of rest, the green moss lifts, Look down and see those shapeless forms, As the dark waves of the sea

Which ever keep their dreamless sleep Draw in and out of rocky rifts,

Far down within the gloomy deep, Calling solemnly to thee

And only stir themselves in storms, With voices deep and hollow, - | Rising like islands from beneath,



And snorting through the angry spray, Far down into her large and patient eyes As the frail vessel perisheth

I gaze, deep-drinking of the infinite, In the whirls of their unwieldy play; As, in the mid-watch of a clear, still night, Look down! Look down !

I look into the fathomless blue skies. Upon the seaweed, slimy and dark, That waves its arms so lank and brown, So circled lives she with Love's holy Beckoning for thee !

light, Look down beneath thy wave-worn bark That from the shade of self she walketh Into the cold depth of the sea !

free; Look down ! Look down !

The garden of her soul still keepeth she
Thus, on Life's lonely sea, | An Eden where the snake did neverenter;
Heareth the marinere

She hath a natural, wise sincerity,
Voices sad, from far and near, A simple truthfulness, and these have lent
Ever singing full of fear,
Ever singing drearfully. A dignity as moveless as the centre ;

So that no influence of our earth can stir Here all is pleasant as a dream ; Her steadfast courage, nor can take away The wind scarce shaketh down the dew, The holy peacefulness, which night and The green grass floweth like a stream

day, Into the ocean's blue;

Unto her queenly soul doth minister. Listen! O, listen ! Here is a gush of many streams,

Most gentle is she ; her large charity A song of many birds,

(An all unwitting, childlike gift in her) And every wish and longing seems Not freer is to give than meek to bear; Lulled to a numbered flow of words, – And, though herself not unacquaint with Listen ! 0, listen !

care, Here ever hum the golden bees

Hath in her heart wide room for all that Underneath full-blossomed trees,

be, At once with glowing fruit and flowers Her heart that hath no secrets of its own, crowned ;

But open is as eglantine full blown. So smooth the sand, the yellow sand, Cloudless forever is her brow serene, That thy keel will not grate as it touches Speaking calı hope and trust within her, the land ;

whence All around with a slumberous sound, Welleth a noiseless spring of patience, The singing waves slide up the strand, That keepeth all her life so fresh, so green And there, where the smooth, wet peb. And full of holiness, that every look, bles be,

The greatness of her woman's soul reveal. The waters gurgle longingly,

ing, As if they fain would seek the shore, Unto me bringeth blessing, and a feeling To be at rest from the ceaseless roar, As when I read in God's own holy book. To be at rest forevermore, Forevermore.

A graciousness in giving that doth make Thus, on Life's gloomy sea, The small'st gift greatest, and a sense Heareth the marinere

most meek Voices sweet, from far and near, Of worthiness, that doth not fear to take Ever singing in his ear,

From others, but which always fears to Here is rest and peace for thee!”

speak Its thanks in utterance, for the giver's

sake ;IRENÉ

The deep religion of a thankful heart,

Which rests instinctively in Heaven's Hers is a spirit deep, and crystal-clear; clear law Calmly beneath her earnest face it lies, with a full peace, that never can depart Free without boldness, meek without a From its own steadfastness;- a holy awe fear,

For holy things, — not those which men Quicker to look than speak its sympa call holy, thies,

But such as are revealed to the eyes

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