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TWILIGHT.

The twilight is sad and cloudy,

The wind blows wild and free, And like the wings of sea-birds

Flash the white caps of the sea.

But in the fisherman's cottage

There shines a ruddier light, And a little face at the window

Peers out into the night.

Close, close it is pressed to the window,

As if those childish eyes Were looking into the darkness,

To see some form arise.

And a woman's waving shadow

Is passing to and fro, Now rising to the ceiling,

Now bowing and bending low.

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What tale do the roaring ocean,

And the night-wind, bleak and wild, As they beat at the crazy casement,

Tell to that little child ?

And why do the roaring ocean,

And the night-wind, wild and bleak, As they beat at the heart of the mother, Drive the color from her cheek ?

H. W. LONGFELLOW.

See where, upon the blue and waveless deep,
Comes forth the silent Moon!
Now, Music, wake from out thy charmed sleep;
And bid thy sweet soul weep
Her life away in some immortal tune!
Or let thy soaring spirit run
Aloft upon some wild enchanted air,

BARRY CORNWALL. THE FISHERMEN.

Three fishers went sailing out into the West,

Out into the West as the sun went down, Each thought of the woman who loved him the best,

And the children stood watching them out of the town; For men must work, and women must weep, And there's little to earn, and many to keep,

Though the harbor bar be moaning.

Three wives sat up in the light-house tower

And trimmed the lamps as the sun went down, And they looked at the squall, and they looked at the

shower, And the rack it came rolling up, ragged and brown; But men must work, and women must weep, Though storms be sudden, and waters deep,

And the harbor bar be moaning.

Three corpses lay out on the shining sands

In the morning gleam as the tide went down,
And the women are watching and wringing their hands,

For those who will never come back to the town ;
For men must work, and women must weep,-
And the sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep
And good bye to the bar and its moaning.

CHARLES KINGSLEY.

MOONRISE.

ABOVE the headlands massy, dim,

A swelling glow, a fiery birth, A marvel in the sky doth swim,

Advanced upon the hush of earth.

The globe, o'erhanging bright and brave

The pale green-glimmering ocean-floor, Silvers its wave, its rustling wave

Soft folded on the shelving shore.

O lonely moon, a lonely place
Is this thou cheerest with thy face;
Three sand-side houses, and afar
The steady beacon's faithful star!

WILLIAM ALLINGHAM.

GLIDE ON, MY BARK.

Glide on, my bark; the summer's tide
Is gently flowing to thy side ;
Around thy prow, the waters bright,
In circling rounds of broken light,
Are glittering, as if ocean gave

Her countless gems to deck the wave; Whilst moonlight shines like mimic dayGlide on, my bark, thy moonlit way.

Glide on, my bark! how sweet to rove,
With such a beaming sky above,
O'er the dark sea, whose murmurs seem,
Like fairy music in a dream;
No sound is heard to break the spell,

Except the water's gentle swell;
Whilst midnight, like a mimic day,
Shines on, to guide our moonlit way.

ANONYMOUS.

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