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NIGHT AND DEATH.

181

Who speaks through the dark night,

And lull of the wind ? 'Tis the sound of the pine-leaves

And sea-waves behind !

The dead girl is silent

I stand by her now,
And her pulse beats no quicker,

Nor crimsons her brow.

The small hand that trembled

When last in my own, Lies patient and folded,

And colder than stone.

Like the white blossoms falling

To-night in the gale, So she in her beauty

Sank mournful and pale.

Yet I loved her! I utter

Such words by her grave, As I would not have spoken

Her last breath to save.

Of her love the angels .

In heaven might tell,
While mine would be whispered

With shudders in hell !

'Twas well that the white ones,

Who bore her to bliss,
Shut out from her new life

The visions of this;

Else, sure as I stand here,

And speak of my love,
She would leave for my darkness
Her glory above.

ELIZABETH H. WHITTIER.

THE ECHO SPIRIT.

CHEQUERED with woven shadows as I lay
Among the grass watching the watery gleam,
I saw an echo-spirit in his bay,
Drowsed into silence by the noon-tide beam.
The depths heaved round his boat of shell, with sway
To Ocean's giant pulse, and the white dream,
Buoyed like the young moon on a level stream
Of greenish vapor at decline of day,
Swam airily. Watching the distant flocks
Of sea-gulls, whilst one foot in careless sweep
Touched the clear-trembling cool, with tiny shocks
Faint-circling; till at last he sank to sleep,
Lulled by the hush-song of the dreamy deep
Lap-lapping drowsily the heated rocks.

WILLIAM ALLINGHAM. CALM.

'Tis a dull, sullen day, — the dull beach o'er

In rippling curves the ebbing ocean flows; Along each tiny crest that nears the shore

A line of soft green shadow rises, glides, and goes.

The tide recedes, — the flat smooth beach grows bare,

More faint the low sweet plashing on my ears, Yet still I watch the dimpling shadows fair,

As each is born, glides, pauses, disappears.

What channel needs our faith, except the eyes ?

God leaves no spot of earth unglorified; Profuse and wasteful, lovelinesses rise ;

New beauties dawn before the old have died.

Trust thou thy joys in keeping of the Power

Who holds these faint soft shadows in His hand; Believe and live, and know that hour by hour

Will ripple newer beauty to thy strand.

ANONYMOUS.

THE EXILE.

The swallow with summer

Will wing o'er the seas, The wind that I sigh to

Will visit thy trees, The ship that it hastens

Thy ports will contain, But me — I must never

See England again!

There's many that weep there,

But one weeps alone,
For the tears that are falling

So far from her own;
So far from thy own, love.

We know not our pain ; If death is between us,

Or only the main.

When the white cloud reclines

On the verge of the sea, I fancy the white cliffs,

And dream upon thee;

THE TWO OCEANS.

185

But the cloud spreads its wings

To the blue heaven and flies.
We never shall meet, love,

Except in the skies !

HOOD.

THE TWO OCEANS.

Two seas amid the night

In the moonshine roll and sparkle, Now spread in the silver light,

Now sadden, and wail, and darkle.

The one has a billowy motion,

And from land to land it gleams; The other is Sleep's wide ocean,

And its glimmering waves are dreams.

The one with murmur and roar

Bears fleets round coast and islet; The other, without a shore, · Ne'er knew the track of a pilot.

STERLING.

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