Richer am I than he who owns
Great fleets and argosies :
I have a share in every ship
Won by the inland breeze
To loiter on yon airy road
Above the apple-trees.

I freight them with my untold dreams;
Each bears my own picked crew;
And nobler cargoes wait for them
Than ever India knew,—

My ships that sail into the east
Across that outlet blue.

Sometimes they seem like living shapes,
The people of the sky,-

Guests in white raiment, coming down

From heaven, which is close by:

I call them by familiar names,
As one by one draws nigh,
So white, so light, so spirit-like,

From violet mists they bloom!
The aching wastes of the unknown

Are half reclaimed from gloom, Since on Life's hospitable sea

All souls find sailing-room.

The ocean grows a weariness
With nothing else in sight;

Its east and west, its north and south,
Spread out from morn to night :
We miss the warm, caressing shore,
Its brooding shade and light.

A STRIP OF BLUE.

A part is greater than the whole;
By hints are mysteries told :
The fringes of eternity,

God's sweeping garment-fold,

In that bright shred of glimmering sea,
I reach out for, and hold.

The sails, like flakes of roseate pearl,
Float in upon the mist;

The waves are broken precious stones,-
Sapphire and amethyst,-

Washed from celestial basement walls,
By suns unsetting kissed.

Out through the utmost gates of space,
Past where the gray stars drift,
To the widening Infinite, my soul
Glides on, a vessel swift;

Yet loses not her anchorage

In yonder azure rift. Here sit I as a little child :

The threshold of God's door

Is that clear band of chrysoprase :
Now the vast temple-floor,
The blinding glory of the dome,
I bow my head before.

The universe, O God! is home,
In height or depth, to me;
Yet here upon thy footstool green
Content am I to be,

Glad when is opened to my need
Some sea-like glimpse of thee.

ΙΟΙ

Lucy Larcom.

LAND-LOCKED.

OLACK lie the hills, swiftly doth daylight flee,

BLACK

And catching gleams of sunset's dying smile, Through the dusk land for many a changing mile The river runneth softly to the sea.

O happy river, could I follow thee!

O yearning heart, that never can be still!
O wistful eyes, that watch the steadfast hill,
Longing for level line of solemn sea,

Have patience,―here are flowers and songs of birds,
Beauty and fragrance, wealth of sound and sight,
All summer's glory thine from morn till night,
And life too full of joy for uttered words.

Neither am I ungrateful :-but I dream
Deliciously, how twilight falls to-night
Over the glimmering water, how the light
Dies blissfully away, until I seem

To feel the wind sea-scented on my cheek,
To catch the sound of dusky flapping sail
And dip of oars, and voices on the gale
Afar off, calling low ;-my name they speak!

O Earth! thy summer song of joy may soar
Ringing to heaven in triumph. I but crave
The sad, caressing murmur of the wave
That breaks in tender music on the shore.

Celia Thaxter.

O YE KEEN BREEZES!

103

O

O YE KEEN BREEZES!

YE keen breezes from the salt Atlantic,

Which to the beach, where memory loves to
wander,

On your strong pinions waft reviving coolness,
Bend your course hither!

For, in the surf ye scattered to the sunshine
Did we not sport together in my boyhood,
Screaming for joy amid the flashing breakers,
O rude companions?

Then to the meadows beautiful and fragrant,
Where the coy Spring beholds her earliest verdure
Brighten with smiles that rugged sea-side hamlet,
How would we hasten!

There under elm-trees affluent in foliage,

High o'er whose summit hovered the sea-eagle, Through the hot, glaring noontide have we rested After our gambols.

Vainly the sailor called you from your slumber : Like a glazed pavement shone the level ocean; While, with the snow-white canvas idly drooping, Stood the tall vessels.

And when, at length, exulting ye awakened,
Rushed to the beach, and ploughed the liquid acres,
How have I chased you through the shivered billows,
In my frail shallop!

Playmates, old playmates, hear my invocation!
In the close town I waste this golden summer,
Where piercing cries and sounds of wheels in mo-
tion

Ceaselessly mingle.

When shall I feel your breath upon my forehead? When shall I hear you in the elm-trees' branches? When shall we wrestle in the briny surges,

Friends of my boyhood?

Epes Sargent.

"THE EAGER SUN COMES GLADLY FROM

T

THE SEA."

HE eager sun comes gladly from the sea;
Remembering that one short year ago

He rose from unknown worlds of light below
Those same far waves, to shine on you and me
Standing together on the shore ;-but we

Are strangely far apart to-day; and so

The saddened sun with lingering step and slow
Climbs the horizon, wondering not to see
Your face with mine; nor can he understand
As we do, dear, that you and I to-day,—
Though million miles of ocean or of land
And centuries of time between us lay,---
Are nearer to each other than when hand
Touched hand, before we gave our hearts away.
Alice W. Rollins.