In each sail that skims the horizon, Hear those mournful melodies: Till my soul is full of longing And the heart of the great ocean TWILIGHT. THE twilight is sad and cloudy, Close, close it is pressed to the window, And a woman's waving shadow Now rising to the ceiling, Now bowing and bending low. What tale do the roaring ocean, And the night-wind, bleak and wild, And why do the roaring ocean, And the night-wind, wild and bleak, SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT.* SOUTHWARD with fleet of ice Sailed the corsair Death; Wild and fast blew the blast, And the east-wind was his breath. "When the wind abated and the vessels were near enough, the Admiral was seen constantly sitting in the stern, with a book in his hand. On the 9th of Sep. tember he was seen for the last time, and was heard by the people of the Hind D His lordly ships of ice On each side, like pennons wide But where he passed there were cast Eastward from Campobello Sir Humphrey Gilbert sailed; Alas! the land-wind failed, And ice-cold grew the night; He sat upon the deck, The Book was in his hand; "Do not fear! Heaven is as near, He said, "by water as by land!” Out of the sea, mysteriously, The fleet of Death rose all around. The moon and the evening star Were hanging in the shrouds; Seemed to rake the passing clouds. They grappled with their prize, At midnight black and cold! Southward, through day and dark, With mist and rain, to the Spanish Main; Southward, for ever southward, They drift through dark and day; to say, 'We are as near heaven by sea as by land.' In the following night, the lights of the ship suddenly disappeared. The people in the other vessel kept a good look-out for him during the remainder of the voyage. On the 22nd of September they arrived, through much tempest and peril, at Falmouth. But nothing more was seen or heard of the Admiral."-BELKNAP'S American Biography, i. 203. THE LIGHTHOUSE. THE rocky ledge runs far into the sea, A pillar of fire by night, of cloud by day. Upheaving, break unheard along its base, And as the evening darkens, lo! how bright, Holding its lantern o'er the restless surge. And the great ships sail outward and return, They wave their silent welcomes and farewells. They come forth from the darkness, and their sails Gleam for a moment only in the blaze, And eager faces, as the light unveils, Gaze at the tower, and vanish while they gaze. The mariner remembers when a child, On his first voyage, he saw it fade and sink; Steadfast, serene, immovable, the same It sees the ocean to its bosom clasp The rocks and sea-sand with the kiss of peace; It sees the wild winds lift it in their grasp, And hold it up, and shake it like a fleece. The startled waves leap over it; the storm Press the great shoulders of the hurricane. "Sail on!" it says, "sail on, ye stately ships! THE FIRE OF DRIFTWOOD. WE sat within the farmhouse old, Not far away we saw the port, The strange, old-fashioned, silent town,- We sat and talked until the night, Our voices only broke the gloom. We spake of many a vanished scene, Of what we once had thought and said, And all that fills the hearts of friends, The first slight swerving of the heart, And leave it still unsaid in part, Or say it in too great excess. The very tones in which we spake Had something strange, I could but mark; The leaves of memory seemed to make A mournful rustling in the dark. Oft died the words upon our lips, And, as their splendour flashed and failed, The windows, rattling in their frames,- Of fancies floating through the brain,— O flames that glowed! O hearts that yearned! The driftwood fire without that burned, The thoughts that burned and glowed within. By the Fireside. RESIGNATION. THERE is no flock, however watched and tended, But one dead lamb is there! There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair! The air is full of farewells to the dying, And mournings for the dead; The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, Let us be patient! These severe afflictions But oftentimes celestial benedictions Assume this dark disguise. |