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Surely thou bearest a heavy grief,
There's One on high can pardon give
Seek, then, for comfort from above,
Has cold unkindness wounded thee?
In all the varying scenes of woe,
Sweet is the thought—time flies apace,—
Then, weeping pilgrim, dry thy tears;
An eye beholds thee from above,
Written by the sea shore.
How calm is the stillness of night,—
Let me wander then on by the beach,
There are thoughts which ye cannot reach,
'So meteor fires deceiving glance,
Oh trust not their airy control J'
By the forest-girt mountains afar,
And the isles in blue distance seen;
By the light of each angel star
Smiling down from its throne serene;—
By the beauty which breathes around me,
A power that I cannot quell,
With a syren charm hath bound me,
Yet I curse not her magic spell;
On this rocky and wave-beaten coast,
May her form not be hovering nigh?
Then away let me turn in despair, ,
My bosom to darkness laid bare,
THE VOICE OF MIDNIGHT.
It is not in the sea, nor in the air;
Is it the music of some distant sphere
v. '. }
I look around—still is each gloomy tree—
So once the holy bird sang all night-long,
Is it the rushing sound of years to come,