He sat upon the deck, The Book was in his hand; In the first watch of the night, The fleet of Death rose all around. The moon and the evening star Seemed to rake the passing clouds They grappled with their prize, Southward through day and dark, Southward, forever southward, They drift through dark and day ; THE LIGHTHOUSE. THE rocky ledge runs far into the sea, THE LIGHTHOUSE. Even at this distance I can see the tides, And as the evening darkens, lo! how bright, Holding its lantern o'er the restless surge. Like the great giant Christopher it stands And the great ships sail outward and return, 319 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. The sea-bird wheeling round it, with the din A new Prometheus, chained upon the rock, "Sail on!" it says, "sail on, ye stately ships! THE FIRE OF DRIFT-WOOD. WE sat within the farm-house old, Not far away we saw the port,— The strange, old-fashioned, silent town,- THE FIRE OF DRIFT-WOOD.. We sat and talked until the night, Our voices only broke the gloom. We spake of many a vanished scene, 321 Of what we once had thought and said, Of what had been, and might have been, And who was changed, and who was dead; And all that fills the hearts of friends, When first they feel, with secret pain, Their lives thenceforth have separate ends, And never can be one again; 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; Oft died the words upon our lips, The flames would leap and then expire. And, as their splendor flashed and failed, We thought of wrecks upon the main,— Of ships dismasted, that were hailed And sent no answer back again. The windows, rattling in their frames,- Until they made themselves a part O flames that glowed! O hearts that yearned! The drift-wood fire without that burned, |