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Colder and louder blew the wind,
A gale from the North-east; The snow fell hissing in the brine,
And the billows frothed like yeast. Down came the storm, and smote amain
The vessel in its strength; She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed,
Then leaped her cable's length. “Come hither! come hither! my little daughter,
And do not tremble so;
That ever wind did blow.
Against the stinging blast;
And bound her to the mast.
O say what may it be?” “ 'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!”
And he steered for the open sea. “ O father! I hear the sound of guns,
O say, what may it be?” “ Some ship in distress, that cannot live
In such an angry sea !”
O say, what may it be?".
A frozen corpse was he.
With his face turned to the skies,
On his fixed and glassy eyes. Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed
That saved she might be; And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave,
On the Lake of Galilee. And fast through the midnight dark and drear,
Through the whistling sleet and snow, Like a sheeted ghost the vessel swept
Tow'rds the reef of Norman's Woe.
A sound came from the land;
On the rocks and the hard sea-sand.
The breakers were right beneath her bows,
She drifted a dreary wreck,
Like icicles from her deck
Looked soft as carded wool,
Like the horns of an angry bull.
With the masts went by the board;
Ho! ho! the breakers roared!
A fisherman stood aghast,
Lashed close to a drifting mast.
The salt tears in her eyes;
On the billows fall and rise.
In the midnight and the snow;
On the reef of Norman's Woe!
IT IS NOT ALWAYS MAY.
Spanish Proverb. The sun is bright, the air is clear, | All things rejoice in youth and love,
The darting swallows soar and sing, The fulness of their first delight! And from the stately elms I hear
And learn from the soft heavens above The blue-bird prophesying Spring. The melting tenderness of night. So blue yon winding river flows, Maiden, that read'st this simple rhyme, It seems an oatlet from the sky,
Enjoy thy youth, it will not stay ; Where, waiting till the west wind blows, Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime,
The freighted clouds at anchor lie. For O! it is not always May! All things are new;-the buds, the leaves, Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth,
That gild the elm-tree's nodding crest, To some good angel leave the rest ; And even the nest beneath the eaves ;-|For time will teach thee soon the truth,
There are no birds in last year's nest ! | There are no birds in last year's uest
THE RAINY DAY.
And the dav is dark and dreary.
And the days are dark and dreary.
THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH.
And sits among his boys ;
He hears the parson pray and preach, With large and sinewy hands;
He hears his daughter's voice,
And it makes his heart rejoice.
| Singing in Paradise ! His brow is wet with honest sweat, He needs must think of her once more, He earns whate'er he can,
How in the grave she lies ;
A tear out of his eyes,
Onward through life he goes ;
Each evening sees it close ;
When the evening sun is low. ! Has earned a night's repose. And children coming home from school Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, Look in at the open door;
For the lesson thou hast taught ! They love to see the flaming forge, Thus at the flaming forge of life And hear the bellows roar,
Our fortunes must be wrought ; And catch the burning sparks that fly Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Like chaff from a threshing floor. Each burning deed and thought.
ENDYMION. The rising moon has hid the stars ;
In silence and alone
To seek the elected one.
It lifts the boughs, whose shadows deep,
Are life's oblivion, the soul's sleep, And silver white the river gleams,
And kisses the closed eyes
Of him who slumbering lies.
0, weary hearts ! O, slumbering eyes ! Upon the meadows low.
0, drooping souls whose destinies On such a tranquil night as this,
Are fraught with fear and pain, She woke Endymion with a kiss,
Ye shall be loved again!
No one is so accursed by fate,
No one so utterly desolate,
But some heart, though unknown, Love gives itself, but is not bought ;
Responds unto his own.
Responds-as if with unseen wings,
An angel touched its quivering strings; It comes—the beautiful, the free,
And whispers, in its song, The crown of all humanity
“Where hast thou stayed so long ?'
The burial-ground God's-Acre! It is just;
And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust.
Comfort to those who in the grave have sown
Their bread of life, alas ! no more their own.
In the sure faith that we shall rise again
Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain.
In the fair gardens of that second birth;
With that of flowers, which never bloomed on earth.
And spread the furrow for the seed we sow;
This is the place where human harvests grow.
TO THE RIVER CHARLES.
Through the meadows bright and free, Nor because thy waves of blue
Take their own celestial hue.
And thy waters disappear, I have seen thy waters stealing
Friends I love have dwelt beside thee, Onward, like the stream of life. And have made thy margin dear. Thou hast taught me, Silent River! More than this ;-thy name reminds me Many a lesson, deep and long ;
Of three friends, all true and tried ; Thou hast been a generous giver, And that name, like magic, binds me I can give thee but a song.
Closer, closer to thy side. Oft in sadness and in illness,
Friends my soul with joy remembers ! I have watched thy current glide, How like quivering flames they start, Till the beauty of its stillness
When I fan the living embers Overflowed me, like a tide.
On the hearthstone of my heart !
That my spirit leans to thee ;
And leap onward with thy stream. Take this idle song from me.