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, A speechless wrath, that rises and subsides In the white lip and tremor of the face. And as the evening darkens, lo! how bright, Through the deep purple of the twilight air, Beams forth the sudden radiance of its light With strange, unearthly splendour in its glare! Not one alone; from each projecting cape And perilous reef along the ocean's verge, Starts into life a dim, gigantic shape, 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 Year after year, through all the silent night, Burns on for evermore that quenchless flame, Shines on that inextinguishable light! 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. 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. His lordly ships of ice Glistened in the sun; On each side, like pennons wide, His sails of white sea-mist Dripped with silver rain; Eastward from Campobello Sir Humphrey Gilbert sailed; Three days or more seaward he bore, Then, alas! the land-wind failed. 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 near," 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, Heavily the ground-swell rolled. Southward, for ever southward, They drift through dark and day; And like a dream in the Gulf-stream Sinking, vanish all away. THE SECRET OF THE SEA. How he heard the ancient helmsman Poised upon the mast to hear, And he cried with impulse strong,— "Helmsman! for the love of heaven, Teach me, too, that wondrous song!" "Wouldst thou," so the helmsman answered, "Learn the secrets of the sea? Only those who brave its dangers Comprehend its mystery!" In each sail that skims the horizon, Hear those mournful melodies; Till my soul is full of longing Just above yon sandy bar, THE EVENING STAR. As the day grows fainter and dimmer, Lonely and lovely, a single star Lights the air with a dusky glimmer. Into the ocean faint and far Falls the trail of its golden splendour, And the gleam of that single star Is ever refulgent, soft, and tender. Chrysaor, rising out of the sea, Showed thus glorious and thus emulous, Leaving the arms of Callirrhoe, For ever tender, soft, and tremulous. Thus o'er the ocean faint and far Trailed the gleam of his falchion brightly. Is it a God, or is it a star, That, entranced, I gaze on nightly! By the Fireside. RESIGNATION. THERE is no flock, however watched and tended, The air is full of farewells to the dying, The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, Let us be patient! These severe afflictions But oftentimes celestial benedictions We see but dimly through the mists and vapours; What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers May be heaven's distant lamps. There is no death! What seems so is transition. This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian, She is not dead,—the child of our affection,— Where she no longer needs our poor protection, In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion, Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution, Day after day we think what she is doing Year after year her tender steps pursuing, Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken, Not as a child shall we again behold her; For when with raptures wild In our embraces we again enfold her, But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion, And beautiful with all the soul's expansion And though at times, impetuous with emotion The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean, We will be patient, and assuage the feeling We may not wholly stay; By silence sanctifying, not concealing, ALL are architects of Fate, THE BUILDERS. Working in these walls of Time; Some with massive deeds and great, Some with ornaments of rhyme. Nothing useless is, or low; Each thing in its place is best; For the structure that we raise, Are the blocks with which we build. Truly shape and fashion these ; In the elder days of Art, Builders wrought with greatest care, Each minute and unseen part; Let us do our work as well, Both the unseen and the seen; Else our lives are incomplete, Ruild to-day, then, strong and sure, To those turrets, where the eye And one boundless reach of sky. |