Wrecked
The winds are singing a death-knell
Out on the main to-night;
The sky droops low — and many a bark
That sailed from harbors bright,
Like many an one before,
Shall enter port no more:
And a wreck shall drift to some unknown shore
Before to-morrow's light.
The clouds are hanging a death-pall
Over the sea to-night;
The stars are veiled — and the hearts that sailed
Away from harbors bright,
Shall sob their last for their quiet home —
And, sobbing, sink 'neath the whirling foam
Before the morning's light.
The waves are weaving a death-shroud
Out on the main to-night;
Alas! the last prayer whispered there
By lips with terror white!
Over the ridge of gloom,
Not a star will loom!
God help the souls that will meet their doom
Before the dawn of light!
* * * * *
The breeze is singing a joy song
Over the sea to-day;
The storm is dead and the waves are red
With the flush of the morning's ray;
And the sleepers sleep, but beyond the deep
The eyes that watch for the ships shall weep
For the hearts they bore away.
Dreaming
The moan of a wintry soul
Melted into a summer song,
And the words, like the wavelet's roll,
Moved murmuringly along.
And the song flowed far and away,
Like the voice of a half-sleeping rill —
Each wave of it lit by a ray —
But the sound was so soft and so still,
And the tone was so gentle and low,
None heard the song till it had passed;
Till the echo that followed its flow
Came dreamingly back from the past.