Spoke him a child of the haughty main.
He hath flown from the woods to the ocean’s breast,
To his throne of pride on the billow’s crest.
Oh! who shall say to a spirit free—
“There lies the pathway of bliss for thee?”
THE SLEEPER.
Oh! lightly, lightly tread!
A holy thing is sleep,
On the worn spirit shed,
And eyes that wake to weep.