[LOST WITH HIS BOAT.]
| Alone—alone! I sit, and make my moan. The fire burns low, the candle flickers dim. Alone—alone! I rock, and think of him. Of him who left me in the purple pride Of early manhood. Yestermorn he went. The sun shone bright, and scintillant the tide. O'er which the sea-mew swept, with dewy drops besprent. Before he went he kissed me; and I watched His boat that lay so still and stately, till Automaton she seemed, and that she moved To where she willed of her own force and law. But I knew better: his was the will That set the pretty sprite a-going. His arms controlled her to obedience: Those arms that lately clasped me. No alarms Chilled my fond heart, nor dimmed my vision. As I saw the fair white messenger move off On fleecy puffs of cloud into the blue; My nearest thought to trim my hearth, and make, A dainty dish would please my darling's taste On his return. And all day long, and through The dreamy summer day, my thoughts were full Of many a gay return; my ears reheard The cheery word and joke were wont to mark them. Nor when the sun went down in wrack and mist— A mist that gathers who knows how or where?— Feared I of aught. My little hearth burned bright. The kettle sang, and pussy purred and napped; And—rocking to and fro, as I do now, I hummed a little song; one he, had sung In other days, and with the manly tones [!-- Begin Page 108 --] Had stolen my heart away. The hearth burned low; I ate my meal alone, And something like a fear I chased away, Despite the deepening surges of the wind That scurried round our cot. I slept: and waked What time the summer storm, that rose and fell In sullen gusts, flew by; and slept again, And dreamed a glad return. When morning broke A glorious day begun. The storm was gone: The sparkling waves toyed with the lilting breeze; The merry sun shone bright; and all the blue Was decked with tiny flecks of feathery white. A gladsome morn! But I, I missed my love. And now they say he's dead. Lost, with his boat, In that short summer storm of yesternight. Lost! lost! my love is lost! No more may I Welcome his step, hear his glad voice, and kiss His laughing lips. I may not even clasp His cold dead form in one long, last embrace! And here I sit alone.— I drove them all away, their words but maddened me. Alone I sit, And rock, and think,—I cannot weep— And conjure up the depths, those cruel depths That chafe and fret, and roll him to and fro Like a stray log:—he, whose dear limbs should lie Peaceful and soft, in rev'rent care bestowed.— Or in the sunken boat, gulfed at his work, I see his blackened corse, even in death Faithful to duty. O that those waves, That with their gentle lullaby mock my wild woe, Would rise in all their might and 'whelm me too! Oh, love!—oh, love!—my love! |
[LIFE IN DEATH.]
| On her pale bier the baby lay, And healthy children from their play, With tip-toe awe and bated breath, Came gently in to look on Death. One touched the flowers that decked the bier; Another dropped a little tear; One stroked the cheek so waxy white; And one cowered weeping with affright. But one fair boy won Life from Death By that quick faith that childhood hath; And cried, with gaze past present things, "P'raps baby's trying her new wings." |