LINES TO AN IDEAL.
BY ELIZABETH LYON LINSLEY.
I wandered on the lonely strand,
A setting sun shone brightly there,
And bathed in glory sea and land,
And streamed in beauty through the air!
A playful breeze the waters curled,
Touched their light waves and passed them by,
Then fanned a bird whose wings unfurled
Were waving on the sunset sky!
The bird had gone. The sun had set.
His beams still tipped the hills and trees,
And flung a rainbow radiance yet
On clouds reflected in the seas!
A distant boatman plied the oar,
All sparkling with its golden spray,
His voice came softened to the shore,
Then melted with the dying day!
And when the last bright lines on high
Departed as the twilight came,
A large star showed its lone, sweet eye
All margined with a cloud of flame!
The winds were hushed. Their latest breath
In soft, low murmurs died afar—
The rippling of the wave beneath
Showed dancing there that one bright star!