"As with his wings aslant, "Three weeks we westward bore, Stretching to leeward; There for my lady's bower Stands looking seaward. "There lived we many years; Time dried the maiden's tears; She had forgot her fears, She was a mother; Death closed her mild blue eyes, "Still grew my bosom then, The sunlight hateful! Oh, death was grateful! My soul ascended! There from the flowing bowl THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. It was the schooner Hesperus, That sailed the wintry sea; And the skipper had taken his little daughtèr, Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax, Her cheeks like the dawn of day, And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, The skipper he stood beside the helm, His pipe was in his mouth, And he watched how the veering flaw did blow The smoke now West, now South. Then up and spake an old Sailor, "I pray thee, put into yonder port, "Last night the moon had a golden ring, And to-night no moon we see!" The skipper he blew a whiff from his pipe, In Scandinavia 'this is the customary salutation when drinking a health. I have lightly changed the orthography of the word, in order to preserve the correct pronun tation. Colder and louder blew the wind, And the billows frothed like yeast. Down came the storm, and smote amain She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed, "Come hither! come hither! my little daughter, And do not tremble so; For I can weather the roughest gale That ever wind did blow." He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat, He cut a rope from a broken spar, And bound her to the mast. "O father! I hear the church-bells ring, O say what may it be?" ""Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!" And he steered for the open sea. "O father! I hear the sound of guns, O say, what may it be? "Some ship in distress, that cannot live In such an angry sea!" "O father, I see a gleaming light, O say, what may it be?" But the father answered never a word, A frozen corpse was he. Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed That saved she might be; And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave, And fast through the midnight dark and drear, And ever the fitful gusts between The breakers were right beneath her bows, And a whooping billow swept the crew She struck where the white and fleecy waves But the cruel rocks, they gored her side Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, To see the form of a maiden fair, The salt sea was frozen on her breast, The salt tears in her eyes; And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed, On the billows fall and rise. Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, In the midnight and the snow; Christ save us all from a death like this, On the reef of Norman's Woe! Miscellaneous Poems, 1841-46. IT IS NOT ALWAYS MAY. THE sun is bright, the air is clear, Spanish Proverb. All things rejoice in youth and love, All things are new;-the buds, the leaves, Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth, To some good angel leave the rest; For time will teach thee soon the truth, There are no birds in last year's nest THE RAINY DAY. THE day is cold, and dark, and dreary; My life is cold, and dark, and dreary; And the days are dark and dreary. Some days must be dark and dreary. THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. UNDER a spreading chestnut-tree His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, Week in, week out, from morn till night, Like a sexton ringing the village bell, When the evening sun is low. And children coming home from school Look in at the open door; They love to see the flaming forge, And hear the bellows roar, And catch the burning sparks that fly Like chaff from a threshing floor. He goes on Sunday to the church, And it makes his heart rejoice. It sounds to him like her mother's voice, He needs must think of her once more, Onward through life he goes; Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, Our fortunes must be wrought; THE rising moon has hid the stars; Her level rays, like golden bars, Lie on the landscape green, With shadows brown between. And silver white the river gleams, As if Diana in her dreams, Had dropt her silver bow On such a tranquil night as this, ENDYMION. When sleeping in the grove, He dreamed not of her love. Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought, Love gives itself, but is not bought; Nor voice, nor sound betrays Its deep, impassioned gaze. It comes the beautiful, the free, The crown of all humanity In silence and alone To seek the elected one. It lifts the boughs, whose shadows deep, O, weary hearts! O, slumbering eyes! No one is so accursed by fate, But some heart, though unknown, Responds-as if with unseen wings, "Where hast thou stayed so long?' |