134 THE SOUND OF THE SEA. THE SOUND OF THE SEA. THOU art sounding on, thou mighty sea, The ancient rocks yet ring to thee, Oh! many a glorious voice is gone, The Dorian flute that sigh'd of yore The harp of Judah peals no more And Memnon's lyre hath lost the chord That breathed the mystic tone, And the songs, at Rome's high triumphs pour'd, And mute the Moorish horn, that rang O'er stream and mountain free, And the hymn the leagued Crusaders sang, Hath died in Galilee. But thou art swelling on, thou deep, Thou liftest up thy solemn voice And all our earth's green shores rejoice It fills the noontide's calm profound, And the still midnight hears the sound, Let there be silence, deep and strange, Thou speak'st of one who doth not change- CASABIANCA.* THE boy stood on the burning deck, Yet beautiful and bright he stood, A proud, though child-like form. He call'd aloud-" Say, father, say He knew not that the chieftain lay "Speak, Father!" once again he cried, "If 1 may yet be gone -And but the booming shots replied, Upon his brow he felt their breath, And in his waving hair; And look'd from that lone post of death, In still, yet brave despair. And shouted but once more aloud, My father! must I stay?" While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud, *Young Casabianca, a boy about thirteen years old, son to the admiral of the Orient, remained at his post (in the battle of the Nile,) after the ship had taken fire, and all the guns had been abandoned; and perished in the explosion of the vessel, when the flames had reached the powder. 136 THE ADOPTED CHILD. They wrapt the ship in splendour wild, There came a burst of thunder sound- With mast, and helm, and pennon fair, THE ADOPTED CHILD. "WHY wouldst thou leave me, oh! gentle child? Where many an image of marble gleams, "Content thee, boy! in my bower to dwell, Flutes on the air in the stilly noon, Harps which the wandering breezes tune; Whose voice was ne'er in thy mountains heard." My mother sings, at the twilight's fall, A song of the hills far more sweet than all; *Thy mother is gone from her cares to rest, -Come thou with me to the vineyards nigh, "Fair child! thy brothers are wanderers now, "Are they gone, all gone from the sunny hill? THE DEPARTED. "Thou shalt lie down With patriarchs of the infant world-with kings, AND shrink ye from the way To the spirit's distant shore? Earth's mightiest men, in armed array, The warrior kings, whose banner They are gone where swords avail them not, From the feast of victory. Bryant. 138 THE DEPARTED. And the seers who sat of yore They have pass'd with all their starry lore- -We fear, we fear!-the sunshine And we reck not of the buried kings, Ye shrink!--the bards whose lays And the lovely, whose memorial They too are gone with their glorious bloom, Would ye not join that throng But they vanquish not our fear; Linger then yet awhile, As the last leaves on the bough! There have been sweet singing voices Soft eyes are seen no more That made spring-time in your heart; Kindred and friends are gone before, And ye still fear to part? -We fear not now, we fear not! Though the way through darkness bends; Our souls are strong to follow them, Our own familiar friends! |