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How fair a world lies here beneath the stream!
Light, as of starry skies, adorns the wave.
Fain am I, then, to dive beneath the glow,
From the German of UHLAND.
'MUSIC I' THE AIR.'
O LISTEN to the howling sea,
That beats on the remorseless shore;
O listen, for that sound shall be
When our wild hearts shall beat no more.
O listen well and listen long!
For sitting folded close to me,
GEORGE W. CURTIS.
THE winter eve, how soft, how mild!
How calm the earth! how calm the sea!
The earth is like a weary child,
A little ripple in my ear!
Which they disturb not, more complete.
I wander on the sands apart,
I watch the sun, world-wearied, sink Into his grave; with tranquil heart Upon the loved and lost I think.
R. C. TRENCH.
O UNSEEN Spirit! now a calm divine
Comes forth from Thee, rejoicing earth and air! Trees, hills, and houses, all distinctly shine, And thy great ocean slumbers every where.
The chime of bells remote, the murmuring sea, The song of birds in whispering copse and wood, The distant voice of children's thoughtless glee,
And maiden's song, are all one voice of good.
Amid the leaves' green mass a sunny play
Of flash and shadow, stirs like inward life The ship's white sail glides onward far away, Unhaunted by a dream of storm or strife.
O Thou! the primal fount of life and peace,
How longs each pulse within the weary soul
Prepare, O Truth Supreme! through shame and pain A heart attuned to thy celestial calm;
Let not reflection's pangs be roused in vain,
So, firm in steadfast hope, in thought secure,
In One, who walk'd on earth a man of wo,
And give the might my failing will requires.
So this great All around, so He, and Thou,
The central source and awful bound of things, May fill my heart with rest as deep as now
To land, and sea, and air, thy presence brings.
THE FIRE OF DRIFT-WOOD.
WE sat within the farm-house old,
Whose windows, looking o'er the bay, Gave to the sea-breeze, damp and cold, An easy entrance, night and day.
Not far away we saw the port,
The strange, old-fashioned, silent town,
The light-house, the dismantled fort,
The wooden houses, quaint and brown.
We sat and talked until the night,
Descending, filled the little room; Our faces faded from the sight,
Our voices only broke the gloom.
We spake of many a vanished scene,
Of what we once had thought and said, Of what had been, and might have been, And who was changed, and who was dead;