"T was well that the white ones,
Who bore her to bliss,

Shut out from her new life
The visions of this;

Else, sure as I stand here,
And speak of my love,

She would leave for my darkness
Her glory above.

ELIZABETH H. WHITTIER.

THE ECHO SPIRIT.

CHEQUERED with woven shadows as I lay
Among the grass watching the watery gleam,
I saw an echo-spirit in his bay,

Drowsed into silence by the noon-tide beam.

The depths heaved round his boat of shell, with sway
To Ocean's giant pulse, and the white dream,
Buoyed like the young moon on a level stream
Of greenish vapor at decline of day,
Swam airily. Watching the distant flocks
Of sea-gulls, whilst one foot in careless sweep
Touched the clear-trembling cool, with tiny shocks
Faint-circling; till at last he sank to sleep,
Lulled by the hush-song of the dreamy deep.
Lap-lapping drowsily the heated rocks.

WILLIAM ALLINGHAM.

CALM.

'Tis a dull, sullen day, the dull beach o'er In rippling curves the ebbing ocean flows; Along each tiny crest that nears the shore

A line of soft green shadow rises, glides, and goes.

The tide recedes, the flat smooth beach grows bare,
More faint the low sweet plashing on my ears,
Yet still I watch the dimpling shadows fair,
As each is born, glides, pauses, disappears.

What channel needs our faith, except the eyes?
God leaves no spot of earth unglorified;
Profuse and wasteful, lovelinesses rise;

New beauties dawn before the old have died.

Trust thou thy joys in keeping of the Power
Who holds these faint soft shadows in His hand ;
Believe and live, and know that hour by hour

Will ripple newer beauty to thy strand.

ANONYMOUS.

THE EXILE.

THE Swallow with summer
Will wing o'er the seas,
The wind that I sigh to
Will visit thy trees,
The ship that it hastens

Thy ports will contain,
But me - I must never
See England again!

There's many that weep there,
But one weeps alone,
For the tears that are falling

So far from her own;
So far from thy own, love.

We know not our pain;
If death is between us,
Or only the main.

When the white cloud reclines

On the verge of the sea,

I fancy the white cliffs,

And dream upon thee;

But the cloud spreads its wings
To the blue heaven and flies.
We never shall meet, love,
Except in the skies!

HOOD.

THE TWO OCEANS.

Two seas amid the night

In the moonshine roll and sparkle,

Now spread in the silver light,

Now sadden, and wail, and darkle.

The one has a billowy motion,

And from land to land it gleams;

The other is Sleep's wide ocean,

And its glimmering waves are dreams.

The one with murmur and roar

Bears fleets round coast and islet;

The other, without a shore,

Ne'er knew the track of a pilot.

STERLING.

EBB AND FLOW.

I WALKED beside the evening sea,
And dreamed a dream that could not be,
The waves that plunged along the shore,
Said only dreamer, dream no more.'

But still the legions charged the beach,
And rang their battle-cry, like speech;
But changed was the imperial strain ;
It murmured: 'dreamer, dream again.'

I homeward turned from out the gloom,
That sound I heard not in my room,
But suddenly a sound that stirred
Within my very breast, I heard.

It was my heart, that like a sea
Within my breast beat ceaselessly,
But like the waves along the shore,

It said 'dream on,' and 'dream no more.'
GEORGE W. CURTIS.