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There the fond lover, listening for the sweet
But Love his pain as sweetly tells
Beneath some cavern beetling hoar,
Or if (like some) thou 'st loved in vain,
Or madly wooed the already won,
Their havoc have begun,
And dare the Thunder, rolling up behind
The Deep, to match that hurricane of mind;
For in that sleepless, tumbling tide,—
When most thy fevered spirits reel,
Sick with desires unsatisfied, ·
Dwell life and balm to heal.
Raise thy free sail, and seek o'er ocean's breast-
And deem that thus thy spirit freed shall be,
THE SPELL OF THE SEA.
I NEVER think without a thrill
Of all the leagues of blue, blue sea,
With moon and stars, at morn and eve,
In sunny wind or shower,
How often hath it worked in me,
O it is well sick men should go
For on their souls, as on a glass,
From its bright fields the breath doth pass Of its infinity.
My mother taught me how to love
The mystery of the sea;
She sported with my childish wonder
At its white waves and gentle thunder, Like a man's deep voice to me.
When in my soul dim thoughts awoke,
In gentle moods I love the hills
F. W. FABER.
O YE KEEN BREEZES.
O YE keen breezes from the salt Atlantic,
For, in the surf ye scattered to the sunshine,
Then to the meadows beautiful and fragrant, Where the coy Spring beholds her earliest verdure Brighten with smiles that rugged sea-side hamlet, How would we hasten!
There under elm-trees affluent in foliage,
Vainly the sailor called you from your slumber :
And when, at length, exulting ye awakened,
Playmates, old playmates, hear my invocation!
When shall I feel your breath upon my forehead?
WHERE IS THE SEA?
SONG OF THE GREEK ISLANDER IN EXILE.
[A Greek Islander, being taken to the Vale of Tempe, and called upon to admire its beauty, only replied — 'The sea—where is it ?']
WHERE is the sea?—I languish here
Where is my own blue sea?
I miss that voice of waves which first
The measured chime - the thundering burst
Oh! rich your myrtle's breath may rise,
I hear the shepherd's mountain flute-