THE TWO VISIONS.

HROUGH days of toil, through nightly
fears,

A vision blessed my heart for years;
And so secure its features grew,
My heart believed the blessing true.

I saw her there, a household dove,
In consummated peace of love,
And sweeter joy and saintlier grace
Breathed o'er the beauty of her face:

The joy and grace of love at rest,
The fireside music of the breast,
When vain desires and restless schemes
Sleep, pillowed on our early dreams.

Nor her alone: beside her stood,
In gentler types, our love renewed;
Our separate beings one, in Birth, -
The darling miracles of Earth.

The mother's smile, the children's kiss,
And home's serene, abounding bliss;
The fruitage of a life that bore
But idle summer blooms before:

Such was the vision, far and sweet,
That, still beyond Time's lagging feet,
Lay glimmering in my heart for years,
Dim with the mist of happy tears.

That vision died, in drops of woe,
In blotting drops, dissolving slow:
Now, toiling day and sorrowing night,
Another vision fills my sight.

A cold mound in the winter snow;
A colder heart at rest below;
A life in utter loneness hurled,
And darkness over all the world.

THE LIFE OF EARTH.

HE breeze is blowing fresh and strong,
The rocking shallop chafes its chain,
And the billows are breaking in swells
of song,

The rhythmical joy of the restless main.
A spirited stallion paws the sand;

A hound is watching with eager eye; The tramp of armies is felt in the land,

And banners are dancing beneath the sky!

Let horns be heard in the gray ravine,
And stormy songs from off the sea!

There's blood in my heart, where tears have been,
And the blood of youth is warm and free.

Leave, weary Soul, the lifeless lore

That kept these limbs in a slothful rust:

Lie down to rest on the quiet shore,

The Dust has need of the life of dust!

Thou art weak and pallid, O form of flesh,
Where the rubicund dawn once left its hue,
But the Earth shall bare her bosom afresh,

And give thee the milk of manhood anew.
Thy locks shall toss on the mountain air,

Thy limbs shall cool in the sparkling brine; She will brace thy nerves with her forest-fare, And warm thy veins with generous wine! Thy loins shall grow to a pard-like power

On the windy slopes of the riven hills; Thou shalt bare thy breast to the arrowy shower, And catch in thine arms the icy rills! Thy vigorous blood shall exult the same, Though fevered cares in the spirit start, As a pine, when the mountain is swathed in flame, Keeps green and fresh in his spicy heart.

Thou shalt go where the battle-clarions blare, As heroes went, ere the brain was lord; Thine eye with the soldier's lust shall glare, Thy heart shall smite in the clanging sword. The cannon will bellow thy mad desire,

And the shock of combat thine arm employ,
Till the thews are steel, and the veins are fire,
And death at last is a terrible joy!

Then tighten the girth and loosen the rein!
Unleash the baying, impatient hound,
And deep in the surging and seething main
Let every quivering oar be drowned.

We

We are free! we have quelled the tyrant Soul: We shall fill the world with our rebel mirth, While the laughing vineyards crown the bowl That brims for us with the Life of Earth!

STORM SONG.

HE clouds are scudding across the moon,
A misty light is on the sea;

The wind in the shrouds has a wintry
tune,

And the foam is flying free.

Brothers, a night of terror and gloom

Speaks in the cloud and gathering roar; Thank God, He has given us broad sea-room, A thousand miles from shore.

Down with the hatches on those who sleep! The wild and whistling deck have we; Good watch, my brothers, to-night we'll keep, While the tempest is on the sea!

Though the rigging shriek in his terrible grip,
And the naked spars be snapped away,
Lashed to the helm, we 'll drive our ship
In the teeth of the whelming spray!

Hark! how the surges o'erleap the deck!
Hark! how the pitiless tempest raves!
Ah, daylight will look upon many a wreck
Drifting over the desert waves.

Yet, courage, brothers! we trust the wave,
With God above us, our guiding chart:
So, whether to harbor or ocean-grave,
Be it still with a cheery heart!

SONG.

PLUCKED for thee the wilding rose
And wore it on my breast,

And there, till daylight's dusky close,
Its silken cheek was pressed;

Its desert breath was sweeter far

Than palace-rose could be,
Sweeter than all Earth's blossoms are,
But that thou gav'st to me.

I kissed its leaves, in fond despite
Of lips that failed my own,
And Love recalled that sacred night
His blushing flower was blown.
I vowed, no rose should rival mine,
Though withered now, and pale,

Till those are plucked, whose white buds twine
Above thy bridal veil.

THE WAVES.

I.

HILDREN are we

Of the restless sea,

Swelling in anger or sparkling in glee;

We follow our race,

In shifting chase,