There she rocks the child to slumber,

Singing low no mortal tone;

Thrice she kissed and thrice she crossed it,

Bent to bless it and was gone.

Seven days in dusky gloaming

Came that silent one again,

Stilled the child's distress and weeping,
Lulled with song its waking pain.

When the eighth gray eve was falling,
Still and mute the child was found;
Snowy white and crimson roses
Had its cradle decked around.

In the weird night, dumb with sorrow,
Bear they off the babe to rest,
To her new-made grave, and lay it
Close beside its mother's breast.

ANON.

THE SILENT TOWER OF BOTTREAUX.

TINTADGEL bells ring o'er the tide!

The boy leans on his vessel side,

He hears that sound, and dreams of home

Soothe the wild orphan of the foam.

THE SILENT TOWER OF BOTTREAUX.

139

"Come to thy God in time !"
Thus saith their pealing chime:
"Youth, manhood, old age, past,
"Come to thy God at last!"

But why are Bottreaux' echoes still?
Her tower stands proudly on the hill:-
Yet the strange chough that home hath found,
The lamb lies sleeping on the ground.
Come to thy God in time!

Should be her answering chime,—
Come to thy God at last!

Should echo on the blast.

The ship rode down with courses free,
The daughter of a distant sea,

Her sheet was loose, her anchor stored-
The merry Bottreaux bells on board.
"Come to thy God in time!"
Rung out Tintadgel chime-
"Youth, manhood, old age, past,
"Come to thy God at last!"

The pilot heard his native bells

Hang on the breeze in fitful swells;

"Thank God!" with reverent brow, he cried,

"We make the shore with evening's tide!"

Come to thy God in time!

It was his marriage chime :-
Youth, manhood, old age, past,
His bell must ring at last!

Thank God, thou whining knave, on land!
But thank, at sea, the steersman's hand,
The captain's voice above the gale,—
Thank the good ship and ready sail!
Come to thy God in time!
Sad grew the boding chime:
Come to thy God at last-
Boomed heavy on the blast!

Uprose that sea! as if it heard
The mighty Master's signal word!
What thrills the captain's whitening lip?
The death-groans of his sinking ship.
Come to thy God in time!
Swung deep the funeral chime-
Grace, mercy, kindness past,

Come to thy God at last!

Long did the rescued pilot tell,

When grey hairs o'er his forehead fell,

While those around would hear and weep,

That fearful judgment of the deep!

THE BECALMED.

Come to thy God in time!

He read his native chime:-
Youth, manhood, old age, past,
His bell rung out at last!

Still, when the storm of Bottreaux' waves

Is wakening in his weedy caves,

Those bells that sullen surges hide
Peal their deep notes beneath the tide,
Come to thy God in time!

Thus saith the ocean chime,-
Storm, billow, whirlwind past,
Come to thy God at last.

141

R. S. HAWKER.

THE BECALMED.

BOUND in a dull unbroken sleep

A ship upon the wave

Where chained wind and stagnant deep
Defy the bold and brave,-
Held,-fettered as by viewless hands

That bind, but not deform,

The silent heart in ruin stands

A wreck without a storm!

The billows' play is curbed and pent,-
The air hath not a sound;
Salvation's foot, in mercy sent,

Hath here no pathway found.
But Anguish at the helm stands pale,
And Misery at the prow,

And sighs are here the only gale
That speeds the eternal-Now!

Hour after hour its passage takes;
Suns rise and set again;

No welcome cloud in showers down-breaks
On the parched lip of pain.

And will is strong,-and power is weak,-
And Love hath feeble sway;

And there are plague-spots on the cheek
With none to kiss away!

No prayers to life or motion urge

That calm, but dreadful, wave;

And Hope-whose breast had smoothed the

surge,

Finds here no fabled grave.

But Doubt with cautious step draws near,

And fills the cup of care,

For lips too passionless for fear

Too lifeless for despair.