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THE LIFE OF SEAS.
THESE grassy vales are warm and deep,
Where willows dip and kiss the dimples of the brook.
But all too close against my face
My thick breath feels these crowding trees;
I miss the Life of Seas;
The wild free life that round the flinty shores
So free, so far, that in the lull of even,
Nought but the rising moon stands in your path to heaven.
These inland love-bowers sweetly bloom,
White with the hawthorn's summer snows;
Along soft turf a purple bloom
The elm at sunset throws;
There the fond lover, listening for the sweet
But Love his pain as sweetly tells
Beneath some cavern beetling hoar,
Pave the smooth, glistening shore,-
Or if (like some) thou 'st loved in vain,
And dare the Thunder, rolling up behind
For in that sleepless, tumbling tide,-
Dwell life and balm to heal.
Raise thy free sail, and seek o'er ocean's breast It boots not what those rose-clouds in the west, And deem that thus thy spirit freed shall be, Ploughing the stars through seas of blue eternity.
THE SPELL OF THE SEA.
I NEVER think without a thrill
Of wild and pure delight
Of all the leagues of blue, blue sea,
With moon and stars, at morn and eve,
How often hath it worked in me,
That mystery of the kingly sea,
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
Like a man's deep voice to me.
When in my soul dim thoughts awoke,
I learned from ocean's murmurings
In gentle moods I love the hills
F. W. FABER.
O YE KEEN BREEZES.
O YE keen breezes from the salt Atlantic,
Which to the beach, where memory loves to wander, On your strong pinions waft reviving coolness,
your course hither!
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? When shall I hear you in the elm-trees' branches? When shall we wrestle in the briny surges,
Friends of my boyhood?