As, sweeping and eddying through them, Rose the belated tide, The sea-weed floated wide. And like those waters rushing Among the wooden piers, That filled my eyes with tears. How often, 0, how often, * In the days that had gone by, I had stood on that bridge at midnight And gazed on that wave and sky! How often, 0, how often, I had wished that the ebbing tide Would bear me away on its bosom O’er the ocean wild and wide! For my heart was hot and restless, And my life was full of care, And the burden laid upon me Seemed greater than I could bear. But now it has fallen from me, It is buried in the sea; Throws it shadow over me. Yet whenever I cross the river On its bridge with wooden piers, Like the odor of brine from the ocean Comes the thought of other years. And I think how many thousands Of care-encumbered men, Have crossed the bridge since then. SEA-WEED. 43 I see the long procession Still passing to and fro, And the old subdued and slow ! And forever and forever, As long as the river flows, As long as life has woes; And its shadows shall appear, And its wavering image here. SEA-WEED. W. The THEN descends on the Atlantic The gigantic The toiling surges, From Bermuda's reefs; from edges Of sunken ledges, Silver-flashing The Orkneyan skerries, Spars, uplifting Ever drifting, drifting, drifting On the shifting Of sandy beaches, So when storms of wild emotion Strike the ocean In its vastness, From the far-off isles enchanted, Heaven has planted Gleams Elysian From the strong Will, and the Endeavor That forever Wrestles with the tides of Fate; From the wreck of Hopes far-scattered, Tempest-shattered, Floating waste and desolate ; Ever drifting, drifting, drifting On the shifting They, like hoarded While through the meadows, A funeral train. The bell is pealing, To the dismal knell ; Shadows are' trailing, Like a funeral bell. THE DAY IS DONE. 'HE day is done, and the darkness As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight. I see the lights of the village Gleam through the rain and the mist, And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me, That my soul cannot resist : A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain. Come, read to me some poem, Some simple and heartfelt lay, That shall soothe this restless feeling, And banish the thoughts of day. |