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The strange deep harmonies that haunt his breast:
Stoop o'er the place of graves, and softly sway
Like thy pure breath, into the vast unknown,
The faint old man shall lean his silver head
To feel thee; thou shalt kiss the child asleep, And dry the moisten'd curls that overspread
His temples, while his breathing grows more deep; And they who stand about the sick man's bed,
Shall joy to listen to thy distant sweep,
And softly part his curtains to allow
Go-but the circle of eternal change,
Which is the life of nature, shall restore, With sounds and scents from all thy mighty range, Thee to thy birth-place of the deep once more. Sweet odors in the sea-air, sweet and strange, Shall tell the home-sick mariner of the shore; And, listening to thy murmur, he shall deem He hears the rustling leaf and running stream. W. C. BRYANT.
EVENING WALK BY THE BAY.
THE evening hour had brought its peace,
Its rose-light on the waters threw.
I stood, with heart more quiet grown,
The white towers of the neighboring town.
A cool light brooded o'er the land;
Dark with some clouds of leaden hue,
Its rose-light on those waters threw.
Then came to me the dearest friend,
The thoughts that lips could never tell,
Through subtler senses were made known;
I raised my eyes, — the darkness fell,
I stood upon the sands, alone.
A FAIRER face of evening cannot be :
Is sinking down in its tranquillity;
The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the sea:
And doth with his eternal motion make
A sound like thunder everlastingly.
Dear Child! dear Girl, that standest with me here!
OUT from the deep, deep caverns of the sea,
While 'neath the bosom of the quiet stream
To glittering waters with enchantments bright, Once seen beneath the glow of evening skies, The sailor oft returns with eager sight,
Though near his bark the threatening cliffs arise.
Thus from the heart's deep well is music ringing,