THE RETURN OF YOUTH.

315

Yet grieve thou not, nor think thy youth is gone,
Nor deem that glorious season e'er could die;
Thy pleasant youth, a little while withdrawn,
Waits on the horizon of a brighter sky; -
Waits like the morn, that folds her wing and hides,
Till the slow stars bring back her dawning hour;
Waits like the vanished Spring, that slumbering bides
Her own sweet time to waken bud and flower.

There shall he welcome thee, when thou shalt stand On his bright morning hills, with smiles more sweet Than when at first he took thee by the hand,

Through the fair earth to lead thy tender feet.
He shall bring back, but brighter, broader still,
Life's early glory to thine eyes again;

Still clothe thy spirit with new strength, and fill
Thy leaping heart with warmer love than then.

Hast thou not glimpses, in the twilight here,

Of mountains where immortal morn prevails?
Comes there not through the silence, to thine ear,
A gentle rustling of the morning gales?
A murmur, wafted from that glorious shore,
Of streams that water banks forever fair;
And voices of the loved ones gone before,
More musical in that celestial air?

316

LABOR AND REST.

LABOR AND REST.

DINAH MARIA MULOCK.

Two hands upon the breast,

And labor's done;

Two pale feet crossed in rest,

The race is run;

Two eyes with coin-weights shut,

And all tears cease;

Two lips where grief is mute,

And wrath at peace! —

So pray we oftentimes, mourning our lot,

God in his mercy answereth not.

Two hands to work addressed

Aye for his praise;

Two feet that never rest,

Walking his ways;

Two eyes that look above,

Still through all tears ;

Two lips that breathe but love,

Nevermore fears:

So pray we afterward low on our knees;

Pardon those erring prayers!

Father, hear these!

THE SANDS O' DEE.

317

THE SANDS O' DEE.

C. KINGSLEY.

"O MARY, go and call the cattle home,

And call the cattle home,

And call the cattle home,

Across the sands o' Dee!"

The western wind was wild and dank with foam, And all alone went she.

The creeping tide came up along the sand,

And o'er and o'er the sand,

And round and round the sand,

As far as eye could see;

The blinding mist came down and hid the land And never home came she.

Oh, is it weed, or fish, or floating hair?

A tress o' golden hair,

O' drowned maiden's hair,

Above the nets at sea.

Was never salmon yet that shone so fair

Among the stakes on Dee.

They rowed her in across the rolling foam,

The cruel crawling foam,

The cruel hungry foam,

To her grave beside the sea;

But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home,

Across the sands o' Dee.

318 THE WReck of the HESPERUS.

THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS.

LONGFELLOW.

IT was the schooner Hesperus,

That sailed the wintry sea;

And the skipper had taken his little daughter, To bear him company.

Blue were her eyes as the fairy flax,
Her cheeks like the dawn of day,

And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds,
That ope in the month of May.

The skipper he stood beside the helm,

His pipe was in his mouth,

And he watched how the veering flaw did blow

The smoke now west, now south.

Then up and spake an old sailor,
Had sailed the Spanish Main:
"I pray thee put into yonder port,
For I fear the hurricane.

66

'Last night the moon had a golden ring,
And to-night no moon we see!"

The skipper he blew a whiff from his pipe,
And a scornful laugh laughed he.

Colder and louder blew the wind,
A gale from the north-east;
The snow fell hissing in the brine.

And the billows frothed like yeast.

THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 319

Down came the storm and smote amain

The vessel in its strength;

She shuddered and paused like a frighted steed, Then leaped her cable's length.

"Come hither! come hither! my little daughter, And do not tremble so;

For I can weather the roughest gale

That ever wind did blow."

He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat,
Against the stinging blast;

He cut a rope from a broken spar,

And bound her to the mast.

"O father! I hear the church-bells ring,

66

O say, what may it be?"

'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!" And he steered for the open sea.

"O father! I hear the sound of guns,

O say, what may it be?

"Some ship in distress that cannot live In such an angry sea!"

"O father! I see a gleaming light,

O say, what may it be?"

But the father answered never a word,

A frozen corpse was he.

Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark,

With his face turned to the skies,