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And the names he loved to hear
My grandmamma has said—
In the snow.
But now his nose is thin,
Like a staff,
In his laugh.
I know it is a sin
At him here,
Are so queer!
And if I should live to be
In the spring—
Where I cling.
I THINK OF THEE.
BY GEORGE D. PRENTICE.
I Thine of thee, when morning springs
And, like a young bird, lifts her wings
And when, at noon, the breath of love
And sent in music from the grove,
I think of thee, when soft and wide
And, like a young and timid bride,
And when the moon's sweet crescent springs
And stars are forth like blessed things,
I think of thee;—that eye of flame,
That brow where " Beauty writes her name,
They slander thee, " old traveller,"
Who say that thy delight
In thy wantonness of might,
Before thy restless wings,
To a thousand brighter things.
Thou passest o'er the battle-field
Where the dead lie stiff and stark, Where nought is heard, save the vulture's scream,
And the gaunt wolfs famished bark.
From the blood enriched clay,
To the rustic's merry lay.
Thou hast strewn the lordly palace
In ruin o'er the ground,
Where the harp was wont to sound;
With the dwellings of the poor, And a thousand happy hearts enjoy
What one usurped before.
'Tis true thy progress layeth
Full many a loved one low, And for the brave and beautiful
Thou hast caused our tears to flow; But " always" near the couch of death
Nor thou, nor we can stay, And the breath of thy departing wings
Dries all our tears away.
List! thou child of wind and sea,
Tell me of the far off deep.
And the waters never sleep.
In its works of stern despair,
In deep caves, the mermaid's hair.
Wave ! now on the golden sands,
Bearest thou not from distant strands
Tales of mountains of the south,
Spangles of the ore of silver, Which with playful singing mouth,
Thou hast leaped on high to pilfer?
Mournful Wave! I deemed thy song
Was telling of a floating prison, Which when tempests swept along,
And the mighty winds were risen, Foundered in the ocean's grasp,
While the brave and fair were dying. Wave! didst mark a white hand clasp
In thy folds as thou wert Hying?
Hast thou seen the hallowed rock,
Where the pride of kings reposes, Crowned with many a misty lock,
Wreathed with samphire green and roses 1 Or with joyous playful leap
Hast thou been a tribute flinging Up that bold and jutting steep,
Pearls upon the south wind stringing 1
Faded Wave! a joy to thee
Now thy flight and toil are over! Oh! may my departure be
Calm as thine, thou ocean rover! When the soul's last joy or mirth
On the shore of time is driven, Be its lot like thine on earth,
To be lost away in heaven.