MNW*P ftVWV THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES A TALE OF THE SEA, SONNETS, AND OTHER POEMS. A TALE OF THE SEA, SONNETS, AND OTHER POEMS. BY JAMES HOWELL. c Henry S. King & Co., 65, CORNHILL, AND 12, PATERNOSTER Row, LONDON, 1873. [A// rights reserved.] ?R TO SIR J. CORDY BURROWS, \V. M. HOLLIS, J. J. SEWELL, AND H. WILLETT, ESQRS. THIS VOLUME IS DEDICATED WITH FEELINGS OF THE HIGHEST ESTEEM, BY THEIR GRATEFUL AND OBEDIENT SERVANT, JAMES HOWELL. Brighton, 56, Clarence Square, September, 1873. 937872 CONTENTS. Song To a Field Daisy The Minstrel A Tale of the Sea : — Dedication Part I. — Prelude The Tale Part II ••• Part III. — Prelude. Boyhood Reminiscences Rhoda Marten A Day Dream Autumn The Dying Maiden A Love Letter Lines on the Opening of the Brighton Working Men's Institute Spring Time Soul Embodiments To Arthur Sienkiewicz, Esq Sonnets Composed in 1859 :— On the Rev. F. W. Robertson, M. A England TAGR I 5 II 12 16 27 40 56 57 65 67 72 76 78 81 84 89 90 vi Contents. 92 92 93 94 95 Sonnets composed in 1859 {continued) : — page BeachyHead Brighton Goldstone Bottom The South Downs A Life Phase Sonnets and Poems composed in 1S60 :— Progression Charles Sienkiewicz, the Polish Poet and Historian ... Seaford Love of Nature To Some Early Violets The Dyke A Plea for the Poor Lines written in a Field before the House in which my Father Died Mary Love-Song ... Helen The Seasons : — Spring Summer Autumn Winter Rosa God's Pioneers Independence Written during a Severe Illness... A Christian Gentleman Contents. VI 1 Sonnets and Poems composed in i860 (con tinned) : — page To Mark Anthony Lower, Esq., F.S. A 126 May 127 A South-Down Sketch 130 Morning ... 132 To Wentworth Holworthy, Esq 133 Christmas Eve 135 The Sea 13 6 To the Working-Men of Brighton 138 To Gold Worshippers ... 138 Brighton Race Hill 139 Sonnets and Poems written in 1861 : — To John Robertson, Esq 142 Country Longings 143 Life's Autumn 143 Hastings 144 Writt en under great Mental Affliction 147 The Mew's-Nest Seeker 149 Songs written in 1862 : — Lily Bella 152 Jeanette • 153 Emma 155 Minnie 156 Winnie 157 Jenny 159 Sonnets and Poems written in 186S : — Wail of a Bruised Spirit 160 Epistle to Mark Antony Lower, Esq., M.A., F.S. A. ... 161 To W. C. T., Esq., on the Death of his Beloved Wife ... 1 | Vlll Contents. Sonnet, Songs, and Poems written in 1870, 1871, and 1873 On the Death of a Thrash Sweet Seventeen ... Lucy Green Esther Almena Vaughan . . . A Song for the Times The Poet's Love-Song. Elise A Tear for the Poor Old The Ocean of Love To Mr. Napper ... Annie Kent ... ... Amy May-Song A Walking Barometer Epitaph Waif-Thoughts ... Maids PAGE 168 I69 I70 172 173 175 177 179 1S1 182 184 186 189 192 194 197 199 A TALE OF THE SEA ; SONNETS, AND OTHER POEMS. SONG. 1836. Thou land of my fathers ! thou land of the brave ! Encircled by foam-wreath of blue-dashing wave, Cloud-crested, rock-founded, majestic, and free, Thou'rt set like a gem in the midst of the sea. Thou land of my fathers ! thy beautiful bowers, Thy hills and thy valleys are studded with flowers ; Let Greece or Italia some fond heart inspire, I love thee, sweet land of the rose and the brier. c Song. Thou land of my fathers ! thy soil has been trod By heroes who've bled for their country and God, By bards who have sung of their deeds unto thee, Sweet home of the exile, the brave, and the free. Thou land of my fathers ! while life kindles here, To thy mem'ry I'll cling, thy white shores revere ; And when my rapt spirit takes flight from the earth, 'Twill watch o'er thy welfare, sweet land of my birth. -o — TO A FIELD DAISY, ON SEEING IT CLOSE ON THE APPROACH OF A STORM. 1839. Low droops thy tiny head, my pretty flower, As thou dost gather in thy globe-like form, Unable to resist the power Of the approaching storm. Thy silver fringe, expanded on the plain, Was lovely to the eye, thou fairy thing ! Why dost thou tremble at the rain, And hide thy blossoming ? Does some bright spirit 'bide within thy cell- Some fairy reveller of the starry sky — Who oft sports gaily in the dell, Unseen to mortal eye ? Scarce did the windows of the golden sun His spangled rays of light upon thee shed, Than thou didst wake, beloved one ! And raise thy little head. To a Field Daisy. Now thou art closed, and, mournful to the sight, Drooping thy crimson head, weighed down with tears, Like a poor melancholy wight, O'erburdened with his years. But cheer thee, pretty one, for when the storm That hovers o'er thee, has but passed away, Again thy tiny, fragile form, Will open to the day. Our pleasures and our pains are mixed together ; Sorrow and joy o'er each exert their power : We both are subject to the weather, Weak, drooping flower ! Life has its changes : every plant that grows Is sometimes pained by the earth's dull breath : It springs, it flourishes, and blows, And, like man, meets with death ! THE MINSTREL. 1840. An aged minstrel, barely clad, And pale and wan was he, Awoke his harp to strains of wo Beneath a shady tree. His notes were plaintive, and his son Was made of simplest words ; And did that minstrel tell his tale Alone to forest-birds ? Oh, no ; beside him beauty sat, A peerless lady bright, As lovely as the spotless rose, All clad in garments white. She cheered the minstrel with a smile, As sweet as beauteous May ; He threw aside his snowy locks, ■ And thus began his lay : The Minstrel. " Ah ! I was bred in lordly halls, Where wealth its power displays ; Caressed by all, in Fortune's lap I passed my childhood days. " My infant limbs were clad in robes, Embroidered rich with gold ; And bright and happy days were passed, Which now are dark and cold. " At Tewkesbury my father fell For the bonny proud red rose ; And when the white was crimsoned o'er Stern Fortune dealt her blows. " Our lands were seized by cruel York, And I in durance thrown ; Till wily Gloucester set me free With but this harp my own. " In youth I loved a lady fair, Whose feelings were refined By witching strains of poesy, Those gold-thoughts of the mind. The Minstrel. " I sought her, but I found her not Till many years passed by ; So, friendless, homeless, 'twas my lot To live by minstrelsy. " I travelled far o'er many lands, A woful time had I ; And prayed for death to end my woes, But yet I could not die ! " E'er haunted by a spectral form, Pale as the light of stars, Pale as the corpses that had fallen In England's bloody wars ! " Where'er I went this spectre went, Which way I turned did go ; It led me to my native land, Where blood had ceased to flow. " I passed the place, a lovely spot, Which I shall ne'er forget ; Where first my own true love I saw — My fancy sees her yet ! 8 The Minstrel. " The lily and the sweet moss-rose Were rivals on her cheek ; Her form was cast in beauty's mould ; Her temper sweetly meek. " And there again I sang my song, As I now sing to thee ; And there again I saw my love ; — My wild heart throbbed with glee. " Though years had passed and left me poor, To me she still was true ; And tear-drops trickled down her cheeks Like beads of pearly dew ! " ' I've sought thee, my beloved one, From sunny morn till eve. A bonny minstrel hast thou come, A lord thou didst me leave.' " This said, she wept upon my breast, And we were happy then ; But happiness, alas ! how short, And grief how long, to men ! The Minstrel. " For cruel Death, so fair a form, Alas ! he could not spare : Too sweet, too exquisite a flower, For this bleak world of care ! " That pale, pale spectre laid his hand Upon my love so true ; The moss-rose faded from her cheeks, The lily whiter grew. " He stamped upon that angel-face His death-seal— oh ! my God ! I read Thy awful characters, And bowed beneath Thy rod. " She died in these enfeebled arms, Her own did me enfold ; One parting look, one fond embrace ; Oh, God ! — her lips were cold ! "A sudden pain shot through my brain, Hot tears gushed from my eyes : Then senseless on her corpse I fell, A grief-struck man to rise. io The Minstrel. " They laid her forth within a shell ; Placed in her hand sweet flowers, The offspring of the plants which she Had set in childhood's hours. "The green grass shimmered in the sun And rippled like the sea ; The wind shook dew from every flower That blossomed on the lea ; " When she was borne by six young maids, All on a green-bough bier ; And soon in cold, cold earth was laid The form I loved so dear ! " The birds sang sweetly o'er her grave, The flowers bloomed prettily ; Sweet lady ! drop one tear for her, And, lady, pity me 1" A TALE OF THE SEA. 1840. INSCRIBED TO THE MEMORY OF ALMENA ALETTA VAUGHAN, WHO LEFT THIS WORLD JUNE 2 1 ST, 1 843. To thy bright spirit, wise and virtuous maiden, I dedicate the simple lay which thou Upon thy bed of suffering, sorrow-laden, Of old inspired. Oh, I remember how Upon thy lily face sweet smiles alighted, At my rude essays in the art of rhyme, — And as I progressed, how thou wert delighted, And praised and censured me from time to time ! Xeat was thy sick room ; flowers blooming ever Perfumed the air: books, flowers were to thee Thy life, thy world, thy love ! With high endeavour Thou mad'st me read myself, my errors see. When false friends flattered too, thy great devotion To truth and duty shunned the two-faced throng ; Thy pity for my faults awoke emotion, And I did love thee, spirit of my song. 12 A Tale of the Sea. Ah ! woe is me ! What floods of grief are welling From my life's fountain, whilst I weep hot tears For wronging thee. From thy celestial dwelling Come down, sweet spirit, and expel my fears ; In the mid watches of our mother's slumbers, At morning, noon, and evening, I have heard Thy thoughtful whispering, in liquid numbers, Sweet as the melody of night's lone bird ! Be mine the task to catch th' exalted measure, And to infuse its spirit in my verse, Which e'er to me has been a source of pleasure Mingled with pain, my blessing and my curse : Thou art not dead ! only from me divided By mystery's veil, that hides the Beulah-land ; Here, stern affliction o'er thy life presided ; There, thou'rt healed by the Great Physician's hand PART I. PRELUDE. Low sinks the sun, and his gigantic shadows Sweep o'er the valley, while the lowing herd, A Tale of the Sea. i j Released from labour, graze in fields and meadows ; No warbler sings except the pretty bird, Man's loved companion, who comes uninvited, Singing of spring, heedless of winter's scowl, Pecks at our windows, with his crumbs delighted, Fearless of snow-fall, or the north wind's howl. Robin ! I love to hear thee, pretty fellow, At evening, perched upon a leafless spray, When the gold corn is stacked and fields are yellow, Whistling with merry heart my griefs away. "When other birds have wandered o'er the ocean, When sap retreats, and leaves begin to fall, Still warblest thou thy pious heart-devotion, Lifeful mid death, the happiest bird of all. The changeful Earth was stripped of all her glory ; Naked she sat, and wrung her hands in tears ; Sighing among old ruins her sad story, While spectre-haunted by a thousand fears. Her voice was mournful in the ocean- surges, And most unmusical mid forests sighed, — While autumn winds were mumbling solemn dirges, Amid their waitings she laid down and died. 14 A Tale of the Sea. Oh, sweetly rest upon thy snowy pillow. There is no death ! 'Tis but a winter sleep ; Soon wilt thou rise, and like the tidal billow, Cause mind to flow, and out of green forms peep. Rest, wearied spirit 'neath thy light shroud hoary. Winter will melt away before the spring, And thou wilt walk the earth in hallowed glory, Soar in the air, and 'mid green copses sing. On England's southern coast, a promontory Shoots from the sea-base up into the sky, There has it stood for ages in its glory, Frowning on foaming billows rolling by. Sad yawning grave of many a gallant vessel, Have been the waters of a neighbouring bay, Where life and death engage in angry wrestle, On the world's verge, where gloams eternal day. There, when the south-west wind is madly blowing, Snow-crested waves break with a thunder-roar ; The seamews scream, the tide is landward flowing, Breaks through the beach and inundates the shore. Such was the case one day in bleak November, One thousand eight hundred and twenty-four : A Tale of the Sea. 1 5 The streets were rivers. Well do I remember That awful sight. May it be seen no more ! For here and there, from out the water soaring, A solitary roof or chimney-top was seen, And hap a human being wildly roaring Above the winds and waves for help. The Steyne Was the chief roadstead, where boats came flying Upon the mighty wings of that wild blast, And mid the dim of screaming, bawling, crying, Over the wooden rails their anchors cast From its deep fount the crazy sea was gushing, Sweeping before it everything, like dust Before the whirlwind ! Onward it came, rushing Into the Poor House, where the stinted crust Was handed round to many a poor old sinner, Who started up with hair erect, right glad To run away for once without his dinner, And leave it to old Ocean, hunger-mad. Away went haystack whirling and sailing, Its only mariner a poor old hen, Clucking with fear mid waters round prevailing. Wishing herself in farmyard safe again. 1 6 A Tale of the Sea. Up, through the streets the uncurbed waves were roaring, Dashing in windows, flooding houses deep, Driving the inmates, their sad fate deploring, Into the upper rooms to wail and weep. How the town trembled when the storm swept over, Flapping his strong winds, making buildings shake, Lashing the water-mass which then did cover Beamland and common, causing hearts to ache. God stilled the wind ! The sea retreated growling, In its trail leaving the envenomed breath Of slaughtering Typhus, who walked forth scowling, Foot-tracked by madness and God's angel, Death. THE TALE. But to my tale. The fishermen are calling — Launching their little skiffs upon the sea ; While in the east, night's star-wrought veil is falling, And sheep go bleating fold-ward from the lea. A fisher leaves the shore with carol merry, Unfurls the sail, and ploughs the trembling main,- His farewell sings, " 'Twill not be long, my Mary, Ere I with plenty shall return again." A Tale of the Sea. 1 7 She rushes through the waves that sparkle brightly In the white ocean pathway left behind ; Away she skims, a seamew winging lightly Over the billows, like a thing of mind. Pale was the moon, a reddish halo round her As she came rising o'er the eastern hill ; Sweet Polly stood, — love's mighty spell had bound her, A statue there ! Sky, earth, and sea, were still. She stood upon the beach, from which her lover Had just departed, and her heart beat wild, The stars seemed reeling in the heavens above her,— Before her lay heaving like new- weaned child In an unquiet slumber, the great ocean, For solemn noises rumbled in the air. With grief-clasped hands, the maiden with emotion Said, in sad tones, " I would he were not there.'' Then quickly hastened to her humble dwelling, Built by the cliffs that frowned upon the sea, — The lashing winds the angry waves were swelling, Dashing them shoreward with velocity. There by the cottage door she stood suppressing A flood of feeling, drying up her tears, c 1 8 A Tale of the Sea. Till a dame showered on her head a blessing, And then beneath a smile she hid her fears. The lightning flashed, and the sky-rending thunder Came booming on a sudden gust of wind, The welkin rang and seemed to burst asunder The vaulted dome, and stun the human mind. Then all was still again, except the roaring Of foaming billows breaking on the strand. Poor Polly raised her hands to heaven, imploring That her dear Charles might safely reach the land. The south was beautiful as morn, when beaming In all her radiant glory from the sea, For forked fire-flames from the clouds were streaming, Tinging their purple edges goldenly ! Some ran like spirits with ethereal lightness 'Long the sea's surface, dancing on the spray; The windows of the heavens reflected brightness, And earth became that night as light as day ! Could Polly stay within her habitation, Weeping and wailing like most women would, When he, to her the fairest of the nation, Her girlish choice, and that of womanhood, A 1 ale of the Sea. 1 9 Was on the wild sea, and assailed by dangers, Struggling for life and love ? Hap all was o'er ! These fearful thoughts were unto her no strangers, As filled with grief she wandered by the shore. She was a lovely being • in each feature Innocence and love together smiled. Nature alone made her so fair a creature, Artless simplicity's divinest child. Eyes like the sky, whose language so beguiling Made the rapt lover deem her more than human, Yet when her dimpled cheeks with joy were smiling, What could she be, if not a beauteous woman ? Her flaxen hair woven in dainty tresses Her soul-full eyes, her rose-on-lily cheek, Expansive brow, which thoughtful mind expresses, Sweet mouth, rich lips, and nose of ancient Greek. Pity and love were in each feature blended ; A form proportionate, a temper mild ; T n her was nought her Maker could have mended, An angel-form bestowed on earthly child. Thus earth she walked a spirit-incarnation, A God-soul dwelling in a human form, 20 A Tale of the Sea. The fairest damsel of the fair creation, Clad in flesh beauty, yet, like meanest worm Subject to decay. Beauty like life is fleeting, Buds in our childhood, blossoms in our youth, Ripens in manhood, and when age is seating Himself on wrinkled brows — 'tis gone in sooth. She was an orphan girl ; for her dear mother Had long been dead, leaving her child alone In a strange land homeless, until another Opened her heart-door, reared her as her own. Old Widow Simmons with these children only, Lived in her cottage, pious, cheerful, poor ; And no one feared, although it stood so lonely Under the cliffs, so near the ocean's roar. Happy, and light, and cheerful as the morning, Over the dew-clad fields they both would pass, Ere the sun rose the purple clouds adorning, Or their vast shadows flitted o'er the grass. While fragrant perfumes through the air were winging, And waking flowers unfolding one by one, While merry birds were in green hedgerows singing, The orphan maid strayed with the widow's son. A Tale of the Sea. 2 1 Oh, passing sweet were their dear childhood rambles, Th' electric chain of feeling bound them fast, Uniting them in all their happy gambols ; In sunshine both, or else by clouds o'er cast ; And when life's early spring had passed them over, Within each bosom glowed love's vivid flame, And sister, brother, were exchanged for lover, — Which, to their thinking, was a prettier name. Oh, dear and happy time ! when feeling's gushing From the deep fountain of the human heart, When love's fire-thoughts are wildly o'er us rushing Like spring-tide floods ; when the ideas start From the brain-soil like the beloved flowers Of tulip-spangled May; when life's dawn breaks Jnto a morn of sunshine and of showers; When boyhood dies, and manhood first awakes ! When the life-force through arteries tingles, And soul reanimates this mass of clay ; When part with part and mind with mind commingles, And birds sing hymns of love on leafy spray; When the rapt lover in the sea of feeling Doth madly plunge, fearless of pain or care, 22 A Tale of the Sea. Blind, senseless, deaf, intoxicated, reeling, Thus was it now with this love-stricken pair. So years flew by — love's budding reached perfection, And he, true-hearted, wished to be made one ; But Polly, provident, with more reflection, Said, " Put it off till Spring ; " and it was done. O happy love ! thou pure, angelic passion, Based upon friendship, what a bliss art thou ! But, what a curse when yoked to tyrant fashion, That great law-breaker of the marriage vow ! &* The storm had ceased, yet, by the foaming water, Sweet Polly journeyed on intent with thought, Until a soft voice said, " My lovely daughter, Oh, pray return, and rest within our cot." " Oh, can I lay me down upon my pillow, And sleep, dear mother, till the morn, when he Pale, drenched, and cold, is tossed upon the billow. Or hap, what's worse, asleep beneath the sea." Come, come, my daughter, cease to talk so wildly, For righteous Providence will prove his friend," Replied the dame in soothing accents mildly, As to the cottage they their steps did bend. A Tale of the Sea. 23 " Retire to rest, my own beloved Polly ; It makes my old heart grieve to see thy tears. To sorrow thus, my dearest child, is folly ; Tis heaping fuel on thy mouldering fears." They reached the cottage, and the night passed sadly ; But when fair morn arose within the sky, She left her tear-bed, while her heart beat gladly, As forth she went, expecting him to spy. She gazed, and as she gazed, what wild emotion, Anguish, and dread within her heart did swell, For nought was seen upon the slumbering ocean; All, all was vacant, — down she senseless fell. The good dame raised her, saying, " Almighty Power ! Snatch not from me at once each lovely child ! Look down with pity ! Ob, restore this flower ! " She oped her eyes, and cried in accents wild, " Oh, yes, he's gone, and I must soon be going ! " " And wilt thou leave me then, my child, behind." She gazed upon the dame, whose tears were flowing,— " Not with my own free will ; for thou art kind ! " Day succeeded day, and yet the morrow Returned him not for whom they both did mourn. 24 A Tale of the Sea. Poor Polly lay upon her bed till sorrow Health's rosy hue from lily cheek had torn. " My heart did tremble, when I from him parted, And sad forebodings rose within my breast. Oh ! shall I see him never ! broken-hearted Must I live on till sweet death gives me rest." Thus would she grieve, and by the ocean wander, — For many deemed her from that night insane, — She'd sit upon the beach, on bye-gones ponder, Till time had worn away the greater pain. Thus passed three years, and when the fourth was stealing, Garland with spring flowers, o'er her lily brow, Her heart rebounded with excess of feeling, To hear the birds sing from each leafy bough. What pleasures do we feel when Spring is coming In all her beauty ! when celestial dew Falls on the flowers, and the melodious humming Of insects hail her ! Need my muse tell you That the immortal soul is then the dwelling Of thought too mighty to invest with words ? In rapture list ! and when thy brain is swelling, Read all I think in the sweet songs of birds ! A Tale of the Sea. 25 The rush of foaming waters o'er rocks bounding, The wind-song quivering through the young green leaves, The lark-lay from above the rain-cloud sounding, And nature's varied tones that poet weaves Into a spirit-hymn, the soul of beauty, And sends it over earth on lightning wings, Missioned to teach man love and his God-duty, The child of his own mind and lovely spring. Polly was good, and to her mother dutiful. Together would they wander in the vale Viewing the works of God, sublime and beautiful, At eve and morn, when the refreshing gale Filled air with incense. By a sparkling fountain God's holy book the good old dame would read, Then with light hearts ascend a furze-clad mountain, And watch from its high crest the vessel's speed. The grief of mind and anguish are past telling Which they then felt, for memory is cruel, Making the poor heart grieve when with joy dwelling, As on love's fire it heapeth fancy's fuel. Thus does it once more rouse the maid's distresses, Till pearly tears adown her pale cheeks run ; 26 A Tale of the Sea. The dame is grieved, and with a thought-prayer blesses Departed husband, and her long lost son. Can keen-eyed science, into nature peeping, Unfold the mystery of a sorrow-tear, That from its fount of light comes gently creeping, Pure and transparent as its mother-sphere ? Can it unfold the blush of lovely maiden ? Or how the spirit speaks through nerves from brain ? Or how, or why we're sometimes sorrow-laden, In bliss with gladness, or in woe with pain ? The source of life and light ? of heat and motion ? And the great force that makes and mars all things? How the invisible gases form the ocean, The earth, stars, air, and gorgeous Saturn's rings ? What 's life and thought ? the soul immortal ? And how, and when it enters into clay ? What the next world, and where, through whose dark portal All life must pass to everlasting day ? Alas ! our little knowledge here is bounded ; We know but little of the mighty plan A Tale of the Sea. 2 7 By which, from day to day we are surrounded, Or the life-soul that animates the man. All is a mystery ; life is but dreaming. We know not what we are, or what may be. Nor shall, until the soul, like morning beaming, Rises in glory above this life's sea ! PART II. Within a lovely meadow, where the daisy Gazed like a sainted spirit on the sky, A shepherd boy lay stretched in day-doze lazy, While babbling brooklets sang his lullaby. His soul was revelling in the land of fairy, Of tree, and flower, and gentle purling stream, Of winged shapes in vision-thoughts so airy, That haunt the life-sphere of a poet's dream. His was a lowly, yet a happy station, A kind of linnet-life on swinging spray, Warbling thankofferings to the God-creation That rich in wondrous beauty round him lay. Earth, air, and sea to him imparted gladness, The melodies of birds inspired his soul. 28 A Tale of the Sea. When rain-clouds veiled the earth in gloom and sadnes He drooped as rose-bud 'neath their dark control. In his mind-sphere the thought-world was unfolding Beauty divine, a fancy-painted scene, Where the life-soul the plastic clay was moulding Into the loveliest forms that e'er were seen. The splendours of the natural world were sinking Down in the mirrored heaven of his mind, Where Fancy, the life-spirit wandered, thinking Mid rich-hued flower-buds trembling on the wind. O God, and could Thy wisdom-spirit holy Dwell in the mind-dome of a shepherd boy, Who dwelt in rustic cot with melancholy, Or skipped the hills with laughter-loving joy? It was the time when sunny June was weaving For her dear Earth a beauteous chaplet gay, When amorous Spring his blooming bride was leaving, And Summer breathing on the new-mown hay. Voice-roused from sleep, the waking lad up-started. " Tell me, my boy, where ' Sea-rock Cottage ' stands ? A Tale of the Sea. 29 I will, sir, when these sleep-adhering lids have parted, And let the day-light in. Behold yon sands, )n which the billows break, where steep cliffs hoary Rush up to kiss the sky ; turn thou that way ; 'or 'neath that shadowing, bold promontory Dwell two, with eyes as moist as salt-sea spray. And when the busy earth is tired and sleeping, And tongueless silence holds her solemn reign, )n the sea-beach those sorrow-forms are weeping, With prayer-clasped hands in agonizing pain, t is a mystery how they, broken-hearted, Can fondly cling to life by one small thread, "an conjure up the scenes when they last parted From joy and hope, both sleeping with the dead. ' But as the eye can view finite creation At one bright glance, and stamp it on the mind, >o memory, aided by imagination, Recalls sweet days time's flight has left behind. }o to yon cottage, which tear-shedding Sorrow, Ghost-like, inhabits with her sister, Grief, Vhere Hope keeps picturing a happy morrow, Bringing Despair instead of sweet relief." 3