III.

There, with its waving blade of green,

surge,

Thou call'st along the sand, and haunt 'st the The sea-flag streams through the silent water,
And the crimson leaf of the dulse is seen
To blush, like a banner bathed in slaughter.
There, with a light and easy motion,
The fan-coral sweeps through the clear, deep

sea;

And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean
Are bending like corn on the upland lea.
And life, in rare and beautiful forms,
Is sporting amid those bowers of stone,
And is safe, when the wrathful spirit of storms
Has made the top of the wave his own.
And when the ship from his fury flies,
Where the myriad voices of ocean roar,
When the wind-god frowns in the murky
skies,

Restless and sad; as if, in strange accord
With the motion and the roar

Of waves that drive to shore,

One spirit did ye urge—

The Mystery-the Word:

IV.

Of thousands thou both sepulchre and pall,
Old Ocean, art! A requiem o'er the dead
From out thy gloomy cells
A tale of mourning tells—
Tells of man's woe and fall,
His sinless glory fled.

SENECA LAKE.

Ha! like a kind hand on my brow
Comes this fresh breeze,
Cooling its dull and feverish glow,
While through my being seems to flow
The breath of a new life-the healing of the
seas!

Now rest we, where this grassy mound
His feet hath set

In the great waters, which have bound
His granite ankles greenly round
With long and tangled moss, and weeds with
cool spray wet.

Good-bye to pain and care! I take
Mine ease to-day;

Here, where these sunny waters break,
And ripples this keen breeze, I shake
All burdens from the heart, all weary
thoughts away.

I draw a freer breath; I seem
Like all I see-

Waves in the sun-the white-winged gleam
Of sea-birds in the slanting beam—
And far-off sails which flit before the south
wind free.

So when Time's veil shall fall asunder,
The soul may know

No fearful change, nor sudden wonder,
Nor sink the weight of mystery under,
But with the upward rise, and with the vast-

ness grow.

Serene and mild, the untried light
May have its dawning;

And, as in Summer's northern light

I sit alone; in foam and spray
Wave after wave

Breaks on the rocks which, stern and gray,
Beneath like fallen Titans lay,

Or murmurs hoarse and strong through mossy
cleft and cave.

What heed I of the dusty land
And noisy town?

I see the mighty deep expand

From its white line of glimmering sand
To where the blue of heaven on bluer waves

shuts down!

In listless quietude of mind,
I yield to all

The change of cloud and wave and wind;
And passive on the flood reclined,

I wander with the waves, and with them rise
and fall.

89

But look, thou dreamer!—wave and shore
In shadow lie;

The night-wind warns me back once more
To where my native hill-tops o'er
Bends like an arch of fire the glowing sunset
sky!

So then, beach, bluff, and wave, farewell!
I bear with me

No token stone nor glittering shell,
But long and oft shall Memory tell
Of this brief, thoughtful, hour of musing by
the sea.

And all we shrink from now may seem
No new revealing-

Familiar as our childhood's stream,
Or pleasant memory of a dream,

The loved and cherished Past upon the new ON thy fair bosom, silver lake,

life stealing.

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.

TO SENECA LAKE.

The wild swan spreads his snowy sail, And round his breast the ripples break, As down he bears before the gale.

On thy fair bosom, waveless stream,
The dipping paddle echoes far,

The evening and the dawn unite,

The sunset hues of Time blend with the soul's And flashes in the moonlight gleam,

new morning.

And bright reflects the polar star.