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EARLIER POEMS.

THRENODIA.

When his glad mother on him stole
And snatched him to her breast!

GONE, gone from us! and shall we see O, thoughts were brooding in those eyes,

Those sibyl-leaves of destiny,

Those calm eyes, nevermore?

That would have soared like strong

winged birds

Those deep, dark eyes so warm and Far, far into the skies,

bright,

Wherein the fortunes of the man
Lay slumbering in prophetic light,
In characters a child might scan?
So bright, and gone forth utterly!
O stern word - Nevermore!

The stars of those two gentle eyes
Will shine no more on earth;
Quenched are the hopes that had their
birth,

As we watched them slowly rise,
Stars of a mother's fate;

Gladding the earth with song,
And gushing harmonies,

Had he but tarried with us long!
O stern word Nevermore !

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And she would read them o'er and o'er, Her heart no more will beat

Pondering, as she sate,
Over their dear astrology,
Which she had conned and conned before,
Deeming she needs must read aright
What was writ so passing bright.
And yet, alas! she knew not why,
Her voice would falter in its song,

And tears would slide from out her eye,
Silent, as they were doing wrong.
O stern word-Nevermore!

To feel the touch of that soft palm,
That ever seemed a new surprise
Sending glad thoughts up to her eyes
To bless him with their holy calm,
Sweet thoughts! they made her eyes as

sweet.

How quiet are the hands

That wove those pleasant bands!
But that they do not rise and sink
With his calm breathing, I should think
That he were dropped asleep.

The tongue that scarce had learned to Alas! too deep, too deep

claim

An entrance to a mother's heart

Is this his slumber!

Time scarce can number

By that dear talisman, a mother's name, The years ere he shall wake again.

Sleeps all forgetful of its art!

I loved to see the infant soul
(How mighty in the weakness
Of its untutored meekness !)
Peep timidly from out its nest,
His lips, the while,

Fluttering with half-fledged words,
Or hushing to a smile

That more than words expressed,

O, may we see his eyelids open then!

O stern word Nevermore!

As the airy gossamere,

Floating in the sunlight clear,
Where'er it toucheth clingeth tightly,
Round glossy leaf or stump unsightly,
So from his spirit wandered out
Tendrils spreading all about,

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"To the shore Follow! O, follow!

To be at rest forevermore! Forevermore !"

Look how the gray old Ocean
From the depth of his heart rejoices,
Heaving with a gentle motion,

When he hears our restful voices;
List how he sings in an undertone,
Chiming with our melody;

And all sweet sounds of earth and air
Melt into one low voice alone,
That murmurs over the weary sea,
And seems to sing from everywhere,
"Here mayst thou harbor peacefully,
Here mayst thou rest from the aching

oar;

Turn thy curved prow ashore, And in our green isle rest forevermore ! Forevermore!"

And Echo half wakes in the wooded hill, And, to her heart so calm and deep, Murmurs over in her sleep,

Doubtfully pausing and murmuring still, "Evermore!

Thus, on Life's weary sea,
Heareth the marinere
Voices sweet, from far and near,
Ever singing low and clear,
Ever singing longingly.

Is it not better here to be,
Than to be toiling late and soon?
In the dreary night to see
Nothing but the blood-red moon
Go up and down into the sea;
Or, in the loneliness of day,

To see the still seals only
Solemnly lift their faces gray,

Making it yet more lonely?
Is it not better than to hear
Only the sliding of the wave
Beneath the plank, and feel so near
A cold and lonely grave,

A restless grave, where thou shalt lie
Even in death unquietly?

Look down beneath thy wave-worn baik,
Lean over the side and see

The leaden eye of the sidelong shark
Upturned patiently,

Ever waiting there for thee:
Look down and see those shapeless forms,
Which ever keep their dreamless sleep
Far down within the gloomy deep,
And only stir themselves in storms,
Rising like islands from beneath,

And snorting through the angry spray,
As the frail vessel perisheth
In the whirls of their unwieldy play;
Look down! Look down!
Upon the seaweed, slimy and dark,
That waves its arms so lank and brown,
Beckoning for thee!

Look down beneath thy wave-worn bark
Into the cold depth of the sea!
Look down! Look down!

Thus, on Life's lonely sea,
Heareth the marinere

Voices sad, from far and near,
Ever singing full of fear,
Ever singing drearfully.

Here all is pleasant as a dream; The wind scarce shaketh down the dew, The green grass floweth like a stream Into the ocean's blue;

Listen! O, listen!

Here is a gush of many streams,
A song of many birds,

And every wish and longing seems
Lulled to a numbered flow of words,
Listen! O, listen!

Here ever hum the golden bees
Underneath full-blossomed trees,
At once with glowing fruit and flowers
crowned;

So smooth the sand, the yellow sand, That thy keel will not grate as it touches the land;

All around with a slumberous sound, The singing waves slide up the strand, And there, where the smooth, wet pebbles be,

The waters gurgle longingly,

As if they fain would seek the shore,
To be at rest from the ceaseless roar,
To be at rest forevermore,

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