V. How looks Appledore in a storm? I have seen it when its crags seemed frantic, Butting against the mad Atlantic, When surge on surge would heap enorme, Cliffs of emerald topped with snow, That lifted and lifted, and then let go A great white avalanche of thunder, A grinding, blinding, deafening ire Monadnock might have trembled under; And the island, whose rock-roots pierce below To where they are warmed with the central fire, You could feel its granite fibres racked, As it seemed to plunge with a shudder and thrill Right at the breast of the swooping hill, And to rise again snorting a cataract Of rage-froth from every cranny and ledge, While the sea drew its breath in hoarse and deep, And the next vast breaker curled its edge, Gathering itself for a mightier leap. North, east, and south there are reefs and breakers You would never dream of in smooth weather, That toss and gore the sea for acres, Bellowing and gnashing and snarling together; Look northward, where Duck Island lies, As if the moon should suddenly kiss, While you crossed the gusty desert by night, The long colonnades of Persepolis ; Look southward for White Island light, The lantern stands ninety feet o'er the tide; There is first a half-mile of tumult and fight, Of dash and roar and tumble and fright, And surging bewilderment wild and wide, Where the breakers struggle left and right, On Agamenticus, and when once more You look, 't is as if the land-breeze, growing, From the smouldering brands the film were blowing, And brightening them down to the very core ; Yet they momently cool and dampen and deaden, The crimson turns golden, the gold turns leaden, Hardening into one black bar And over it, visible spirit of dew, | Of that long cloud-bar in the West, Knew you what silence was before! Nor noise of any living thing, So they trembled to life, and, doubt- | Soft as the dews that fell that night, fully Feeling their way to my sense, sang, Say whether 66 They sit all day by the greenwood tree, The lover and loved, as it wont to be, When we and all together But grief conquered, They swelled such weird murmur as haunts a shore Of some planet dispeopled, niore!" "Never She said, "Auf wiedersehen!" There came a parting, when the weak Vainly, Somewhere is comfort, somewhere faith, Though thou in outer dark remain ; One sweet sad voice ennobles death, And still, for eighteen centuries saith Softly, "Auf wiedersehen!” If earth another grave must bear, Yet heaven hath won a sweeter strain, And something whispers my despair, That, from an orient chamber there, Floats down, "Auf wiedersehen ! " |