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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,
And over its crown you will see arise,
Against a background of slaty skies,
A row of pillars still and white,
That glimmer, and then are gone from
sight,

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,

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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
O'er which, from the hollow heaven afar,
Shoots a splinter of light like diamond,
Half seen, half fancied; by and by
Beyond whatever is most beyond
In the uttermost waste of desert sky,
Grows a star;

And over it, visible spirit of dew,
Ah, stir not, speak not, hold your
breath,

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| Of that long cloud-bar in the West,
Whose nether edge, erelong, you see
The silvery chrism in turn anoint,
And then the tiniest rosy point
Touched doubtfully and timidly
Into the dark blue's chilly strip,
As some mute, wondering thing below,
Awakened by the thrilling glow,
Might, looking up, see Dian dip
One lucent foot's delaying tip
In Latmian fountains long ago.

Knew you what silence was before!
Here is no startle of dreaming bird
That sings in his sleep, or strives to
sing;

Nor noise of any living thing,
Here is no sough of branches stirred,
Such as one hears by night on shore;
Only, now and then, a sigh,
With fickle intervals between,
Such as Andromeda might have heard,
Sometimes far, and sometimes nigh,
And fancied the huge sea-beast unseen
Turning in sleep; it is the sea
That welters and wavers uneasily
Round the lonely reefs of Appledore.

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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

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But grief conquered,

They swelled such weird murmur as

haunts a shore

Of some planet dispeopled, niore!"

"Never

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She said, "Auf wiedersehen!"

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There came a parting, when the weak
And fading lips essayed to speak
Auf wiedersehen!"

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 ! "

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