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The Pope himself should grant a day

Absence is full of memory; it teaches Especially to Saint Peray.

The value of all old familiar things; But, since no day hath been appointed,

The strengthener of affection, while it reaches On purpose, by the Lord's anointed,

O'er the dark parting, with an angel's wings. Let us not wait - we'll do him right;

My friends, my absent friends! Send round your bottles, Hal, and set your night. Do you think of me, as I think of you! THOMAS WILLIAM PARSONS.

The world, with one vast element omitted,

Man's own especial element, the earth;
Night at Sea.

Yet, o'er the waters is his rule transmitted

By that great knowledge whence has power its The lovely purple of the noon's bestowing

birth. Has vanished from the waters, where it flung How oft on some strange loveliness while gazing A royal color, such as gems are throwing

Have I wished for you — beautiful as new, Tyrian or regal garniture among.

The purple waves like some wild army raising "Tis night, and overhead the sky is gleaming, Their snowy banners as the ship cuts through.

Through the slight vapor trembles each dim star; My friends, my absent friends! I turn away—my heart is sadly dreaming

Do you think of me, as I think of you? Of scenes they do not light, of scenes afar, My friends, my absent friends!

Bearing upon its wings the hues of morning, Do you think of me, as I think of you? Up springs the flying fish like life's false joy,

Which of the sunshine asks that frail adorning By each dark wave around the vessel sweeping, Whose very light is fated to destroy.

Farther am I from old dear friends removed ; Ah, so doth genius on its rainbow pinion Till the lone vigil that I now am keeping,

Spring from the depths of an unkindly world; I did not know how much you were beloved. So spring sweet fancies from the heart's dominHow many acts of kindness little heeded,

ion Kind looks, kind words, rise half reproachful now! Too soon in death the scorched-up wing is furled. Hurried and anxious, my vexed life has speeded, My friends, my absent friends! And memory wears a soft accusing brow.

Whate'er I see is linked with thoughts of My friends, my absent friends!

you. Do you think of me, as I think of you!

No life is in the air, but in the waters The very stars are strangers, as I catch them

Are creatures, huge, and terrible, and strong; Athwart the shadowy sails that swell above; The sword-fish and the shark pursue their slaughI cannot hope that other eyes will watch them

ters, At the same moment with a mutual love.

War universal reigns these depths along. They shine not there, as here they now are shining: Like some new island on the ocean springing,

The very hours are changed. Ah, do ye sleep? Floats on the surface some gigantic whale,
O'er each home pillow midnight is declining – From its vast head a silver fountain flinging,
May some kind dream at least my image keep! Bright as the fountain in a fairy tale.
My friends, my absent friends !

My friends, my absent friends!
Do you think of me, as I think of you !

I read such fairy legends while with you.

Yesterday has a charm, To-day could never
Fling o'er the mind, which knows not till it

How it turns back with tenderest endeavor

To fix the past within the heart of hearts.

Light is amid the gloomy canvas spreading,

The moon is whitening the dusky sails,
From the thick bank of clouds she masters, shed.

The softest influence that o'er night prevails.

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When, round the bowl, of vanished years

We talk with joyous seeming, With smiles that might as well be tears,

So faint, so sad their beaming;
While memory brings us back again

Each early tie that twined us,
Oh sweet's the cup that circles then

To those we've left behind us !

And when, in other climes, we meet

Some isle or vale enchanting, Where all looks flowery, wild, and sweet,

And naught but love is wanting; We think how great had been our bliss

If Heaven had but assigned us To live and die in scenes like this,

With some we've left behind us !

The busy deck is hushed, no sounds are waking

But the watch pacing silently and slow;
The waves against the sides incessant breaking,

And rope and canvas swaying to and fro.
The topmast sail, it seems like some dim pinnacle

Cresting a shadowy tower amid the air; While red and fitful gleams come from the binnacle, The only light on board to guide us — where ? My friends, my absent friends!

Far from my native land, and far from you. On one side of the ship, the moonbeam's shimmer

In luminous vibrations sweeps the sea, But where the shadow falls, a strange, pale glimmer

Seems, glow-worm like, amid the waves to be. All that the spirit thinks of thought and feeling,

Takes visionary hues from such an hour;
But while some phantasy is o'er me stealing,
I start - remembrance has a keener power :
My friends, my absent friends!

From the fair dream I start to think of you.

As travellers oft look back at eve

When eastward darkly going, To gaze upon that light they leave

Still faint behind them glowing, -
So when the close of pleasure's day

To gloom hath near consigned us,
We turn to catch one fading ray
Of joy that's left behind us.

Tuomas MOORE.

The Good Time Coming.

A dusk line in the moonlight - I discover

What all day long I vainly sought to catch ; Or is it but the varying clouds that hover

Thick in the air, to mock the eyes that watch? No; well the sailor knows each speck, appearing,

Upon the tossing waves, the far-off strand; To that dark line our eager ship is steering, Her voyage done - to-morrow we shall land.


There's a good time coming, boys,

A good time coming: We may not live to see the day, But earth shall glisten in the ray

of the good time coming.

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But Memory blushes at the sneer,

And Honor turns with frown defiant, And Freedom, leaning on her spear,

Laughs louder than the laughing giant: “ An islet is a world,” she said,

“When glory with its dust has blended, And Britain keeps her noble dead

Till earth and seas and skies are rended!”

Beneath each swinging forest-bough

Some arm as stout in death reposes, From wave-washed foot to heaven-kissed brow

Her valor's life-blood runs in roses; Nay, let our brothers of the West

Write smiling in their florid pages, One half her soil has walked the rest

In poets, heroes, martyrs, sages !

Ye heavy-hearted mariners

Who sail this shore !
Ye patient, ye who labor

Sitting at the sweeping oar,
And see afar the flashing sea-gulls play
On the free waters, and the glad bright day
Twine with his hand the spray!

From out your dreariness,
From your heart weariness,
I speak, for I am yours

On these gray shores.
Nay, nay, I know not, mariners !

What cliffs they are
That high uplift their smooth dark fronts,

And sadly round us bar;
I do imagine that the free clouds play
Above those eminent heights; that somewhere Day
Rides his triumphant way,

And hath secure dominion
Over our stern oblivion;
But see no path thereout
To free from doubt.


Hugged in the clinging billow's clasp,

From sea-weed fringe to mountain heather, The British oak with rooted grasp

Her slender handful holds together; With cliffs of white and bowers of green,

And Ocean narrowing to caress her, And hills and threaded streams between,

Our little mother isle, God bless her!

In earth's broad temple where we stand,

Fanned by the eastern gales that brought us, We hold the missal in our hand,

Bright with the lines our Mother taught us ; Where'er its blazoned page betrays

The glistening links of gilded fetters, Behold, the half-turned leaf displays

Her rubric stained in crimson letters !

The Mahogany Tree.

Christmas is here;
Winds whistle shrill,
Icy and chill,
Little care we;
Little we fear
Weather without,
Sheltered about
The Mahogany Tree.
Once on the boughs
Birds of rare plume
Sang, in its bloom ;
Night birds are we;

Enough! To speed a parting friend

'Tis vain alike to speak and listen; Yet stay,— these feeble accents blend

With rays of light from eyes that glisten.

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