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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;
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,
My friends, my absent friends!
I read such fairy legends while with you.
Yesterday has a charm, To-day could never
To fix the past within the heart of hearts.
Light is amid the gloomy canvas spreading,
The moon is whitening the dusky sails,
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;
Each early tie that twined us,
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;
And rope and canvas swaying to and fro.
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;
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, -
To gloom hath near consigned us,
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.
LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON.
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.
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 !
Sitting at the sweeping oar,
From out your dreariness,
On these gray shores.
What cliffs they are
And sadly round us bar;
And hath secure dominion
WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING.
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;
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.