He took the goose upon his arm, "So keep you cold, or keep you warm, It is a stormy morning." The wild wind rang from park and plain, The glass blew in, the fire blew out, And a whirlwind clear'd the larder; And while on all sides breaking loose BREAK, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me. O well for the fisherman's boy, That he shouts with his sister at play! O well for the sailor lad, That he sings in his boat on the bay! And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill; But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand, And the sound of a voice that is still! Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me. And it boots not to remember Thy disdain To quicken love's pale ember, Florence Vane. The lilies of the valley By young graves weep, The pansies love to dally May their bloom, in beauty vying, Never wane Where thine earthly part is lying, YOUNG ROSALIE LEE. I LOVE to forget ambition, And hope, in the mingled thought Of valley, and wood, and meadow, Where, whilom, my spirit caught Affection's holiest breathings— Where under the skies, with me Young Rosalie roved, aye drinking From joy's bright Castaly. I think of the valley and river, Of the old wood bright with blossoms; Of the pure and chastened gladness Upspringing in our bosoms. I think of the lonely turtle So tongued with melancholy; Of the hue of the drooping moonlight, |