Calm on the seas, and silver sleep, And waves that sway themselves in rest, And dead calm in that noble breast Which heaves but with the heaving deep. XII. Lo, as a dove when up she springs Like her I go; I cannot stay; I leave this mortal ark behind, O'er ocean-mirrors rounded large, And reach the glow of southern skies, And linger weeping on the marge, And saying, "Comes he thus, my friend? And circle moaning in the air: And forward dart again, and play About the prow, and back return To where the body sits, and learn, That I have been an hour away. XIII. TEARS of the widower, when he sees And, moves his doubtful arms, and feels Which weep a loss forever new, A void where heart on heart reposed; And, where warm hands have prest and clos'd, Silence, till I be silent too. Which weep the comrade of my choice, An awful thought, a life removed, The human-hearted man I loved, A Spirit, not a breathing voice. Come Time, and teach me, many years, For now so strange do these things seem, My fancies time to rise on wing, And glance about the approaching sails, As tho' they brought but merchants' bales, And not the burthen that they bring. XIV. IF one should bring me this report, That thou hadst touch'd the land to-day, And I went down unto the quay, And found thee lying in the port; And standing, muffled round with woe, Come stepping lightly down the plank, And beckoning unto those they know ; And if along with these should come And I should tell him all my pain, And how my life had droop'd of late, And he should sorrow o'er my state And marvel what possess'd my brain; And I perceived no touch of change, XV. TO-NIGHT the winds begin to rise The forest crack'd, the waters curl'd, And but for fancies, which aver That all thy motions gently pass I scarce could brook the strain and stir That makes the barren branches loud; The wild unrest that lives in woe That rises upward always higher, And onward drags a laboring breast, And topples round the dreary west, A looming bastion fringed with fire. XVI. WHAT words are these have fall'n from me? Can calm despair and wild unrest Be tenants of a single breast, Or sorrow such a changeling be? Or doth she only seem to take The touch of change in calm or storm; But knows no more of transient form In her deep self, than some dead lake That holds the shadow of a lark Hung in the shadow of a heaven? Or has the shock, so harshly given, Confused me like the unhappy bark VOL. II. B That strikes by night a craggy shelf, And staggers blindly ere she sink? And all my knowledge of myself; And made me that delirious man Whose fancy fuses old and new, And flashes into false and true, And mingles all without a plan ? XVII. THOU Comest, much wept for: such a breeze Compell'd thy canvas, and my prayer Was as the whisper of an air To breathe thee over lonely seas. For I in spirit saw thee move 'Thro' circles of the bounding sky, Week after week: the days go by: Come quick, thou bringest ail I love. Henceforth, wherever thou may'st roam, So may whatever tempest mars Mid-ocean spare thee, sacred bark; And balmy drops in summer dark Slide from the bosom of the stars. |