LOW TIDE.

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LOW TIDE.

NDER the cliff I walk in silence,

UNDER

While the intrepid waters flow,

And the white birds, lit by the sun into silver,
Glitter against the blue below;

And the tide is low.

Here, years ago, in golden weather,
Under the cliff, and close to the sea,
A pledge was given that made me master
Of all that ever was dear to me;

And the tide was low.

Only a little year fled by after,

Then my bride and I came once more, And saw the sea, like a bird imprisoned, Beating its wings 'gainst its bars, the shore; And the tide was low.

Now I walk alone by the filmy breakers, -
A voice is hushed I can never forget;
Upon my sea dead calm has fallen,
My ships are harbored, my sun is set;
And the tide is low.

HENRY ABBEY.

O

DONALD.

MY white, white, light moon, that sailest in the sky,

Look down upon the whirling world, for thou art up so

high,

And tell me where my Donald is who sailed across the

sea,

And make a path of silver light to lead him back to

me.

O my white, white, bright moon, thy cheek is coldly

fair,

A little cloud beside thee seems thy wildly floating

hair;

And if thou wouldst not have me grow as white and cold as thee,

Go, make a mighty tide to draw my Donald back to

me.

O my light, white, bright moon, that doth so fondly shine,

There is not a lily in the world but hides its face from

thine;

I too shall go and hide my face close in the dust from

thee,

Unless with light and tide thou bring my Donald back

to me.

HENRY ABBEY.

THE LAND-SICK.

175

GRE

THE LAND-SICK.

REEN fields are about me with hill and plain,
And corn on the upland lea;

I long for the blue and billowy main,

And instead of these harvests of waving grain
For the roll and the surf of the sea.

The swallow is twittering my window by,
And carols his summer song;
'Twere better aloft on the tops to lie,
While the gull and the sea-mew around me fly,
Still swooping and circling along.

I hear the laugh and the revelling shout
Of the jocund boys at play ;

But the silvery dolphin seems sporting about,
And I think how the pirate bonita leaps out
For its reckless and fugitive prey.

With their "church-going bells," my ears they tire,
And weary is service time;

Give me the tall mast for the tapering spire,
And the high-piping winds for the pealing choir,
With the dash of the waves to chime!

They point to the woodlands, and rocks so gray
With their shadows ere twilight's begun ;
One hour of the sea-cradled dying of day,
With a phantom-like sail in the distance away,
Is enough for my mother's son !

And then, when the broad harvest-moon one sees Climb up in the eastern sky,

He thinks what bright watches on deck are these, With the mizzen-top-gallant swelled full by the breeze, And the star-spangled waves dancing by.

They call this home, and they whisper me

That my thoughts are but truants now;
But there's many a home o'er the deep blue sea,
And love-lit eyes 'neath the banyan-tree

Or the shade of the orange-bough!

E. W. B. CANNING.

BY THE SEA.

LOWLY, steadily, under the moon,

SLO

Swings the tide, in its old-time way;

Never too late, and never too soon,

And the evening and morning make the day.

Slowly, steadily, over the sands,

And over the rocks, to fall and flow,

And this wave has touched a dead man's hands, And that one has seen a face we know.

They have borne the good ship on her way,
Or buried her deep from love and light;
And yet, as they sink at our feet to-day,

Ah, who shall interpret their message aright?

BY THE SEA.

For their separate voices of grief and cheer
Are blending at last in one solemn tone;
And only this song of the waves I hear,
"Forever and ever His will is done!"

Slowly, steadily, to and fro,

Swings our life in its weary way;
Now at its ebb, and now at its flow,

177

And the evening and morning make the day.

Sorrow and happiness, peace and strife,
Fear and rejoicing, its moments know,
How, from the discords of such a life,
Can the clear music of heaven flow?

Yet to the ear of God it swells,

And to the blessed round the throne,
Sweeter than chimes of Sabbath bells,
"Forever and ever His will is done!"

BY THE SEA.

ANON.

I

WALKED with her I love by the sea.

The deep came up with its chanting waves, Making a music so great and free

That the will and the faith, which were dead in me, Awoke and rose from their graves.