By that dear talisman, a mother's
name,
Sleeps all forgetful of its art!
I loved to see the infant soul
(How mighty in the weakness
Of its untutored meekness!)
Peep timidly from out its nest,
His lips, the while,

Fluttering with half-fledged words,
Or hushing to a smile

That more than words expressed, When his glad mother on him stole, And snatched him to her breast! Oh, thoughts were brooding in those eyes,

That would have soared like strongwinged birds

Far, far into the skies,
Gladding the earth with song,
And gushing harmonies,

Had he but tarried with us long!
O stern word-Nevermore!

How quiet are the hands
That wove those pleasant bands!
But that they do not rise and sink
With his calin breathing, I should
think

That he were dropped asleep.
Alas! too deep, too deep
Is this his slumber!

Time scarce can number

The years ere he will wake again. Oh, may we see his eyelids open then!

O stern word-Nevermore!

As the airy gossamere, Floating in the sunlight clear, Where'er it toucheth clingeth tightly,

Round glossy leaf or stump unsightly,

So from his spirit wandered out
Tendrils spreading all about,
Knitting all things to its thrall
With a perfect love of all;
O stern word-Nevermore!

He did but float a little way
Adown the stream of time,
With dreamy eyes watching the
ripples play,

Or harkening their fairy chime;
His slender sail

Ne'er felt the gale;

He did but float a little way,
And, putting to the shore
While yet 'twas early day,
Went calmly on his way,
To dwell with us no more!
No jarring did he feel,

No grating on his vessel's keel;
A strip of silver sand
Mingled the waters with the land
Where he was seen no more;
O stern word-Nevermore!

With us was short, and 'twas most meet

That he should be no delver in earth's clod,

Nor need to pause and cleanse his feet

To stand before his God:
O blest word-Evermore !

THE SIRENS.

THE sea is lonely, the sea is dreary, The sea is restless and uneasy; Thou seekest quiet, thou art weary, Wandering thou knowest not

whither;

Our little isle is green and breezy, Come and rest thee! Oh come hither,

Come to this peaceful home of ours,
Where evermore
The low west-wind creeps panting
up the shore

To be at rest among the flowers;
Full of rest, the green moss lifts,
As the dark waves of the sea
Draw in and out of rocky rifts,
Calling solemnly to thee
With voices deep and hollow,—
"To the shore
Follow! Oh, follow!

To be at rest for evermore!
For evermore!"

Look how the gray old Ocean From the depth of his heart rejoices,

Heaving with a gentle motion,
When he hears our restful voices;
List how he sings in an undertone,
Chiming with our melody;
And all sweet sounds of earth and
air

Melt into one low voice alone,

That murmurs over the weary sea, And seems to sing from everywhere,

"Here mayst thou harbour peacefully,

Here mayst thou rest from the aching oar;

Turn thy curved prow ashore, And in our green isle rest for ever. more!

Thus, on Life's weary sea,
Heareth the marinere

Voices sweet, from far and
near,

Ever singing low and clear,
Ever singing longingly.

Is it not better here to be,
Than to be toiling late and soon?
In the dreary night to see
Nothing but the blood-red moon
Go up and down into the sea;
Or, in the loneliness of day,

To see the still seals only
Solemnly lift their faces gray,
Making it yet more lonely?
Is it not better than to hear
Only the sliding of the wave
Beneath the plank, and feel so near
A cold and lonely grave,

A restless grave, where thou shalt lie

Even in death unquietly?

Look down beneath thy wave-worn bark,

Lean over the side and see The leaden eye of the sidelong shark

Upturned patiently,

Ever waiting there for thee: Look down and see those shapeless forms,

Which ever keep their dreamless sleep

Far down within the gloomy deep, And only stir themselves in storms, Rising like islands from beneath, And snorting through the angry spray,

As the frail vessel perisheth

In the whirls of their unwieldy play; Look down! Look down! Upon the seaweed, slimy and dark, That waves its arms so lank and brown,

Beckoning for thee! Look down beneath thy wave-worn bark

Into the cold depth of the sea!
Look down! Look down!
Thus, on Life's lonely sea,
Heareth the marinere
Voices sad, from far and near,
Ever singing full of fear,
Ever singing dreadfully.

Here all is pleasant as a dream; The wind scarce shaketh down the dew,

The green grass floweth like a

stream

Into the ocean's blue;
Listen! Oh, listen!

Here is a gush of many streams,
A song of many birds,

And every wish and longing seems Lulled to a numbered flow of words,

Listen! Oh, listen! Here ever hum the golden bees Underneath full-blossomed trees, At once with glowing fruit and flowers crowned ;

The sand is so smooth, the yellow sand,

That thy keel will not grate as it touches the land;

All around with a slumberous sound,

The singing waves slide up the strand,

And there, where the smooth, wet pebbles be,

The waters gurgle longingly,
As if they fain would seek the

shore,