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EARLIER POEMS.

THRENODIA.

When his glad mother on him stole
And snatched him to her breast!

GONE, gone from us! and shall we see O, thoughts were brooding in those eyes,

Those sibyl-leaves of destiny,

Those calm eyes, nevermore?

That would have soared like strong

winged birds

Those deep, dark eyes so warm and Far, far into the skies,

bright,

Wherein the fortunes of the man
Lay slumbering in prophetic light,
In characters a child might scan?
So bright, and gone forth utterly!
O stern word - Nevermore!

Gladding the earth with song,
And gushing harmonies,

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

The stars of those two gentle eyes Will shine no more on earth;

Quenched are the hopes that had their
birth,

As we watched them slowly rise,
Stars of a mother's fate;

How peacefully they rest,
Crossfolded there

Upon his little breast,

Those small, white hands that ne'er were

still before,

But ever sported with his mother's hair, Or the plain cross that on her breast she wore!

And she would read them o'er and o'er, Her heart no more will beat

Pondering, as she sate,
Over their dear astrology,
Which she had conned and conned before,
Deeming she needs must read aright
What was writ so passing bright.
And yet, alas! she knew not why,
Her voice would falter in its song,

And tears would slide from out her eye,
Silent, as they were doing wrong.
O stern word-Nevermore!

To feel the touch of that soft palm,
That ever seemed a new surprise
Sending glad thoughts up to her eyes
To bless him with their holy calm, -
Sweet thoughts! they made her eyes as

sweet.

How quiet are the hands

That wove those pleasant bands!
But that they do not rise and sink
With his calm breathing, I should think
That he were dropped asleep.

The tongue that scarce had learned to Alas! too deep, too deep

claim

An entrance to a mother's heart

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,

Is this his slumber!
Time scarce can number

The years ere he will wake again.
O, 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,

oar ;

Knitting all things to its thrall

To the shore With a perfect love of all :

Follow ! O, follow ! O stern word - Nevermore !

To be at rest forevermore !

Forevermore !”
He did but float a little way
Adown the stream of time,

Look how the gray old Ocean With dreamy eyes watching the ripples From the depth of his heart rejoices, play,

Heaving with a gentle motion,
Or hearkening their fairy chime ; When he hears our restful voices ;
His slender sail

List how he sings in an undertone,
Ne'er felt the gale ;

Chiming with our melody; He did but Hoat a little way,

And all sweet sounds of earth and air And, putting to the shore

Melt into one low voice alone, While yet ’t was early day,

That murmurs over the weary sea, Went calmly on his way,

And seems to sing from everywhere, To dwell with us no more !

“ Here mayst thou harbor peacefully, No jarring did he feel,

Here mayst thou rest from the aching No grating on his vessel's keel; A strip of silver sand

Turn thy curved prow ashore, Mingled the waters with the land And in our green isle rest forevermore! Where he was seen no more :

Forevermore !” O stern word - Nevermore !

And Echo half wakes in the wooded hill,

And, to her heart so calm and deep, Full short his journey was; no dust Murmurs over in her sleep, Of earth unto his sandals clave; Doubtfully pausing and murmuring still, The weary weight that old men must, “ Evermore! He bore not to the grave.

Thus, on Life's weary sea, He seemed cherub who had lost his

Heareth the marinere way

Voices sweet, from far and near, And wandered hither, so his stay

Ever singing low and clear, With us was short, and 't was most meet

Ever singing longingly.
That he should be no delver in earth's
clod,

Is it not better here to be,
Nor need to pause and cleanse his feet Than to be toiling late and soon ?
To stand before his God:

In the dreary night to see
O blest word — Evermore !

Nothing but the blood-red moon
Go up and down into the sea ;

Or, in the loneliness of day,
THE SIRENS.

To see the still seals only

Solemnly lift their faces gray,
The sea is lonely, the sea is dreary, Making it yet more lonely?
The sea is restless and uneasy ;

Is it not better than to hear
Thou seekest quiet, thou art weary, Only the sliding of the wave
Wandering thou knowest not whith- Beneath the plank, and feel so near
er ;-

A cold and lonely grave,
Our little isle is green and breezy, A restless grave, where thou shalt lie
Come and rest thee ! ( come hither, Even in death unquietly?
Come to this peaceful home of ours, Look down beneath thy wave-worn baik,
Where evermore

Lean óver the side and see The low west-wind creeps panting up The leaden eve of the sidelong shark the shore

Upturned patiently, To be at rest among the flowers ;

Ever waiting there for thee : Full of rest, the green moss lifts, Look down and see those shapeless forms, As the dark waves of the sea

Which ever keep their dreamless sleep Draw in and out of rocky rifts,

Far down within the gloomy deel', Calling solennly to thee

And only stir themselves in storms, With voices deep and hollow,

Rising like islands from beneath,

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