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!

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,