The Milan exchange. (Milan, Gibson County, Tenn.) 1874-1978, 1874-08-06
a SEA DREAM.
BY JOHN @. WHITTIER.

BY JOHN G. WHITTIER.
We saw the slow tides go and come, -
Inc curVlng surf lines lightly drawn -as
The gray rocks touch d with tender bloom
Beneath the iresh-blown rose OF dawn.
We saw in richer sunsets lost
The somber pomp OF showery moons;
And signal spectral sails that crossed
The weird, low light Of sea-born moons.
On stormy ewes from Cliff and head
We saw the white spray tossed and spurned;
While over all, In gold and red, IS p
Its face Of fire the Hight house turned.
The rail car brought its daily crowds
Hall curious. half Indifferent,
Like passing sails Or floating clouds, a.
We saw the m as they came and went.
But, one calm morning. as we lay
ana watched the mirage lifted wall
vi coast, across the dreamy bay.
And heard alar the curlew call,
And nearer voices wild or tame,
OF airy flock and childish thr0ng. aleer L..
Up from the gater's edge there came
Faint snatches Of familiar song.
Careless we heard the singers choice
OF old and common airs; at last
The tender pathos OF his voice
In one low chansOn held us fast r-a a
A song that mingled joy and main
And memories old and sadly sweet;
while, tuning 10 its minor strain
The waves In lapsing cadence beat.
The waves are glad in breeze and sun;
The rocks are friBged with foam;
walk once more haunt ID shore,
A stranger, yet at home
A land of dreams roam.
Is this the wind, the soft sea wind
That stirred thy locks Of brownf
Are these the rocks Whose MOSES knew
The tr il Of thv light gown,
Where boy and girl sat down?
see the gray forts broken wall,
The boats that rock below;
And, out at sea, the passing sails
We saw long ago,
Rose-red in the mornings glow.
The freshness Of the early time
ON every breeze is blown;
A. glad the sea, as blue the sky
The change is ours alone;
The saddest is my own.
A stranger now, a world worn man,
Is ne who bears my name;
But then. methinks, whose mortal life
Immortal youth became,
Art evermOre the same.
Thou art not here. thou art not there,
Phy place | cannot see;
1 only know that where thou art
The blessed angels be,
And heaven is glad for thee.
Forgive me il the evil years
Have left on me their sign;
Wash out, o soul so beautiful,
The many stains of mine
In tears of love divine.
o turn to me that dearest face
OF all thy sea-born town,
The welded roses of thy Inns
Thy loose hair ripping down
In waves of golden brOwnl
Look forth once more through space and time,
And let thy sweet shade fall
In tenderest grace of soul and form
On memOry's frescOed wall.
a shadow, and yet ail
Draw near, more near, forever dearl
Wher"'er rest or roam,
Or in the crowded streets,
Or by the blown foam,
The thought of thee is homel
At breakfast hour the singer read
The city news, with comment wise,
Like one who felt the pulse of trade
Beneath his finger fall and rise.
His look, his air, his curt speech told
The man of action, not Oi books,
To whom the corners made in gold
And stocks were more than seaside hooks.
OF life beneath the life confessed
His song hsd hinted unawares;
OF flowers in traflic's ledgers pressed,
OF human hearts in bulls and bears.
But eyes in vain were turned to watch
That face so hard, and shrewd, and strong;
And ears in vain grew sharp to catch
The meaning of that morning song.
in vain some sweet voiced querist sought
To sound him leaving as she came;
Hrr baited album only caught
A common, unromantic name.
No word betrayed the mystery fine
- That trembied on the singers toHguey
He came and went, and left no sign
Behind him save tne song he sung
-AHdHiiC for august