The Placer herald., 1874-08-15
WnITTIER's LAST POEM.
A SEA DREAM.

Inc curVlpg SufI lines lIRu'ly uruWu,
The gray rocks touched with tender bloom
Beneath the fresh-blown rose of dawn.
We saw in richer sunsets lost
The somber pomp of showery moons;
And signal spectral sails that crossed
The weired, low light of sea-born moons.
On stormy ewes from cliff and head
We saw the white spray tossed and spurned;
While, over al in gold and red,
Its face of fire the lighthouse turned.
The ral-car brought its daily crowds;
Half curious, half Indifferent,
Like passing sails or floating clouds,
We saw them as they came and went.
But, one calm morning as we lay
And watched the mirage-lfted wall
OF const, across the dreamy bay,
And heard afar the curlew call.
And nearer voices, wild or tame,
OF airy flock and childish throng,
Up from tie water S edge there came
Faint snatches off mliar song.
Careless we heard the singers choice
OF old and common airs; at last
TIE tender pathos of his voice
In one low chanson held us fast.
song that mingled joy and pain,
And memories old and sadly sweet;
While timing to its minor strain,
The waves in lapsing cadence beat.
The waves are glad in breeze and sun,
The rocks are fringed with foam;
walked once more haunted shore,
stranger, yet at home
land of dreams ] roam,
Is this the wind the soft sea-wind
That stirred thy locks of brown?
Are these the rocks whose mosses knew
The trail of thy light gown,
Where boy and girl sat down?
see the gray fort S broken wall
The boats that rock below;
And, out at sea, the passing sails
We saw so long ago,
Rose-red in the mornings glow.
The freshness of the early time
o. every breeze is blown;
As glad the sea, rs blue the sky
The change is ours alone;
The saddest is my own
A stranger now, world-worn man
l. he who bears my name;
But thou, me thinks whose mortal lie
Immortal youth became,
Art evermore the same.
Thou art not here, thou art not here,
Thy place | cannot see:
/ only know that where thou art
The blessed angels be-
An1 heaven is glad for thee.
Forgive me if the evil years
Have left On me their sign;
Wash out, 0 soul so beautiful,
The many stains of mine
In tears of love divine!
Oh turn to me that dearest face
OF all thy sea born town..
The welded roses of thy lips,
Thy loose hair ripping down
In waves of golden brown,
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,
shadow, and yet ali
Draw near, more near, for yer dear!
Wherecr rest or roam,
Or in the crowded city streets,
Or by the blown sea-foam,
The thought OF thee is home!
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 sp eech told
The nan Of action, not of books,
To whom the corners made IN gold
And stocks were more than seaside nooks
OF life beneath the Life confessed
His song had hinted un wares;
OF flowers in traffic's edgers pressed,
OF human hearts in Bulls and Bears,
But ewes 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-voced qucrist sought
To sound him, leaving as she came;
Her baited album only canght
A common, unroinantlc name.
No word betrayed the mystery fine
That trembed on the singer S tongue;
He came and went. and left no sign
Behind him save the song he sung.