Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1874-07-24
Poetry.
a sea Dream.


a Sea Dream.
BT JOHN o. WHITTIER,
We saw the slow tides go and come,
The ourving surf-lines lightly drawn,
The gray rock touched With tender bloom
Beneath the fresh-Jlown rose Of dawn.
We saw in richer sunsets lost
The somber pofnp Of sbowery moons;
And signalled spectral sails that crossed
The weird, low light Of sea-born moons.
On stormy ewes from cliI snd head
wes the white spray tossed and Apurned
while, over ALL in gold and red,
Its face Of fre the lighthouse turned.
The rall-car brought its daily crowds:
Half curious, half Indifferent,
Like passing sails or floating clouds,
We saw them as they came and weut.
But ous cAln morning ss We lay
And watched the mirAge-hftod wall
OF coast, across the dreamy bay.
And heard AfAr the curlew call,
Aud nearer voices, Wild or tune,
OF airy aocks aud childish throng,
w from the waters edge there came
TAint snAtehes Of familiar gong.
Carel - We heard the singers choice
OF old and cannon airs ~ last
The tender pathos Of his voice
Ip one low chAusou held US fast.
song that mingled Joy aud 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 snd sun,
The roekS are fringsd with foam;
walk once more . haunted shore,
A stranger. yet at home
A land Of dreams l roaml
IL this the wind, the soft seA-wind
That stirred thy locks Of browu9
Are these the rocks whose mosses knew
The trail Of thy light gown,
Where boy and girl sat downf
SCI the gray forts broken wall,
The boats that rock below;
And, out st sea, the passing sails
wo saw so long ago,
Rose-Ted in mornings glow.
The freshness Of the early time
On every breeze is blown;
AZ glad the sea, a. blue the shy
The change IL ours alone;
The sAddsst Ia my owni
A stranger now, world-worn man
ls he who bears my name;
But thou, 1ethinks, whose mortal life
Immortal youth became,
Art svermore the sAme.
Thou art not here, thou art not there
Thy place cannot see;
only know that where thou art
The blessed angels be,
Aud heaven is glad for thee.
Forgive me, II the evil years
Have left on me their sigu;
wAsh out, o soul 30 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 wedded roses Of Thy lips.
Thy loose hair rtpplins down
In waves Of golden brown!
Look forth once more through space aud time /;
And let thy sweet shade fall
In tenderest grace OF soul and form
On memorys frescood wall,
A shadow, and yet all!
Draw near, more near, forever deSri
wheye'er rest, or roam,
Or In the crowded city streets,
Or BY the blown sea-foam,
The thought Of thee IL home!
At breakfast hour the singer read
The city news with comm ,nt wise,
Like one Who felt the pulse Of trade
BensSth his Asger fall and rise.
His look, his air. his curt speech, told
The man Of action, not Of books,
To whom the corners made in gold
And stocks we're more than seaside noohs.
OF life beneath the life confessed
His song had hinted unaware;
OF flowers in frames ledgers pressed,
or human hearts in Bulls and Bear.
But eyes in vain were turned " watch
That face % hard and shrewd and strong,
And SArs in vain grew sharp to catch
The meaning Of that morning song.
In vain some sweet-voiced querist sought
To sound him, leaving a. abe came:
Her bAitsd album only caught
common. unromAntic name.
No word betrayed the mystery nns
That trembled on the singers tongue:
He came and went, and left no sign
Behind him save the son g he sung.
-ItiGnhe hoAiLiy for AHOu'