The true northerner., 1874-08-07
A SEA DREAM.
III JOHN @. WHITTIER.

NJ JOHN "a. WHITTIER.
We saw the slow tides go and come,
The curing surf-lines lightly drawn,
The nav rocks touched with tender bloom
Benesth the fresh-blown rose of dawn.
We saw in richer sunsets lost
The sOuiber pomp of shOwery moons;
Aud sigma 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,
It's face of fire the lighthouse turned.
The rail-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-lifted wall
OF coast, across the dreamy bay,
And heard afar the curlew call,
And nearer voices, wild or tame,
OF airy dock and childish throng,
Up from the waters edge there came
Faint suaiches of familiar song.
Careless we heard the singers choice
OF old aud common airs at last
The slender pathos of his voice
lu one low chansOn held us fast
A song that mingled joy and pain
And memories old and sadly sweet;
While timing to its minor strain,
The waves IL lapsing cadence beat.
She waves are glad in breeze and sun,
The rocks are funged with foam;
walk once more haunted shore,
stranger, yet at home,-
A land Ot dreams / roam
lis 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?
I see the gray forts broken wall,
The boats that rock below;
And, out at sea, the passing sails
We saw so long ago,
Rose-red in mornings glow.
The freshness of the early time
On every breeze is blown;
As glad the sea, as blue the sky
The change is ours alone;
The saddest is my own!
stranger now, world-worn man
Us he who bears nay name;
But thou, methinks, whose mortal life
Immortal youth became,
Art evermOre 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 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
Oh. turn 10 me that dearest face
OF all thy sea-born town,
The welded roses of thy lips,
Thy loose hair ripping down
III waves of golden brown!
Look forth once more through space and time
And lee thy sweet shade fail
In tenderest grace of soul and form
On memory's frescoed wall,
shadow, and yet all
Draw near, more near, forever dear,
Where'er l rest or roam,
Or in the crowded city streets
or by the blown sea-f0am,
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 hair. his curt speech told
The man of action, not of books,
To whom the corners made in gold
Aud stocks were more than seaside hooks.
OF life beneath the life confessed
His song had hinted unawares
OF flowers in tratiic's ledgers pressed,
OF human hearts in Bulls and Bears.
But eyes in vain were turned 10 watch
That face so hard and shrewd and strong;
And ears IN vain grew sharp 20 catch
The meaning of that morning song.
In vain some sweet-voiced querist sought
To sound him, leaving as she came;
Her baited album only caught
A common, unrOmautic name.
No word betrayed the mystery fine
That trembed on the sir gers tongue
he came and went, and left no sign
Behind him save the song he sung.
AJaHtc A0nthly for AuguT.