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THE STORM-PAINTER IN HIS DUNGEON. 115

Ye watch-fires of the skies!

The stillness of your eyes

Looks too intensely through my troubled soul;
I feel this weight of rest

An earth-load on my breast

Wake, rushing winds, awake! and, dark clouds, roll!

I am your own, your child,
O ye, the fierce, the wild,

And kingly tempests!-will ye not arise?
Hear the bold spirit's voice,

That knows not to rejoice
But in the peal of your strong harmonies.

By sounding ocean-waves,

And dim Calabrian caves,

And flashing torrents, I have been your mate;
And with the rocking pines.

Of the olden Apennines,

In your dark path stood fearless and elate:

Your lightnings were as rods,

That smote the deep abodes

Of thought and vision-and the stream gush'd free; Come, that my soul again

May swell to burst its chain

Bring me the music of the sweeping sea!

Within me dwells a flame,

An eagle caged and tame,

Till call'd forth by the harping of the blast;
Then is its triumph's hour,

It springs to sudden power,

As mounts the billow o'er the quivering mast.

Then, then, the canvass o'er,
With hurried hand I pour

The lava-waves and guests of my own soul!
Kindling to fiery life

Dreams, worlds, of pictured strife-
Wake, rushing winds, awake! and, dark clouds, roll!

Wake, rise! the reed may bend,

The shivering leaf descend,

The forest branch give way before your might;
But I, your strong compeer,

Call, summon, wait you here-
Answer, my spirit !—answer, storm and night!

THE TWO VOICES.

Two solemn Voices, in a funeral strain,
Met as rich sunbeams and dark bursts of rain
Meet in the sky:

"Thou art gone hence !" one sang; "Our light is flown,
Our beautiful, that seem'd too much our own
Ever to die!

“Thou art gone hence!—our joyous hills among Never again to pour thy soul in song,

When spring-flowers rise!

Never the friend's familiar step to meet

With loving laughter, and the welcome sweet
Of thy glad eyes."

THE TWO VOICES.

117

"Thou art gone home, gone home !" then, high and

clear,

Warbled that other Voice: "Thou hast no tear
Again to shed.

Never to fold the robe o'er secret pain,

Never, weigh'd down by Memory's clouds, again To bow thy head.

"Thou art gone home! oh! early crown'd and blest! Where could the love of that deep heart find rest With aught below?

Thou must have seen rich dream by dream decay, All the bright rose-leaves drop from life awayThrice bless'd to go!"

Yet sigh'd again that breeze-like Voice of grief— "Thou art gone hence! alas! that aught so brief, So loved should be;

Thou tak'st our summer hence !-the flower, the tone The music of our being, all in one,

Depart with thee!

"Fair form, young spirit, morning vision fled!
Canst thou be of the dead, the awful dead?
The dark unknown?

Yes! to the dwelling where no footsteps fall,
Never again to light up hearth or hall,

Thy smile is gone!"

"Home, home!" once more the exulting Voice arose: "Thou art gone home!-from that divine repose Never to roam!

Never to say farewell, to weep in vain,

To read of change, in eyes beloved, again-
Thou art gone home!

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By the bright waters now thy lot is cast-
Joy for thee, happy friend! thy bark hath past
The rough sea's foam!

Now the long yearnings of thy soul are still'd,
Home! home!-thy peace is won, thy heart is fill'd.
Thou art gone home!"

THE PARTING SHIP.

"A glittering ship, that hath the plain
Of ocean for her own domain."

WORDSWORTH.

Go, in thy glory, o'er the ancient sea,

Take with thee gentle winds thy sails to swell; Sunshine and joy upon thy streamers be, Fare-thee-well, bark! farewell!

Proudly the flashing billow thou hast cleft,

The breeze yet follows thee with cheer and song; Who now of storms hath dream or memory left? And yet the deep is strong!

But go thou triumphing, while still the smiles
Of summer tremble on the water's breast!
Thou shalt be greeted by a thousand isles,
In lone, wild beauty drest.

THE PARTING SHIP.

119

To thee a welcome breathing o'er the tide,
The genii groves of Araby shall pour;
Waves that enfold the pearl shall bathe thy side,
On the old Indian shore.

Oft shall the shadow of the palm-tree lie

O'er glassy bays wherein thy sails are furl'd, And its leaves whisper, as the wind sweeps by, Tales of the elder world.

Oft shall the burning stars of Southern skies,
On the mid-ocean see thee chain'd in sleep,
A lonely home for human thoughts and ties,
Between the heavens and deep.

Blue seas that roll on gorgeous coasts renown'd,
By night shall sparkle where thy prow makes way;
Strange creatures of the abyss that none may sound,
In thy broad wake shall play.

From hills unknown, in mingled joy and fear,
Free dusky tribes shall pour, thy flag to mark ;-
Blessings go with thee on thy lone career!
Hail, and farewell, thou bark!

A long farewell!-Thou wilt not bring us back
All whom thou bearest far from home and hearth:
Many are thine, whose steps no more shall track
Their own sweet native earth!

Some wilt thou leave beneath the plantain's shade,

Where through the foliage Indian suns look bright; Some in the snows of wintry regions laid,

By the cold northern light.

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