of old, The brother whose eyes were a glimpse of the skies, The sister with ringlets of gold; And Father comes late to the path at the gate, As he did when the fishing was o'er, And the echoes ring out, at our welcoming shout, From the little old house by the shore. But the night-wind has blown and the vision has flown, And the sound of the children is still, And the shadowy mist, like a spirit, has kissed The graves by the church on the hill; But softly, afar, sing the waves on the bar, A song of the sunshine of yore:   A lullaby deep for the loved ones who sleep Near the little old house by the shore.  

 

     WHEN THE TIDE GOES OUT 

  When the tide goes out, how the foam-flakes dance Through the wiry sedge-grass near the shore; How the ripples spark in the sunbeam's glance, As they madly tumble the pebbles o'er! The barnacled rocks emerging seem, As their beards of seaweed are tossed about, Like giants who wake from a troubled dream And laugh for joy when the tide goes out. When the tide goes out, how the shining sands, Like silver, glisten, and gleam, and glow; How the sea-gulls whirl, in their joyous bands, O'er the shoals where the breakers come and go!   The coal-black driftwood, gleaming wet, Relic of by-gone vessel stout, With its clinging shells, seems a bar of jet, Studded with pearls, when the tide goes out. When the tide goes out, how the breezes blow The nodding plumes of the pine-trees through; How the far-off ships, like flakes of snow, Are lightly sprinkled upon the blue! The Sea, as he moves in his slow retreat, Like a warrior struggling for each redoubt, But with flashing lances the sand-bars meet And drive him back, when the tide goes out. When the tide goes out, how each limpid pool Reflects the sky and the fleecy cloud; How the rills, like children set free from school, Prattle and plash and sing aloud! The shore-birds cheerily call, the while They dart and circle in merry rout,—   The face of the ocean seems to smile And the earth to laugh, when the tide goes out. When the tide goes out, as the years roll by, And Life sweeps on to the outer bar, And I feel the chill of the depths that lie Beyond the shoals where the breakers are, I will not rail at a kindly Fate, Or welcome Age with a peevish pout, But still, with a heart of Youth, await The final wave, when the tide goes out.  

 

     THE WATCHERS 

 Prev. P 52/61 next