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As rose and fell like vacant flames, lone morn

An evening dim,

Ere light had grown articulate in love,

Or silence knew

Herself as worship. Then didst thou ever move

Beneath the blue,

An incommunicable mystery,

About thy shore;

A visible yearning of the earth and sea,

That evermore

Flung out white arms to catch at some far good

Yet unfulfilled,

And failing sobbed and sank in solitude

With heart unstilled;

A voice that ever crying as of old

In deserts dumb,

With hollow tongue reverberate foretold

A Life to come.

ELLICE HOPKINS.

[From The High Tide.]

LO! along the river's bed

A mighty eygre reared his crest,
And uppe the Lindis raging sped.
It swept with thunderous noises loud;
Shaped like a curling snow-white cloud,
Or like a demon in a shroud.

And rearing Lindis backward pressed

Shook all her trembling bankes amaine ;
Then madly at the eygre's breast

Flung uppe her weltering walls again.

Then bankes came downe with ruin and rout-
Then beaten foam flew round about-
Then all the mighty floods were out.

So farre, so fast the eygre drave,

The heart had hardly time to beat,
Before a shallow seething wave

Sobbed in the grasses at oure feet:
The feet had hardly time to flee
Before it brake against the knee,

And all the world was in the sea.

JEAN INGELOW.

[From Gladys and Her Island.]

HE sea

THE

Was filled with light; in clear blue caverns curled The breakers, and they ran, and seemed to romp, As playing at some rough and dangerous game, While all the nearer waves rushed in to help, And all the farther heaved their heads to peep, And tossed the fishing boats.

JEAN INGELOW.

[From Honours, Part i.]

HEN saunter down that terrace whence the sea

TH

All fair with wing-like sails you may discern ;

Be glad, and say, "This beauty is for me—

A thing to love and learn.

"For me the bounding in of tides; for me

The laying bare of sands when they retreat; The purple flush of calms, the sparkling glee When waves and sunshine meet.

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JEAN INGELOW.

[From The Four Bridges.]

"OR I would sail upon the tropic seas,

Where fathom long the blood-red dulses grow,
Droop from the rock and waver in the breeze,
Lashing the tide to foam; while calm below
The muddy mandrakes throng those waters warm,

And purple, gold, and green, the living blossoms swarm."
JEAN INGELOW.

From A Story of Doom, Book i.]

ROLLING among the furrows of the unquiet,

Unconsecrate, unfriendly, dreadful sea.

JEAN INGELOW.

H

[From The Dreams that Came True.]

HE long

THE

Illimitable reaches of "the vasty deep."

JEAN INGELOW.

[From Love the Vampire.]

THE level sands and grey,

Stretch leagues and leagues away,

Down to the border line of sky and foam,

A spark of sunset burns,

The grey tide-water turns,

Back, like a ghost from her forbidden home!

ANDREW LANG.

[From The Sirens.]

HE sea is lonely, the sea is dreary,

THE

The sea is restless and uneasy;

Thou seekest quiet, thou art weary,
Wandering thou knowest not whither ;-
Our little isle is green and breezy,
Come and rest thee! O come hither,
Come to this peaceful home of ours,

Where evermore

The low west-wind creeps panting up the shore

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Look how the grey old Ocean

From the depth of his heart rejoices,
Heaving with a gentle motion,

When he hears our restful voices;
List how he sings in an undertone,
Chiming with our melody;

And all sweet sounds of earth and air
Melt into one low voice alone,

That murmurs over the weary sea,

And seems to sing from everywhere-
"Here mayst thou harbour peacefully,
Here mayst thou rest from the aching oar;
Turn thy curved prow ashore,

And in our green isle rest for evermore!
For evermore!"

And Echo half wakes in the wooded hill,
And, to her heart so calm and deep,
Murmurs over in her sleep,

Doubtfully pausing and murmuring still, "Evermore!"

Thus, on Life's weary sea,

Heareth the marinere

Voices sweet, from far and near,

Ever singing low and clear,

Ever singing longingly.

Is it not better here to be,

Than to be toiling late and soon?

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