And, as she pressed once more the lifeless head to her bosom, Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured, "Father, I thank thee!" STILL stands the forest primeval; but far away from its shadow, ever, Thousands of aching brains, where theirs no longer are busy, Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs have ceased from their labors, Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have completed their journey! Still stands the forest primeval; but under the shade of its Dwells another race, with other customs and language. And by the evening fire repeat Evangeline's story, While from its rocky caverns the deep-voiced, neighbouring ocean Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest. THE SEASIDE AND THE FIRESIDE. 1850. DEDICATION. As one who, walking in the twilight gloom, So walking here in twilight, O my friends! I hear your voices, softened by the distance, And pause, and turn to listen, as each sends His words of friendship, comfort, and assistance. If any thought of mine, or sung or told, Thanks for the sympathies that ye have shown! Thanks for each kindly word, each silent, token, That teaches me, when seeming most alone, Friends are around us, though no word be spoken. Kind messages, that pass from land to land; Kind letters, that betray the heart's deep history, In which we feel the pressure of a hand, One touch of fire,· and all the rest is mystery! Longfellow. I. 22 The pleasant books, that silently among Our household treasures take familiar places, And are to us as if a living tongue Spake from the printed leaves or pictured faces! Perhaps on earth I never shall behold, With eye of sense, your outward form and semblance; Therefore to me ye never will grow old, But live for ever young in my remembrance. Never grow old, nor change, nor pass away! Not chance of birth or place has made us friends, With the same hopes, and fears, and aspirations. Therefore I hope to join your seaside walk, Saddened, and mostly silent, with emotion; Not interrupting with intrusive talk The grand, majestic symphonies of ocean. Therefore I hope, as no unwelcome guest, At your warm fireside, when the lamps are lighted, To have my place reserved among the rest, Nor stand as one unsought and uninvited! BY THE SEASIDE. THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP. "BUILD me straight, O worthy Master! Staunch and strong, a goodly vessel, That shall laugh at all disaster, And with wave and whirlwind wrestle!" The merchant's word Delighted the Master heard; For his heart was in his work, and the heart A quiet smile played round his lips, 10 As the eddies and dimples of the tide Play round the bows of ships, That steadily at anchor ride. And with a voice that was full of glee, And first with nicest skill and art, Its counterpart in miniature; To answer to his inward thought. And he said with a smile, "Our ship, I wis, It was of another form, indeed; 40 Built for freight, and yet for speed, A beautiful and gallant craft; Broad in the beam, that the stress of the blast, Pressing down upon sail and mast, Might not the sharp bows overwhelm; Broad in the beam, but sloping aft With graceful curve and slow degrees, That she might be docile to the helm, And that the currents of parted seas, Closing behind, with mighty force, 50 Might aid and not impede her course. In the ship-yard stood the Master, Covering many a rood of ground, Timber of chestnut, and elm, and oak, And scattered here and there, with these, |