A vicious parent shaming still its child, | Three wives sat up in the lighthouse Poor anxious penitence, is quick dis solved ; Its discords quenched by meeting harmonies, Die in the large and charitable air. tower, And they trimmed the lamps as the sun went down, They looked at the squall, and they looked at the shower, And the night rack came rolling up ragged and brown! That watched to ease the burden of the But men must work, and women must Which martyred men have made more And the sooner it's over, the sooner to That purest heaven, - be to other souls The cup of strength in some great agony, Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love, Beget the smiles that have no cruelty, Be the sweet presence of a good diffused, "O MARY, go and call the cattle home, And in diffusion ever more intense! So shall I join the choir invisible, Whose music is the gladness of the world. CHARLES KINGSLEY. [1819-1874.] THE THREE FISHERS. THREE fishers went sailing out into the west, Out into the west as the sun went down ; And call the cattle home, And call the cattle home, Across the sands of Dee"; The western wind was wild and dank wi' foam, And all alone went she. The western tide crept up along the sand, And o'er and o'er the sand, And round and round the sand, As far as eye could see. The rolling mist came down and hid the land, And never home came she. Each thought on the woman who loved "O, is it weed, or fish, or floating hair, — him the best, And the children stood watching them out of the town; For men must work, and women must weep, And there's little to earn, and many to keep, Though the harbor bar be moaning. A tress o' golden hair, Was never salmon yet that shone so fair They rowed her in across the rolling foam, The cruel crawling foam, The cruel hungry foam, To her grave beside the sea: Of the shearers that I see, Ne'er a body kens me, But still the boatmen hear her call the Though I kent them a' at Strathairly; And this fisher-wife I pass, Can she be the braw lass That I kissed at the back of Strathairly? If no brother's sorrow thou canst lighten That hymn for which the whole world By daily sympathy and gentle tone. longs, A worthy hymn in woman's praise; The best half of creation's best, Its heart to feel, its eye to see, The crown and complex of the rest, Its aim and its epitome. Yet now it is my chosen task To sing her worth as maid and wife; And were such post to seek, I'd ask On wings of love uplifted free, To live her laureate all my life. And by her gentleness made great, I'd teach how noble man should be, To match with such a lovely mate; Until (for who may hope too much From her who wields the powers of love), Our lifted lives at last should touch That lofty goal to which they move: Until we find, as darkness rolls Far off, and fleshly mists dissolve, That nuptial contrasts are the poles On which the heavenly spheres revolve. THE CHASE. SHE wearies with an ill unknown; Within a lonely castle-moat; Within the crescent's gleaming arms, The present shows her heedless eyes A future dim with vague alarms: She sees, and yet she scarcely sees; For, life-in-life not yet begun, Too many are life's mysteries For thought to fix t'ward any one. She's told that maidens are by youths She's sorry that she cannot care. Who's this that meets her on her way? Comes he as enemy, or friend; Or both? Her bosom seems to say He cannot pass, and there an end. Whom does he love? Does he confer His heart on worth that answers his? |