Along the Shore

Excerpt

INLET AND SHORE.

Here is a world of changing glow,
  Where moods roll swiftly far and wide;
  Waves sadder than a funeral's pride,
Or bluer than the harebell's blow!

The sunlight makes the black hulls cast
  A firefly radiance down the deep;
  The inlet gleams, the long clouds sweep,
The sails flit up, the sails drop past.

The far sea-line is hushed and still;
  The nearer sea has life and voice;
  Each soul may take his fondest choice,—
The silence, or the restless thrill.

O little children of the deep,—
  The single sails, the bright, full sails,
  Gold in the sun, dark when it fails,
Now you are smiling, then you weep!

O blue of heaven, and bluer sea,
  And green of wave, and gold of sky,
  And white of sand that stretches by,
Toward east and west, away from me!

O shell-strewn shore, that silent hears
  The legend of the mighty main,
  And tells to none the lore again,—
We catch one utterance only: "Years!"

IMPERSONALITY

I dreamed within a dream the sun was gold;
  And as I walked beneath this golden sun,
The world was like a mighty play-room old,
  Made for our pleasure since it was begun.

But when I waked I found the sun was air,
  The world was air, and all things only seemed,
Except the thoughts we grow by; for in prayer
  We change to spirits such as God has dreamed.

Time and I pass to and fro,
Hardly greeting as we go,—
Go askant, like crossing wings
Of sea-gulls where the brave sea sings.

Time, the messenger of Fate!
Cunning master of debate,
Cunning soother of all sorrow,
Ruthless robber of to-morrow;
Tyrant to our dallying feet,
Though patron of a life complete;
Like Puck upon a rosy cloud,
He rides to distance while we woo him,—
Like pale Remorse wrapped in a shroud,
He brings the world in sackcloth to him!
O dimly seen, and often met
As shadowings of a wild regret!
O king of us, yet feebly served;
Dispenser of the dooms reserved;
So silent at the folly done,
So deadly when our respite's gone!—
As sea-gulls, slanting, cross at sea,
So cross our rapid flights with thee.

POWER AGAINST POWER.
[Nathaniel Hawthorne, 1864.]

Where spells were wrought he sat alone,
The wizard touching minds of men
Through far-swung avenues of power,
And proudly held the magic pen.

By the dark wall a white Shape gleams,
By morning's light a Shadow falls!
Is it a servant of his brain,
Or Power that to his power calls?

By morning's light the Shadow looms,
And watches with relentless eyes;
In night-gloom holds the glimmering lamp,
While the pen ever slower flies.

By the dark wall it beckons still,
By evening light it darkly stays;
The wizard looks, and his great life
Thrills with the sense of finished days.

A Shape so ghost-like by the sun,
With smiles that chill as dusks descend!
The glancing wizard, stern and pale,
Admits the presence of the End.

Health has forsaken, death is near,
The hand moves slower, eyes grow dim;
The End approaches, and the man
Dreams of no spell for quelling Him.

LIFE'S PRIESTESS....