Poems . ess to express, And leave it still unsaid in part,Or say it in too great excess. 150 13Y THE FIRESIDE. The very tones in which we spake Had something strange, I could but mark :The leaves of memory seemed to make A mournful rustling in the dark. Oft died the words upon our lips, As suddenly, from out the fireBuilt of the wreck of stranded ships, The flames would leap and then expire. And, as their splendour flashed and failed,VVe thought of wrecks upon the main,— Of ships dismasted, that were hailedAnd sent no answer back again. The windows, rattling in their frames,—The ocean, roaring
Poems . ess to express, And leave it still unsaid in part,Or say it in too great excess. 150 13Y THE FIRESIDE. The very tones in which we spake Had something strange, I could but mark :The leaves of memory seemed to make A mournful rustling in the dark. Oft died the words upon our lips, As suddenly, from out the fireBuilt of the wreck of stranded ships, The flames would leap and then expire. And, as their splendour flashed and failed,VVe thought of wrecks upon the main,— Of ships dismasted, that were hailedAnd sent no answer back again. The windows, rattling in their frames,—The ocean, roaring up the beach,— The gusty blast,—the bickering flames,—All mingled vaguely in our speech ; Until they made themselves a part Of fancies floating through the brain,— The long-lost ventures of the heart,That send no answer back again. O flames that glowed ! O hearts that yearned ! They were indeed too much akin,The drift-wood fire without that burned, The thoughts that burned and glowed BY THE FIRESIDE. RESIGNATION. There is no flock, however watched and tended, But one dead lamb is there!There is no fireside, howsoeer defended, But has one vacant chair ! 152 BY THE FIRESIDE. The air is full of farewells to the dying,And mournings for the dead; The heart of Rachel, for her children crying,Will not be comforted. Let us be patient! These severe afflictions Not from the ground arise,But oftentimes celestial benedictions Assume this dark disguise. We see but dimly through the mists and vapours Amid these earthly dampsWhat seem to us but sad, funereal tapers May be Heavens distant lamps. •There is no Death ! What seems so is transition; This life of mortal breathIs but a suburb of the life elysian, Whose portal we call Death. She is not dead,—the child of our affection,— But gone unto that schoolWhere she no longer needs our poor protection, And Christ himself doth rule. In that great cloisters stillness and seclusion, By guardian angels led,Safe from tempta
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