XII.

Lo, as a dove when up she springs
To bear thro' Heaven a tale of woe,
Some dolorous message knit below

The wild pulsation of her wings;

Like her I go ; I cannot stay;
I leave this mortal ark behind,
A weight of nerves without a mind,

And leave the cliffs, and haste away

O'er ocean-mirrors rounded large,
And reach the glow of southern skies,
And see the sails at distance rise,

And linger weeping on the marge,

And saying; ‘Comes he thus, my friend ?
Is this the end of all my care 3’
And circle moaning in the air:

“Is this the end? Is this the end ?’

XIII.

Tears of the widower, when he sees
A late-lost form that sleep reveals,
And moves his doubtful arms, and feels

Her place is empty, fall like these;

Which weep a loss for ever new,

A void where heart on heart repobcd;

And, where warm hands havo prest and closed,

Silence, till I be silent too.

Which weep the comrade of my choice,
An awful thought, a life removed,
The human-hearted man I loved,

A Spirit, not a breathing voice.

Come Time, and teach me, many years,

I do not suffer in a dream;

For now so strange do these things soeni,
Mine eyes have leisure for their tears;

My fancies time to rise on wing,

And glance about tho approaching sails,
As tho' they brought but merehants' bales,

And not the burthen that they uring.

XIV.

If one should bring me this report,
That thou hadst touch'd the land to-day,
And I went down unto the quay,

And found thee lying in the port;

And standing, muffled round with woe, Should see thy passengers in rank Come stepping lightly down the plank,

And beckoning unto those they know;

And if along with these should come
The man I held as half-divine;
Should strike a sudden hand in mine,

And ask a thousand things of home;

And I should tell him all my pain,
And how my life had droop'd of late,
And he should sorrow o'er my state

And marvel what possess'd my brain;