A sterner nature marks the land,
  The soft blue airs of spring-time sleep,
The Summer trips it, hand in hand,
  With Autumn o’er the distant deep.

Where lift the dim, perpetual isles
  Their purple ensigns of the youth
That ever dimples, romps and smiles
  Beyond the wrinkled pale of ruth.

And deep within the wooded lane
  The oak and pine, in plaintive call,
Unto the wintry tide complain,
  As leaves and brown nuts constant fall.

They wait their crowns, the naked kings! 
  And down the avenues of night
The frosty god, December, brings
  Them glistening diadems of white.

White petals of the virgin snow,
  With sprigs of ivy here and there,
They deck the forest monarch’s brow,
  While breezes whistle through his hair.

A sterner nature marks the soul,
  Men’s lips draw near the cup of life,
They wait to hear the centuries’ roll
  That bring the kingly crowns of strife.

The spring-time months and summer years
  Beside the Autumn days are laid,
Beneath the grave of conquered fears,
  Beneath the sloping hill-side’s shade.

And deeper joy, serener faith,
  Spring forth the golden crowns to grasp,
While death, the monarch, gently lay’th
  Upon their brows a kinglier clasp.

They wait no more the golden crown;
  Men, trees, the careless days of strife,
Drift onward to the far, sweet town,—­
  God’s kingdom of eternal life.

SEA ECHOES.

I walk not by the sounding sea;
  I dwell full many leagues from shore
And still an echo drifts to me
  Of the eternal, constant roar
Of waves, that beetle past the crags
  And moan in weary flights of song
Where wet sea moss and coral drags
  The shiny lengths of sand along.

I see beyond the friendly vales,
  And grand old hills that guard my home,
To where the seaward petrel sails
  And storm winds of the Northland moan. 
I live again in brighter days,
  New-born from dreams of the dead past,
When she and I stood there to gaze
  At sparkling hull, and spar, and mast

Of some staunch sea-craft bound amain
  At will of wayward wind and fate,
Deep plunging in the waves to gain
  Some northern isle, or rich estate
Of palm and pine in southward clime,
  Where all day long the playful air
Pranks with the grizzled beard of time
  And paints his hoary visage fair.

Within the dim, old forests here,
  I wander now long leagues from shore,
And still the old song haunts my ear,
  The century singing ocean’s roar;
And now I know, fond soul of love;
  Why still the murmurous echoes live,
And sound for aye the hills above
  That back to earth the music give;

She, too, walked there in dreams with me,
  In love’s sweet unity we trod
The moon-bathed sands, and swore to be
  Forever true before our God. 
I see it still, her pale, calm face,
  With angel love-light in her eyes,
And ever there, beside such grace,
  A dim, sweet token of surprise.