Rising like islands from beneath,
And snorting through the angry spray, 70
As the frail vessel perisheth
In the whirls of their unwieldy play;
  Look down!  Look down! 
Upon the seaweed, slimy and dark,
That waves its arms so lank and brown,
    Beckoning for thee! 
Look down beneath thy wave-worn bark
    Into the cold depth of the sea! 
  Look down!  Look down! 
    Thus, on Life’s lonely sea, 80
    Heareth the marinere
    Voices sad, from far and near,
    Ever singing full of fear,
    Ever singing drearfully.

  Here all is pleasant as a dream;
The wind scarce shaketh down the dew,
The green grass floweth like a stream
    Into the ocean’s blue;
      Listen!  Oh, listen! 
Here is a gush of many streams,
  A song of many birds, 91
And every wish and longing seems
Lulled to a numbered flow of words,—­
      Listen!  Oh, listen! 
Here ever hum the golden bees
Underneath full-blossomed trees,
At once with glowing fruit and flowers crowned;—­
So smooth the sand, the yellow sand,
That thy keel will not grate as it touches the land;
All around with a slumberous sound, 100
The singing waves slide up the strand,
And there, where the smooth, wet pebbles be,
The waters gurgle longingly,
As If they fain would seek the shore,
To be at rest from the ceaseless roar,
To be at rest forevermore,—­
        Forevermore. 
    Thus, on Life’s gloomy sea,
    Heareth the marinere
    Voices sweet, from far and near, 110
    Ever singing in his ear,
    ‘Here is rest and peace for thee!’

IRENE

Hers is a spirit deep, and crystal-clear;
Calmly beneath her earnest face it lies,
Free without boldness, meek without a fear,
Quicker to look than speak its sympathies;
Far down into her large and patient eyes
I gaze, deep-drinking of the infinite,
As, in the mid-watch of a clear, still night,
I look into the fathomless blue skies.

So circled lives she with Love’s holy light,
That from the shade of self she walketh free; 10
The garden of her soul still keepeth she
An Eden where the snake did never enter;
She hath a natural, wise sincerity,
A simple truthfulness, and these have lent her
A dignity as moveless as the centre;
So that no influence of our earth can stir
Her steadfast courage, nor can take away
The holy peacefulness, which night and day,
Unto her queenly soul doth minister.

Most gentle is she; her large charity 20
(An all unwitting, childlike gift in her)
Not freer is to give than meek to bear;
And, though herself not unacquaint with care,
Hath in her heart wide room for all that be,—­
Her heart that hath no secrets of its own,
But open is as eglantine full blown. 
Cloudless forever is her brow serene,
Speaking calm hope and trust within her, whence
Welleth a noiseless spring of patience,
That keepeth all her life so fresh, so green 30
And full of holiness, that every look,
The greatness of her woman’s soul revealing,
Unto me bringeth blessing, and a feeling
As when I read in God’s own holy book.