OUTRE MER.
But to return to Kendall. My Correspondent, W.C. Melville, from whose letters I have already quoted so copiously, afterwards posted to me "Outre Mer," which was not, I think, to be found in any of the volumes of poetry edited at that time, but which is the concluding poem of the volume "Kendall's Poems," edited long after the time we are speaking of here. Mr. Melville wrote: "The poet's own requiem might be fitly sung in his own exquisite words written about six years before his death, beginning:
"I see as in a dreamscape,
A broad, bright, quiet sea;
And over it a haven,
The only home for me.
Some men grow strong with trouble,
But all my strength is past,
And tired and full of sorrow,
I long to sleep at last.
By force of change and changes,
Man's life is hard at best;
And seeing rest is voiceless,
The dearest thing is rest.
Beyond the sea—behold it,
The home I wish to seek,
The refuge of the weary,
The solace of the weak!
Sweet angel fingers beckon,
Sweet angel voices ask
My soul to cross the waters;
And yet I dread the task."
"Poor Kendall! at last, he did dare the task of crossing the waters. Let us think that he has there found the rest pictured in his dreamscape, and that 'safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution.'
"He lies, whom we call dead."
