FOUND DROWNED.
Down past the rushes so dense and dank,
Over the snow-white sands,—
The treacherous, gleaming sands,—
And down the face of the slippery bank
Where the old gray poplar stands,—
We hurried with faces pale and set.
Oh, the steel-blue sky! oh, the cold and wet!
The moon was hidden, the grass was damp
With ghostly fogs, and the wild, fierce tramp
Of the wind swept through the shuddering trees.
Oh, dreary forest! oh, cold, bleak seas!
Over the snow-white sands,—
The treacherous, gleaming sands,—
And down the face of the slippery bank
Where the old gray poplar stands,—
We hurried with faces pale and set.
Oh, the steel-blue sky! oh, the cold and wet!
The moon was hidden, the grass was damp
With ghostly fogs, and the wild, fierce tramp
Of the wind swept through the shuddering trees.
Oh, dreary forest! oh, cold, bleak seas!
The waters gurgled; the tide rushed in,—
In o'er the moaning bar,
The fatal harbor bar,—
And we heard the thunderous roar and din
Of the ocean depths afar.
The gloom grew denser, the night fell down
Over the sea, the harbor, the town;
The wild gull screamed from the craggy rocks,
The fishing-schooners creaked in the docks;
And through the masts of the wreck on the lee
The mad winds shrieked in their fiendish glee.
In o'er the moaning bar,
The fatal harbor bar,—
And we heard the thunderous roar and din
Of the ocean depths afar.
The gloom grew denser, the night fell down
Over the sea, the harbor, the town;
The wild gull screamed from the craggy rocks,
The fishing-schooners creaked in the docks;
And through the masts of the wreck on the lee
The mad winds shrieked in their fiendish glee.
Oh, I remember it all so well!
It is graven on stone,
My heart's cold marble stone,—
So cold it is I shrink to look
Into its chambers lone.
All feeling I had was killed so dead,
I never writhed when the spirit fled.
Oh, the world is a desert! and life is bleak!
If the soul be willing the flesh is weak!
But I'm looking vaguely, sometime, for light,—
In the Hereafter will all be right?
It is graven on stone,
My heart's cold marble stone,—
So cold it is I shrink to look
Into its chambers lone.
All feeling I had was killed so dead,
I never writhed when the spirit fled.
Oh, the world is a desert! and life is bleak!
If the soul be willing the flesh is weak!
But I'm looking vaguely, sometime, for light,—
In the Hereafter will all be right?
Oh, they lifted him tenderly up
From the river's cold bed,—
The cruel, merciless bed!—
And a ray of moonlight pierced the clouds
And touched his drowned head.
They lifted him up with the glittering gold
Of his soft hair dripping with wet and cold,
And his blue eyes open, and fixed, and wide,
And his cheek dead white in the chill salt tide;
And the sweet mouth pale as a thread of mist,—
Oh, God! the mouth I so oft had kissed!
From the river's cold bed,—
The cruel, merciless bed!—
And a ray of moonlight pierced the clouds
And touched his drowned head.
They lifted him up with the glittering gold
Of his soft hair dripping with wet and cold,
And his blue eyes open, and fixed, and wide,
And his cheek dead white in the chill salt tide;
And the sweet mouth pale as a thread of mist,—
Oh, God! the mouth I so oft had kissed!
Drowned! they said; and they tended me
Like as they would a child,—
A pitiful little child.
They smoothed my hair, and spoke kind words,
And I looked up and smiled:
Smiled, because my heart was broke,—
Smiled, in thinking no other stroke
Could ever cause me a single pain;
But life is weary, and death is gain.
Under the poplar gray, by the sea,
They buried him—they will bury me.
Like as they would a child,—
A pitiful little child.
They smoothed my hair, and spoke kind words,
And I looked up and smiled:
Smiled, because my heart was broke,—
Smiled, in thinking no other stroke
Could ever cause me a single pain;
But life is weary, and death is gain.
Under the poplar gray, by the sea,
They buried him—they will bury me.
Ah, it is gloomy, sometimes, and sad,
Tiresome for me to wait,—
In the darkness here to wait,
Before I shall enter in at the courts
That are shut by a golden gate.
I shall see the glory glow of his hair,—
I shall hear his tender voice on the air;
And through the flush of the purple even,
I shall look in the eyes that have looked on heaven!
Patience a little! from over the sea,
Darling, darling, I'm coming to thee!
Tiresome for me to wait,—
In the darkness here to wait,
Before I shall enter in at the courts
That are shut by a golden gate.
I shall see the glory glow of his hair,—
I shall hear his tender voice on the air;
And through the flush of the purple even,
I shall look in the eyes that have looked on heaven!
Patience a little! from over the sea,
Darling, darling, I'm coming to thee!