Of golden "Pactolus," where bathe his waters The bases of Cybele's columns fair, I paced away the hours. In wakeful mood I mused upon the storied past awhile, Watching the moon, that with the same mild eye The dust is old upon my "sandal-shoon," "Thou hast a few names even in Sardis which have not defiled their garments; and they shall walk with me in white; for they are worthy."-REV. iii. 4. My memory with thoughts that can allay Minister to me. But when wearily The mind gives over toiling, and, with eyes Lying awake within their chambers fine, Thought settles like a fountain, clear and calm- ALFORD. HYMN TO THE SEA. WHO shall declare the secret of thy birth, Through the vast silence stirred, Roll back the folded darkness of the primal night? Corruption-like, thou teemedst in the graves Of mouldering systems, with dark weltering waves With inly tossing storm, Unquiet heavings kept-a birth-place and a tomb. Till the life-giving Spirit moved above Warming the hidden seeds of infant light: Through thine abyss was heard, And swam from out thy deeps the young day heavenly bright. Thou and the earth, twin-sisters, as they say, The summer hours away, Curling thy loving ripples up her quiet shore. She is married, a matron long ago, With nations at her side; her milk doth flow Each year; but thee no husband dares to tame; Thy wild will is thine own, Thy sole and virgin throne Thy mood is ever changing-thy resolve the same. Sunlight and moonlight minister to thee; O'er the broad circle of the shoreless sea Heaven's two great lights for ever set and rise; While the round vault above, I gazing down upon thee with his hundred eyes. All night thou utterest forth thy solemn moan, Then in the morning thou dost calmly lie, His day-work hath begun, Under the opening windows of the golden sky. The spirit of the mountain looks on thee With a sight-baffling shroud Mantling the grey-blue islands in the western sky. Sometimes thou liftest up thine hands on high Pierces with deadly chill The wet crew feebly clinging to their shattered mast. Foam-white along the border of the shore Cloaked figures, dim and grey, Through the thick mist of spray, Watching for some struck vessel in the boiling tide. Daughter and darling of remotest eld Time's childhood and Time's age thou hast beheld; His arm is feeble and his eye is dim He tells old tales again He wearies of long pain; Thou art as at the first thou journeyedst not with him. |