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MADONNA, wherefore hast thou sent to me

Sweet basil and mignonette ?
Embleming love and health, which never yet
In the same wreath might be.

Alas, and they are wet !
Is it with thy kisses or thy tears?

For never rain or dew

Such fragrance drew From plant or flower the


doubt endears My sadness ever new, The sighs I breathe, the tears I shed for thee.


UNFATHOMABLE Sea ! whose waves are years,

Ocean of Time, whose waters of deep woe Are brackish with the salt of human tears!

Thou shoreless flood, which in thy ebb and flow Claspest the limits of mortality !

And sick of prey, yet howling on for more,
Vomitest thy wrecks on its inhospitable shore;
Treacherous in calm, and terrible in storm,

Who shall put forth on thee,
Unfathomable Sea ?

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II. “ Our boat has one sail, And the helmsman is pale ;

A bold pilot I trow,
Who should follow us now,"

Shouted He

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And she cried : “Ply the oar !
Put off gaily from shore !”.
As she spoke, bolts of death
Mixed with hail, specked their path

O'er the sea.

And from isle, tower and rock,
The blue beacon cloud broke,
And though dumb in the blast,
The red cannon flashed fast

From the lee.


“And fear'st thou, and fear'st thou ?
And see'st thou, and hear'st thou?
And drive we not free
O'er the terrible sea,

I and thou?"

One boat-cloak did cover
The loved and the lover -
Their blood beats one measure,
They murmur proud pleasure
Soft and low;

While around the lashed Ocean,
Like mountains in motion,
Is withdrawn and uplifted,
Sunk, shattered and shifted

To and fro.


In the court of the fortress
Beside the pale portress,
Like a blood-hound well beaten,
The bridegroom stands, eaten

By shame;
On the topmost watch-turret,
As a death-boding spirit,
Stands the grey tyrant father,
To his voice the mad weather

Seems tame;


And with curses as wild
As e'er clung to child,
He devotes to the blast
The best, loveliest and last

Of his name !



RARELY, rarely, comest thou,

Spirit of Delight !
Wherefore hast thou left me now

Many a day and night? Many a weary night and day 'Tis since thou art fled away.


How shall ever one like me

Win thee back again?
With the joyous and the free

Thou wilt scoff at pain.
Spirit false ! thou hast forgot
All but those who need thee not.



As a lizard with the shade

Of a trembling leaf,
Thou with sorrow art dismayed ;

Even the sighs of grief
Reproach thee, that thou art not near,
And reproach thou wilt not hear.

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