And fairer she, but ah how soon to die! Her quiet dream of life this hour may cease. Her peaceful being slowly passes by To some more perfect peace. THE SAILOR BOY He rose at dawn and, fired with hope, Shot o'er the seething harbour-bar, And reach'd the ship and caught the rope, And whistled to the morning star. And while he whistled long and loud 'O boy, tho' thou art young and proud, I see the place where thou wilt lie. The sands and yeasty surges mix And on thy ribs the limpet sticks, And in thy heart the scrawl shall play.' 'Fool,' he answer'd, 'death is sure To those that stay and those that roam, But I will nevermore endure To sit with empty hands at home. THE ISLET. 'WHITHER, O whither, love, shall we go, For a score of sweet little summers or so?' The sweet little wife of the singer said, On the day that follow'd the day she was wed, Whither, O whither, love, shall we go?' And the singer shaking his curly head Turn'd as he sat, and struck the keys There at his right with a sudden crash, Singing, And shall it be over the seas With a crew that is neither rude nor rash, But a bevy of Eroses apple-cheek'd, In a shallop of crystal ivory-beak'd, With a satin sail of a ruby glow, To a sweet little Eden on earth that I know, A mountain islet pointed and peak'd; 'Thither, O thither, love, let us go.' 'No, no, no! For in all that exquisite isle, my dear, |