I waved her from me, and she waned; I saw not, know not, how, or where; A single pitying look she deigned, Then, vanished into air. Then came a sudden shock and crash: In frantic haste I clasped A fragment of a shattered mast; I saw the boiling breakers flash, And sense and memory passed. When I revived, the noon-day sun Lay swooning on the sultry sand: I was the only human one That ever touched the strand. The very birds that sported round Screamed when they neared the shore; The trackless sands were gray and hoar; Nor shrub, nor grass relieved the ground, Which nothing living bore. We were alone—I and my soul— A timid, trembling, guilty pair, Already near our earthly goal, And livid with despair: Six weary days, six sleepless nights, We walked the painful Past: Our crimes, like ghosts, arose and cast Their glances on us: ah, what sights And scenes were in that Past! But when the moon lies on the sea, The seraph soul of Geraldine Night after night comes down to me, Walking its waves of green. Hunger and thirst like phantoms seem Before her pitying eyes, As pointing always to the skies, She wanes and vanishes like a dream— She and her pitying eyes. I feel that I shall die to-night; Death seems already at my heart; My soul has plumed its wings for flight, And struggles to depart. I only wait for Geraldine To take me by the hand And lead me to that blesséd band, Whose forms in visions I have seen, Walking the Better Land. * * * * * SONNETS.—AT TWILIGHT. BY CHARLES R. CLARKE. I. THE day-god lingers in the waking west, And as I gaze upon his burning brow My truant, willful thoughts abide no rest, But wander forth in search of those who now, Like me, engage perchance an idle hour In still more idle speculation, whence, (E’en as the case may be,) yon orb of power Steals, begs, or borrows his magnificence:— And as he slowly wades beyond our sight, Methinks I hear him likened to a king, On rosy couch retiring for the night, Till morning stars, mild chanticleers, shall sing: O cruel thought! to bid him sleep in state While half the world still for their coffee wait. II.