Full short his journey was; no dust Of earth unto his sandals clave; The weary weight that old men must, He bore not to the grave. He seemed a cherub who had lost his way And wandered hither, so his stay With us was short, and 'twas most meet That he should be no delver in earth's clod Nor need to pause and cleanse his feet To stand before his God: O blest word--Evermore! 1839. THE SIRENS. The sea is lonely, the sea is dreary, The sea is restless and uneasy; Thou seekest quiet, thou art weary, Wandering thou knowest not whither;-- Our little isle is green and breezy, Come and rest thee! O come hither; Come to this peaceful home of ours, Where evermore The low west-wind creeps panting up the shore To be at rest among the flowers; Full of rest, the green moss lifts, As the dark waves of the sea Draw in and out of rocky rifts, Calling solemnly to thee With voices deep and hollow,-- "To the shore Follow! O, follow! To be at rest forevermore! Forevermore!" Look how the gray old Ocean From the depth of his heart rejoices, Heaving with a gentle motion, When he hears our restful voices; List how he sings in an under-tone, Chiming with our melody; And all sweet sounds of earth and air Melt into one low voice alone, That murmurs over the weary sea, And seems to sing from everywhere,-- "Here mayst thou harbor peacefully, Here mayst thou rest from the aching oar; Turn thy curvèd prow ashore, And in our green isle rest for evermore! Forevermore!" And Echo half wakes in the wooded hill, And, to her heart so calm and deep, Murmurs over in her sleep, Doubtfully pausing and murmuring still, "Evermore!" Thus, on Life's weary sea, Heareth the marinere Voices sweet, from far and near, Ever singing low and clear, Ever singing longingly.