Tall, sombre, grim, against the morning sky They rise, scarce touched by melancholy airs, Which stir the fadeless foliage dreamfully, As if from realms of mystical despairs. Tall, sombre, grim, they stand with dusky gleams Brightening to gold within the woodland's core, Beneath the gracious noontide's tranquil beams-- But the weird winds of morning sigh no more. A stillness, strange, divine, ineffable, Broods round and o'er them in the wind's surcease, And on each tinted copse and shimmering dell Rests the mute rapture of deep-hearted peace. Last, sunset comes--the solemn joy and might Borne from the West when cloudless day declines-- Low, flutelike breezes sweep the waves of light, And lifting dark green tresses of the pines, Till every lock is luminous--gently float, Fraught with hale odors up the heavens afar To faint when twilight on her virginal throat Wears for a gem the tremulous vesper star. [Illustration: "Tall, sombre, grim, they stand with dusky gleam Brightening to gold within the woodland's core."] IN HARBOR. PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE. I think it is over, over, I think it is over at last, Voices of foeman and lover, The sweet and the bitter have passed-- Life, like a tempest of ocean Hath outblown its ultimate blast. There's but a faint sobbing seaward While the calm of the tide deepens leeward, And behold! like the welcoming quiver Of heart-pulses throbbed thro' the river, Those lights in the harbor at last, The heavenly harbor at last! I feel it is over! over! For the winds and the waters surcease; Ah! few were the days of the rover That smiled in the beauty of peace! And distant and dim was the omen That hinted redress or release. From the ravage of life, and its riot What marvel I yearn for the quiet Which bides in the harbor at last? For the lights with their welcoming quiver That through the sanctified river Which girdles the harbor at last, This heavenly harbor at last? I _know_ it is over, over, I know it is over at last! Down sail! the sheathed anchor uncover, For the stress of the voyage has passed-- Life, like a tempest of ocean Hath outbreathed its ultimate blast. There's but a faint sobbing seaward, While the calm of the tide deepens leeward; And behold! like the welcoming quiver Of heart-pulses throbbed thro' the river, Those lights in the harbor at last, The heavenly harbor at last! * * * * * Transcriber's Notes Spelling, hyphenation, and punctuation inconsistencies have been retained from the original book. Page 10: This is a shortened version of Henry Timrod's poem, and the four dots represent lines missing from the full version.