"Is he watching, through the dark Where a mocking ghostly hand Points a faint and feeble spark Glimmering from the distant land? "Sees he, in this hour of dread, Hearth and home and wife and child? Loved ones who, in summers fled, Clung to him and wept and smiled? "Reeling sinks the fated bark To her tomb beneath the wave: Must he perish in the dark-- Not a hand stretched out to save? "See the spirits, how they crowd! Watching death with eyes that burn! Waves rush in----" she shrieks aloud, Ere her waking sense return. The storm is gone: the skies are clear: Hush'd is that bitter cry of pain: The only sound, that meets her ear, The heaving of the sullen main. Though heaviness endure the night, Yet joy shall come with break of day: She shudders with a strange delight-- The fearful dream is pass'd away. She wakes: the grey dawn streaks the dark: With early song the copses ring: Far off she hears the watch-dog bark A joyful bark of welcoming! _Feb. 23, 1857._ [Illustration] AFTER THREE DAYS. I stood within the gate Of a great temple, 'mid the living stream Of worshipers that thronged its regal state Fair-pictured in my dream. Jewels and gold were there; And floors of marble lent a crystal sheen To body forth, as in a lower air, The wonders of the scene. Such wild and lavish grace Had whispers in it of a coming doom; As richest flowers lie strown about the face Of her that waits the tomb. The wisest of the land Had gathered there, three solemn trysting-days, For high debate: men stood on either hand To listen and to gaze. The aged brows were bent, Bent to a frown, half thought, and half annoy, That all their stores of subtlest argument Were baffled by a boy. In each averted face I marked but scorn and loathing, till mine eyes Fell upon one that stirred not in his place, Tranced in a dumb surprise. Surely within his mind Strange thoughts are born, until he doubts the lore Of those old men, blind leaders of the blind, Whose kingdom is no more. Surely he sees afar A day of death the stormy future brings; The crimson setting of the herald-star That led the Eastern kings. Thus, as a sunless deep Mirrors the shining heights that crown the bay, So did my soul create anew in sleep The picture seen by day. Gazers came and went-- A restless hum of voices marked the spot-- In varying shades of critic discontent Prating they knew not what. "Where is the comely limb, The form attuned in every perfect part, The beauty that we should desire in him?" Ah! Fools and slow of heart! Look into those deep eyes, Deep as the grave, and strong with love divine; Those tender, pure, and fathomless mysteries, That seem to pierce through thine.