With the rest
She came to fill my heart with new surprise.
The day I left them all and sailed away,
While o'er the calm sea, 'neath the soft gray sky
They waved farewell, she followed me to say
Yet once again her wistful, sweet "good by."
At the boat's bow she drooped; her light green dress
Swept o'er the skiff in many a graceful fold,
Her glowing face, bright with a mute caress,
Crowned with her lovely hair of shadowy gold:
And tears she dropped into the crystal brine
For me, unworthy, as we slowly swung
Free of the mooring. Her last look was mine,
Seeking me still the motley crowd among.
O tender memory of the dead I hold
So precious through the fret and change of years!
Were I to live till Time itself grew old,
The sad sea would be sadder for those tears.
[Footnote 100: A native of New Hampshire; long resident on the Isles of
Shoals, and remarkable for her vivid pictures of ocean life, in both
prose and verse.]
* * * * *
=_Theophilus H. Hill.[101] 1836-._=
From "The Song of the Butterfly."
=_426._=
When the shades of evening fall,
Like the foldings of a pall,--
When the dew is on the flowers,
And the mute, unconscious hours,
Still pursue their noiseless flight
Through the dreamy realms of night,
In the shut or open rose
Ah, how sweetly I repose!
* * * * *
And Diana's starry train,
Sweetly scintillant again,
Never sleep while I repose
On the petals of the rose.
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