THE SHRINE. 'Twould be that one, so soft and fair, That standeth by old Syracuse, Green-tendrilled plants, in many a ring, And clasp it-while the reverent sea When suns, that sink in twilight clear, Forth from the city tempt to roam, Be mine to meet mild evening here, And muse on friends I've left at home. But she who loves the mariner, Shall yet more duly hither come, Where fitly thou art held to be Our Guardian Lady of the Sea. THE SHRINE. PART II. SHE Cometh to the seaward shrine, And they have dropped on bended knee; That mother's heart hath business here, Her gallant boy is on the deep She loves him more that he is brave; Yet when around Peloro's steep The midnight surges leap and rave, What marvel if a mother weep, And thinking on the tropic wave, Doth flee to thee, O Mother mild! Thou Mother of the Blessed Child! Through winds, that sweep like hurricane, And deadly lightning's lurid light, She speedeth to the pillared fane, Where thou dost stand in silver bright. If solace but for him she gain, What should a mother's soul affright! And now the porch-way she doth win, And through the portal glideth in. I love the ever-open door, That welcomes to the house of God! I love its wide-spread marble floor, By every foot in freedom trod! Free altars let me kneel beforeFree as the pathway or the sod, Whence journeying pilgrim, 'mid broad air, Wafts unpremeditated prayer! She prayeth 'mid the silent pile Her whispers round the columns creep; She prayeth all alone, the while Her babes at home securely sleep; Their brother loved to see her smile She would not they should see her weep; Youth's rightful joys she will not dim With tears-not even tears for him! But now, when eve is calm and bright, Are with her by the sculptured stone; THE SHRINE, With her they share a soothing sight, Yon scarce-stirred bark-the only one Almost as still, on that still tide, Bland omen doth that vessel bring- As homeward now their way they trace, And if at last those hopes deceive, 81 Forgive them, if they do believe, And, leaning on that Mother Blest, J. KENYON. THE BRIDE'S DEPARTURE. QUICK! to the Port! adown the seaward stair The Flower of Venice! Princes sued to wear That maiden rose :-and on a stranger's breast She folds her sweetness! Hasten! he hath been Too bold, too blest, to bear her forth unseen! So in truth a noble brow, Manly form, and gracious bearing, With a joyful glance, and daring! Such a gallant wight, I vow, Maiden would not leave despairing. Hidden thus from all but one!- Say, was e'er such secret wooing? |