THE SHRINE.

'Twould be that one, so soft and fair,

That standeth by old Syracuse,
Just where those salt sea waters take
The likeness of an inland lake.

Green-tendrilled plants, in many a ring,
Creep round the grey stone tenderly,
As though in very love to cling

And clasp it-while the reverent sea
A fond uplooking wave doth bring,
To break, anon, submissively;
As if it came that brow to greet,
Then whisper praise beneath thy feet.

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,
A mother, with her children three-
And they have made the holy sign,

And they have dropped on bended knee;
Three in the lowly rite combine,
And one is cradled peacebly-

That mother's heart hath business here,
For she doth love the mariner.

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,
You see her here, and not alone-
Her children, in the sweet blue light,

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,
As unrocked cradle by her side.

Bland omen doth that vessel bring-
"As smoothly sails his vessel now!"
And mark how hope and fondness cling
Around the elder maiden's brow;
The while on that dear younger thing,
Too young to frame itself a vow,
The mother thoughtful hand doth lay,
And timely teacheth how to pray!

As homeward now their way they trace,
Their bosoms own no anxious smart;
For they have seen that blessed face,
And felt how SHE can calm impart,
Who, though in heaven's supremest place,
Bears, as on earth, a woman's heart;
And know that SHE will guard him-She!
Mother of Him who walked the sea!

And if at last those hopes deceive,
Yet be our reasoning scorn represt;
Nay-since 'tis sweet to those who grieve,
To dream of comfort and of rest-

81

Forgive them, if they do believe,

And, leaning on that Mother Blest,
Link earth below to heaven above
By tender ties of human love.

J. KENYON.

THE BRIDE'S DEPARTURE.

QUICK! to the Port! adown the seaward stair
Are laid rich tissues for a bridal guest:
Yon merry gondolier, whom seeks he there,
With gilded oar, and prow with garlands
dress'd?

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.
Who hath seen him-Cousin, thou?—
Strange! that he hath come and gone,
While his gay emprise pursuing,

Hidden thus from all but one!-
For a love not lightly won,

Say, was e'er such secret wooing?