TO F. G. ON HIS BIRTHDAY. SUPPOSED TO BE SPOKEN BY HIMSELF. LIGHTLY the clouds of morning float: Half-seen the skylarks soar. A rosy shower yon fisher-boat Scatters with flashing oar: Its nets to spread on shoals remote So quick it flies the shore. If thunder from the changeful West Blacken the rising wave; Back to the port its speed is prest, Before the tempest rave. Beneath the pier behold it rest Safe from the foamy grave. How wilt Thou fare, My little bark, On Life's uncertain sea? Bright is the dawn, and shrill the lark: Yet change and storm must be! Back to the port, when floods are dark, From danger mayst Thou flee? No, never may thy turning prow Recross a billow past: Nor slanting shun the menaced blow Of surge or deepening blast. Onward, still onward, must thou go, Certain to sink at last. Yet there is hope. Let thunder lower, And lightning fire the tides: A Hand of more than mortal power O'er sea and storm presides: At morn, at eve, at midnight hour, Thy helm in secret guides. Serve I but Him, his love shall keep His servant from dismay : And when the waves with victor sweep Rend through thy planks their way, His arm shall snatch me from the deep To worlds of cloudless day. TO A WIFE. ON THE TWENTIETH ANNIVERSARY OF HER MARRIAGE. In twice ten harvests Earth array'd Has hail'd the autumnal sun Since that exulting morn, which made Myself and Mary one. If throngs that morn on British ground Before the altar bow'd, How small an orb would now surround The remnant of the crowd! Of some perchance the Nuptial Day Saw Death the bands divide, And snatch to other worlds away The bridegroom or the bride. Of some a week, a month, a year, Beheld one partner fall; Or, piling households on the bier, Ingulf'd the wreck of all. Like Columns of a Fane o'erthrown On Tadmor's naked sand, In scatter'd pairs, or each alone, The few survivors stand. On us from Him who reigns above And well has Mary's faithful love Her holy pledge redeem'd. With health when Heaven her partner blest, The tear of joy she shed: And, Sickness! when thy couch he prest, Sustain'd his fever'd head. |