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SPREAD, spread thy silver wings, oh
Look how my Dove soars far away;
Is rest where cloudlets slowly creep, And sobbing winds forget to grieve, And quiet waters gently heave, As if they rocked the ship to sleep?
Ah no! that southern vapour white
The battle-field lies still and cold,
Nay, though they dream of no alarm,
Pause where the Pilgrims' day is done,
Where scrip and staff aside are laid,
And, resting in the silent shade,
They watch the slowly sinking sun.
Then find a soul who meets at last
A noble prize but hard to gain,
Or joy long pleaded for in vain,
Now sweeter for a bitter past.
Ah no! for Time can rob her yet,
Then Death will come, and, unrelenting,
Seek farther, farther yet, oh Dove!
Beyond the Land, beyond the Sea,
There shall be rest for thee and me,
For thee and me and those I love.
It is not marred by outward strife,
It is not lost in calm repose,
It heedeth neither joys nor woes,
Is not disturbed by death or life;
Through, and beyond them, lies our Best:
THE TYRANT AND THE CAPTIVE.
T was midnight when I listened,
And I heard no steps depart,
Thus the stern Voice spake in triumph:—
"I have shut your life away From the radiant world of nature,
And the perfumed light of day. You, who loved to steep your spirit
In the charm of Earth's delight,
And no sweetness of the night."
But the soft Voice answered calmly:
"Nay, for when the March winds bring Just a whisper to my window,
I can dream the rest of Spring; And to-day I saw a Swallow
Flitting past my prison bars, And my cell has just one corner
Whence at night I see the stars."
But its bitter taunt repeating,
Cried the harsh Voice:—" Where are theyAll the friends of former hours,
Who forget your name to-day? All the links of love are shattered,
Which you thought so strong before; And your very heart is lonely,
And alone since loved no more."
But the low Voice spoke still lower :—
Of my love is purer, stronger,
They remember me no longer,