My Arthur! whom I shall not see Till all my widow'd race be run ; Dear as the mother to the son, More than my brothers are to me. X. I HEAR the noise about thy keel; I see the cabin-window bright; I see the sailor at the wheel. Thou bringest the sailor to his wife, And travell❜d men from foreign lands; And letters unto trembling hands; And, thy dark freight, a vanish'd life. So bring him we have idle dreams : To rest beneath the clover sod, That takes the sunshine and the rains, The chalice of the grapes of God; Than if with thee the roaring wells Should gulf him fathom deep in brine; And hands so often clasp'd in mine, Should toss with tangle and with shells. XI. CALM is the morn without a sound, And only thro' the faded leaf Calm and deep peace on this high wold, And on these dews that drench the furze, And all the silvery gossamers That twinkle into green and gold : Calm and still light on yon great plain That sweeps with all its autumn bowers, And crowded farms and lessening towers, To mingle with the bounding main : Calm and deep peace in this wide air, These leaves that redden to the fall; And in my heart, if calm at all, If any calm, a calm despair: |