THE PIMPERNEL.
She walks beside the silent shore,
The tide is high, the breeze is still;
Nor ripple breaks the ocean floor,
The sunshine sleeps upon the hill.
The tide is high, the breeze is still;
Nor ripple breaks the ocean floor,
The sunshine sleeps upon the hill.
The turf is warm beneath her feet,
Bordering the beach of stone and shell
And thick about her path the sweet
Red blossoms of the pimpernel.
Bordering the beach of stone and shell
And thick about her path the sweet
Red blossoms of the pimpernel.
"O, sleep not yet, my flower!" she cries,
"Nor prophesy of storm to come;
Tell me that under steadfast skies
Fair winds shall bring my lover home."
"Nor prophesy of storm to come;
Tell me that under steadfast skies
Fair winds shall bring my lover home."
She stoops to gather flower and shell,
She sits, and smiling, studies each;
She hears the full tide rise and swell,
And whisper softly on the beach.
She sits, and smiling, studies each;
She hears the full tide rise and swell,
And whisper softly on the beach.
