242 CHARLES D. DRAKE. [1830-40. And his wasted spirit seemed ready to fly, As he said, with faltering breath : " It is hfe to move from the heart's first throes, Through youth and manhood to age's snows, In a ceaseless circle of joys and woes, — It is life to prepare for death ! " TO MRS. GEORGE P. MARSH.* Thou goest to trust thyself to mighty Ocean, While home behind thee lies ; And strange, grand scenes, inspiring strange emotion, Will soon before thee rise. Eternity's great type, with ages hoary, The lone, mysterious Sea, Restless as Time and strong as Death, in glory To thee revealed shall be. Swift winds o'er the drear waste of waters flying May startle thee from sleep, Telling sad stories of the dead and dying They've given to the deep. Through weary nights, and wished, but cheerless mornings, Thy heart may yearn for Home, As deep to deep gives forth unearthly warnings Of evil yet to come : But tremble not ! In that dread hour of sorrow. Thy swelling fears allay ! No night so dark but God can bring a mor- row, No storm but He can stay : No clouds above thee, tempest-torn and lowering. Can hide thee from His eye ; No toppling waves, like mountains o'er thee towering. Can harm when He is nigh: He who to troubled Galilee said mildly " Be still ! " and was obeyed, Can quell the unpitying storm that rages wildly Around thy drooping head.
- On the eve of her departure to Constuntinople, 1849.
LOVE'S CONSTANCY. The flower, that oft beneath the ray Of sunlight warm has bloomed, Will fade and shrink from life away, If to a dungeon doomed. But even there, should chance disclose Some beam of genial light. Its head to that the dying rose Will turn from gloom and night. The chord that, gently touched, will thrill With music's softest strain, If rudely swept, at careless will, Gives forth no note again : But still there lingers on the ear A low, faint, murmuring swell, As if the tone would yet be near, Where once 'twas wont to dwell. So, from the heart that once has known Love's impulse and its power. Though light may be forever flown. As from the imprisoned flower, Forever still its gaze will be Where first was seen its star, As shipwrecked men on shoreless sea Yearn to their homes afar : Still, like the bud that, crushed, will yield Its sweetest fragrance last. The heart that once to love has kneeled Will love though hope be past.
