Reveal thy couch. Fit emblems of the frail,
And the immortal.
But that bitter grief
Which holds stern vigil o'er the mouldering clay,
Keeping long night-watch with its sullen lamp
Had fled thy tomb, and Faith did lift its eye
Full of sweet tears: for when warm tear-drops gush
From the pure memories of a love that wrought
For other's happiness and rose to take
Its own full share of happiness above,
Are they not sweet?
NAHANT.
When fervid summer crisps the shrinking nerve,
And every prismed rock doth catch the ray
As in a burning glass, 'tis wise to seek
This city of the wave. For here the dews
With which Hygeia feeds the flower of life
Are ever freshening in their secret founts.
Here may'st thou talk with Ocean, and no ear
Of gossip islet on thy words shall feed.
Send thy free thought upon the winged winds,
That sweep the castles of an older world,
And what shall bar it from their ivyed heights?
—'Tis well to talk with Ocean. Man may cast
His pearl of language on unstable hearts,
And thriftless sower! reap the winds again.
But thou, all-conquering element, dost grave
