POETRY.

Globe, Volume XXIV, Issue 2506, 19 April 1882, Page 4

POETRY.

WILD WEATHER OUTSIDE. Wild weather outside where the brave ships go, And fierce from all quarter# the four winds blow— Wild weather and cold, and the great waves swell, With chasms beneath them as black as hell. The waters frolic in Titan play. They dash the decks with an icy spray, The spent sails shiver, and lithe masts reel, And the sheeted ropes are a# smooth as steel. And oh that the sailor were safe onoe more Where the sweet wife smiles ia the cottage door I The little cottage, it shines afar O’er the lurid seas like the polar star. The mariner, tossed in the jaws of death. Hurls at the storm a defiant breath ; Shouts to his mates through the writhing foam, ** Courage 1 please God, wo shall yet win home !” Frozen and haggard, and wan and gray, But resolute still—’tis the sailor’s way. And perhaps—at the fancy the stern eyes dim— Somebody’s praying to-night for him. Ah, me, through the drench of rain How bright the picture that rise# plain ? Sure he can see with his merry look. His little maid crooning her spelling book ; The baby crows from the cradle fair; The grandam nods in her easy chair; While hither and yon, with a quiet grace, A woman flits, with an earnest face. The kitten purrs, and the kettle sings, And a nameless comfort the picture brings. Bough weather outside, but the winds of balm Forever float o’er that isle of calm. O friends who reod over tea and toast Of the wild night’s work on the storm-swept coast, Think, when the vessels are overdue, Of the perilous voyage, the baffled crew, Of stout hearts battling for love and homo 'Mid the cruel blasts and the curdling foam, And breathe a prayer from your happy lips For those who must go “ to the sea in ■hips ; ” Ask that the sailor may stand onoe more, Where the sweet wife smiles in the cottage door. —“Harper'z Magazine.

A ROMANCE ENDED. And this is tlje end of it all It rounds the year’s completeness: Only a walk to the stile through fields afoam with sweetness ; Only the sunset light, purple and rod on the river, And a lingering, low-night that moans goodbye forever.

So be it! and God be with you ! It had been perhaps more kind Had you sooner (pardon the word) been sure of knowing your mind. Who can bear so much in youth—who cares for a swift, sharp pain ? And the two-edged sword of truth outs deep, but it leaves no stain!

J shall just go back to my work, to my little household cares, That never make any ahow. By time, perhaps in my prayers I may think of you! for the rest, on this woy we’ve trodden together My foot shall fall as lightly as if my heart were a feather—

And not a woman’s heart! strong to have and to keep, Patient when children cry, soft to lull them to sleep; Hiding its secret close, glad when another’s hand Finds for itself a gem where hers found only sand.

Good-bye The year has been bright I As oft as the blossoms oomo, The peach with its waxen pink, tho waving snow of the plum, I shall think how I used to watob, so happy to see you pass, I could almost kiss the print of your foot on tho dewy grass.

I not ashamed of my love I Yet I would not have yours now. Though you laid it down at my feet. I could not stoop so low. A love is but half a love that contents itself with less Than love’s utmost faith, and trnth, and unwavering tenderness.

Only this walk to the stile : this parting word by the river, That flows so quiet and oold, going and flowing forever. “ Good-bye !’’ Let me wait to hear the last, last sound of his feet! Ah me! but I think in this life of ours the bitter outweighs the sweet.