SELECTED POETRY.

Mataura Ensign, Volume 7, Issue 409, 14 November 1884, Page 3

SELECTED POETRY.

MARGARET. By hose Hartvvick Thorpe (authoi of " Curfew Must JSot Ring To-Night.") Oh, Margaret, beautiful Margaret. In the hush of Ihe twilight cold. The sun on the glittering throne has set In a cloud of amber and gold, And the great, green waves with their white caps wet O'er the bsach to thy feet have rolled. Oh ! what is the charm of tie great, green sea, The sea with its roar and its gloom 1 The treacherous sea, how it shouts in glee O'er each jewel-decked coral tomb. [ Art waiting the lover who went from the In the light of a golden moon ? Art wailing the lover whose kiss one day Was pressed on thy quivering lips ? The lorer who sailed from your side away In one of tho6e swift-sailing; ships ; O'er th" the waves that bright in the sunshine lay 'Neath the glow of his finger tips ? Whenever the lui'Oi of ihe twilight creeps O'er the earth, with her fair feet wet : When the stars come out and the great world sleeps. ■When the murmuring waters frot Ou the sandy shore, then she comes and weeps, Lonely, sorrowful Margaret. Then she sits 'mid the gleaming sands By the shadowy ivied wall, I And over the cla?p of her trembling hand:? Like a show'r the tear drops fall, 1 While the sea brings whispers o£ far-o.fi: lauds And the blue sky bends over all. " Oh ' bring back my lover to me," she cries, "Must I" die by ihe sea alone ? Oh ! pitiful Father, in Paradise, Stoop down from Thy glorious throne, And grant to the light of my waiting eyes, Oue glimpse of his face, only one." And the sea rolls in with a mighty swell, Will it bring a curse or a crown ? For no echoing murmuring comes to tell OE the home- bound ship that went down 'Mid the hidden reefs, wi*h never a knell From the slumbering harbor town. All about her the water moans and raves, She is drenched with the falling sleet. Something lies dark in the arms of the waves Whsre the sky and the waters meet. Lo ! a victim snatched from the coral graves Is cast on the beach at her 'feet. Oh ! beautiful Margaret, pale and fair, By the sea no longer alone ; For two faces lie in the midnight there With their features like chiseled stone, And the sea weed drifts from his tangled hair To the sunny locks of her own.

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