A Greyport Legend. (1797.) THEY ran through the streets of the seaport town, "Ho, Starbuck and Pinckney and Tenterden ! Scatter your boats on the lower bay. Good cause for fear! In the thick mid-day Said a hard-faced skipper, "God help us all! And she lifted a quavering voice and high, Till they shuddered and wondered at her side. The fog drove down on each labouring crew, And they felt the breath of the downs, fresh blown But not from the lips that had gone before. They come no more. But they tell the tale, That, when fogs are thick on the harbour reef, The mackerel fishers shorten sail; For the signal they know will bring relief: For the voices of children, stili at play In a phantom hulk that drifts alway Through channels whose waters never fail It is but a foolish shipman's tale, But still, when the mists of doubt prevail, THEY say A Newport Romance. that she died of a broken heart (I tell the tale as 'twas told to me); But her spirit lives, and her soul is part Of this sad old house by the sea. Her lover was fickle and fine and French: When he sailed away from her arms-poor wench !— I marvel much what periwigged phrase At what golden-laced speech of those modish days But she kept the posies of mignonette That he gave; and ever as their bloom failed Till one night, when the sea-fog wrapped a shroud Round spar and spire and tarn and tree, Her soul went up on that lifted cloud From this sad old house by the sea. And ever since then, when the clock strikes two, The delicate odour of mignonette, The ghost of a dead and gone bouquet, Is all that tells of her story; yet, Could she think of a sweeter way? I sit in the sad old house to-night,- For the laugh is fled from porch and lawn, Somewhere in the darkness a clock strikes two; The light of my study-lamp streams out From the library door, but has gone astray In the depths of the darkened hall. But the Quakeress knows the way. Small doubt Was it the trick of a sense o'erwrought |