Behold the bier, the ebony bier, — With their ancient garments torn Mourning above the marble dead, How very wan the old man looks! As some dim ghost of shadowy days God give the sleeper hail ! And the world hath much to wail He lieth in eternal rest 1 See BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE, p. 799. Though winter howleth at the gate, In our hearts 't is summer still! For we full many summer joys The rocks, the streams, we dared; Yes, though like sere leaves on the ground, Our early hopes are strown, And cherished flowers lie dead around, And singing birds are flown, The verdure is not faded quite, Not mute all tones that thrill; Fill up! The olden times come back Gone is the winter's angry gloom, Hobert Traill Spence Lowell THE BRAVE OLD SHIP, THE ORIENT The steadying sun heaved up as day drew on, And there grew a long swell of the sea. And, first in upper air, then under, everywhere, From the topmost towering sail The wind began to breathe more free. For a wild and bitter blast Was the master of that stormy day to be. "Ho! Hilloa! A sail!" was the topman's hail: "A sail, hull-down upon our lee!" The Admiral sought what she might be. Was it ship? Was it wreck? A far-off, far-off speck, Of a sudden we found upon our lee. On the round waters wide, floated no thing beside, But we and the stranger sail; And a hazy sky, that threatened storm, When the order came, to wear, Was remembered, ever after, in the tale. Across the long, slow swell That scarcely rose and fell, |