AND thou art gone, most loved, most honored friend!

No, nevermore thy gentle voice shall blend With air of Earth its pure ideal tones, Binding in one, as with harmonious zones, The heart and intellect. And I no more Shall with thee gaze on that unfathomed deep,

The Human Soul, as when, pushed off the shore,

THE LITTLE BEACH-BIRD

THOU little bird, thou dweller by the sea,
Why takest thou its melancholy voice,
And with that boding cry
Why o'er the waves dost fly?

O, rather, bird, with me

Through the fair land rejoice!

Thy flitting form comes ghostly dim and pale,

As driven by a beating storm at sea;
Thy cry is weak and scared,
As if thy mates had shared
The doom of us: Thy wail,-
What doth it bring to me

?

Thou call'st along the sand, and haunt'st the surge,

Restless and sad; as if, in strange accord With the motion and the roar

Of waves that drive to shore,

One spirit did ye urge

The Mystery - the Word.

Of thousands, thou, both sepulchre and pall,

Old Ocean! A requiem o'er the dead From out thy gloomy cells

A tale of mourning tells, Tells of man's woe and fall, His sinless glory fled.

Then turn thee, little bird, and take thy flight

Where the complaining sea shall sadness bring

Thy spirit never more;

Come, quit with me the shore,
And on the meadows light
Where birds for gladness sing!

IMMORTALITY

AND do our loves all perish with our frames ?

Do those that took their root and put forth buds,

And their soft leaves unfolded in the warmth