Classic Poem

Alone—alone! I sit, and make my moan.
The fire burns low, the candle flickers dim.
Alone—alone! I rock, and think of him.
Of him who left me in the purple pride
Of early manhood. Yestermorn he went.
The sun shone bright, and scintillant the tide.
O'er which the sea-mew swept, with dewy drops besprent.
Before he went he kissed me; and I watched
His boat that lay so still and stately, till
Automaton she seemed, and that she moved
To where she willed of her own force and law.
But I knew better: his was the will
That set the pretty sprite a-going.
His arms controlled her to obedience:
Those arms that lately clasped me.

No alarms
Chilled my fond heart, nor dimmed my vision.
As I saw the fair white messenger move off
On fleecy puffs of cloud into the blue;
My nearest thought to trim my hearth, and make,
A dainty dish would please my darling's taste
On his return. And all day long, and through
The dreamy summer day, my thoughts were full
Of many a gay return; my ears reheard
The cheery word and joke were wont to mark them.
Nor when the sun went down in wrack and mist—
A mist that gathers who knows how or where?—
Feared I of aught. My little hearth burned bright.
The kettle sang, and pussy purred and napped;
And—rocking to and fro, as I do now,
I hummed a little song; one he , had sung
In other days, and with the manly tones
Had stolen my heart away.
The hearth burned low; I ate my meal alone,
And something like a fear I chased away,
Despite the deepening surges of the wind
That scurried round our cot.
I slept: and waked
What time the summer storm, that rose and fell
In sullen gusts, flew by; and slept again,
And dreamed a glad return. When morning broke
A glorious day begun. The storm was gone:
The sparkling waves toyed with the lilting breeze;
The merry sun shone bright; and all the blue
Was decked with tiny flecks of feathery white.
A gladsome morn! But I, I missed my love.

And now they say he's dead. Lost, with his boat,
In that short summer storm of yesternight.
Lost! lost ! my love is lost! No more may I
Welcome his step, hear his glad voice, and kiss
His laughing lips. I may not even clasp
His cold dead form in one long, last embrace!
And here I sit alone.—
I drove them all away, their words but maddened me.
Alone I sit,
And rock, and think,—I cannot weep—
And conjure up the depths, those cruel depths
That chafe and fret, and roll him to and fro
Like a stray log:—he, whose dear limbs should lie
Peaceful and soft, in rev'rent care bestowed.—
Or in the sunken boat, gulfed at his work,
I see his blackened corse, even in death
Faithful to duty. O that those waves,
That with their gentle lullaby mock my wild woe,
Would rise in all their might and 'whelm me too!
Oh, love!—oh, love!—my love!