Did I hear the hinges groan?
Was not that the latchet's shake?
No, it was the zephyr's moan
Through the bowing poplar brake.

Put on thy best, thou verdant, leafy glade,
To welcome my beloved to her home;
Ye branches, lend your sympathetic shade
To shroud her 'neath your dark mysterious dome.
And ye, ye merry breezes, freely play
In wanton sport upon her rosy cheeks,
As, scarcely burdening the favoured way,
With dainty steps Love's very home she seeks.

Listen! What was that I heard
Rustling sharply through the sedge?

Let the floods clap their hands!
Let the mountains rejoice!
And let all the glad lands
Breathe a jubilant voice!
The sun, that now sets on the waves of the sea,
Shall gild with his rising the land of the FREE .

Let the bondman be glad!
For their King in his might,
Who his glory hath clad
With a garment of light,
In the waters the beams of his chambers hath laid,
And in the green waters his pathway hath made.

No more shall the deep
Lend its awe-stricken waves,
In their caverns to steep

In the distance dark and grey
Fades my former bliss from view,
To one star my glances stray
Basking in its gentle dew —
But a star, alas! whose light
Glitters only in the night.

Didst thou sleep thy final sleep,
Were thine eyes for ever dimmed,
In my heart engraven deep
Still thy memory would be limned.
But, alas! in light enshrined,
To my worship thou art blind.

Can the hope which love instils,
Can it, Emma, transient prove?
What no longer lives and thrills,
Emma, how can that be Love?

Like a fair child, with merry native jest,
My dear young friend, the world around thee plays;
Yet think not that the character impressed
Upon thy heart, and mirrored in its rays
Presents the truth. — The silent reverence
Which from thy soul's nobility has grown,
The marvels of thine own omnipotence,
The living grace, essentially thine own, —
These thou dost count as life's habitual prize
Promiscuously granted to mankind.
If he exist, let me the mortal find
Who youth's untainted magic can despise,
Or to the charm of innocence be blind.

From out the desolation of the North
An iceberg took its way,
From its detaining comrades breaking forth,
And traveling night and day.

At whose command? Who bade it sail the deep
With that resistless force?
Who made the dread appointment it must keep?
Who traced its awful course?

To the warm airs that stir in the sweet South,
A good ship spread her sails;
Stately she passed beyond the harbor's mouth,
Chased by the favoring gales;

And on her ample decks a happy crowd
Bade the fair land good-by;

Because I hold it sinful to despond,
And will not let the bitterness of life
Blind me with burning tears, but look beyond
Its tumult and its strife;

Because I lift my head above the mist,
Where the sun shines and the broad breezes blow,
By every ray and every raindrop kissed
That God's love doth bestow;

Think you I find no bitterness at all?
No burden to be borne, like Christian's pack?
Think you there are no ready tears to fall
Because I keep them back?

Why should I hug life's ills with cold reserve,

Upon my lips she laid her touch divine,
And merry speech and careless laughter died;
She fixed her melancholy eyes on mine,
And would not be denied.

I saw the west wind loose his cloudlets white
In flocks, careering through the April sky;
I could not sing though joy was at its height,
For she stood silent by.

I watched the lovely evening fade away;
A mist was lightly drawn across the stars;
She broke my quiet dream, I heard her say,
“Behold your prison bars!

“Earth's gladness shall not satisfy your soul,

This grassy gorge, as daylight failed last night,
I traversed toward the west, where, thin and young,
Bent like Diana's bow and silver bright,
Half lost in rosy haze, a crescent hung.

I paused upon the beach's upper edge:
The violet east all shadowy lay behind;
Southward the lighthouse glittered o'er the ledge,
And lightly, softly blew the western wind.

And at my feet, between the turf and stone,
Wild roses, bayberry, purple thistles tall,
And pink herb-robert grew, where shells were strown

At daybreak in the fresh light, joyfully
The fishermen drew in their laden net;
The shore shone rosy purple, and the sea
Was streaked with violet;

And pink with sunrise, many a shadowy sail
Lay southward, lighting up the sleeping bay;
And in the west the white moon, still and pale,
Faded before the day.

Silence was everywhere. The rising tide
Slowly filled every cove and inlet small;
A musical low whisper, multiplied,
You heard, and that was all.

No clouds at dawn, but as the sun climbed higher,

In childhood's season fair,
On many a balmy, moonless summer night.
While wheeled the lighthouse arms of dark and bright
Far through the humid air;

How patient have I been,
Sitting alone, a happy little maid,
Waiting to see, careless and unafraid,
My father's boat come in;

Close to the water's edge
Holding a tiny spark, that he might steer
(So dangerous the landing, far and near)
Safe past the ragged ledge.

I had no fears,—not one;
The wild, wide waste of water leagues around