And, hark! — a grieving voice, trembling and faint, But shriller than Leander's voice should be, For now, upon each brief and breathless pause 66 "O! dost thou live under the deep, deep sea? From the kind pitying sea-god, so will I; "There we will sit and sport upon one billow, And ever in one presence live and dwell, One moment, then, upon the dizzy verge She stands; — with face upturned against the sky; A moment more, upon the foamy surge She gazes, with a calm despairing eye; Feeling that awful pause of blood and breath Which life endures when it confronts with death; Then from the giddy deep she madly springs, To save her from her death. The sea-maid wept, THE ELM TREE: A DREAM IN THE WOODS. "And this our life, exempt from public haunt, Finds tongues in trees." AS YOU LIKE IT. "TWAS in a shady avenue, Where lofty elms abound There came to me A sad and solemn sound, Amongst the leaves it seemed to sigh, The roots took up the tone; No breeze there was to stir the leaves; No quake of earth to heave the roots, That stood so stiff and stanch. (82) No bird was preening up aloft, No squirrel, in its sport or fear, Had ne'er a hole To hide a living thing! No scooping hollow cell to lodge The martin, bat, Or forest cat That nightly loves to prowl, But still the sound was in my ear, And sometimes underground -- "Twas in a shady avenue Where lofty elms abound. O, hath the Dryad still a tongue The olden time is dead and gone; From ash, and beech, and aged oak, No classic whispers come. From poplar, pine, and drooping birch, E'er hovers round, Unless the vagrant breeze, The music of the merry bird, Or hum of busy bees. But busy bees forsake the elm That bears no bloom aloft The blackbird in the croft; Yet still I heard that solemn sound, And each minuter shoot; From rugged trunk and mossy rind, And from the twisted root. From these, a melancholy moan; From those, a dreary sigh; No sign or touch of stirring air The thistle-down to swerve, Or force the filmy gossamers To take another curve. |