This memory brightens o'er the past, Longfellow. FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS. When the hours of Day are numbered, Ere the evening lamps are lighted, Then the forms of the departed He, the young and strong, who cherished By the road-side fell and perished, They, the holy ones and weakly, Who the cross of suffering bore, Folded their pale hands so meekly, Spake with us on earth no more! And with them the Being Beauteous, With a slow and noiseless footstep, And she sits and gazes at me With those deep and tender eyes, Like the stars so still and saint-like, Looking downward from the skies. Uttered not, yet comprehended, O, though oft depressed and lonely, If I but remember only Such as these have lived and died! Longfellow. THE WRECK OF THe hesperUS. It was the schooner Hesperus, That sailed the wintry sea; And the skipper had taken his little daughtèr, To bear him company. Blue were her eyes, as the fairy-flax, The skipper he stood beside the helm, And watched how the veering flaw did blow Then up and spake an old Sailòr, "Last night, the moon had a golden ring, And to-night no moon we see!" The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe, And a scornful laugh laughed he. Colder and louder blew the wind, Down came the storm, and smote amain The vessel in its strength; She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed, Then leaped her cable's length. "Come hither! come hither! my little daughter, And do not tremble so ; For I can weather the roughest gale, That ever wind did blow." He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat, Against the stinging blast; He cut a rope from a broken spar, And bound her to the mast. "O father! I hear the church-bells ring, say, what may it be?" "'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast! And he steered for the open sea. “O father! I hear the sound of guns, O say, what may it be?" "Some ship in distress, that cannot live In such an angry sea!" "O father! I see a gleaming light, O say, what may it be?" But the father answered never a word, Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, With his face to the skies; The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow On his fixed and glassy eyes. Then the maiden clasped her hands, and prayed That saved she might be ; And she thought of Christ, who stilled the waves, On the Lake of Galilee. And fast through the midnight dark and drear, And ever the fitful gusts between The breakers were right beneath her bows, And a whooping billow swept the crew |