And the whole air is full of wondrous sounds,
From sea to strand, from land to sea, given back
Alone and sad, thus do I dream of you.
Children, and house and home, the table set,
The glowing hearth, and all the pious care
Of tender mother, and of grandsire kind;
And while before me, spotted with white sails,
The limpid ocean mirrors all the stars,
And while the pilot, from the infinite main,
Looks with calm eye into the infinite heaven,
I dreaming of you only, seek to scan
And fathom all my soul's deep love for you--
Love sweet, and powerful, and everlasting--
And find that the great sea is small beside it.

_Dublin University Magazine._



THE BEACON IN THE STORM.

_("Quels sont ces bruits sourds?")_

[XXIV., July 17, 1836.]


Hark to that solemn sound!
It steals towards the strand.--
Whose is that voice profound
Which mourns the swallowed land,