EVENING BY THE SEA-SHORE.
How, with a spell of sweetness all her own,
The dew-eyed evening hallows the broad land!
She rises like a sovereign to her throne;
Earth sleeps; the waters murmur on the strand;
A breathing calm descending from the skies,
Wraps her wide realm in happiest harmonies.
There is no ruder breath than stirs the flowers,
Winning their proffer'd odor;—earth and air,
The sea,—even down amid the coralline bowers,
Seen through the perilous waters,—all is fair;
God's spirit, like a spell-word sent abroad,
Subdues earth's strife, makes sweet each gift of God!
The little wavelet breaking on the shore,
Brings with it kindly mission from the deep:
Its strifes at rest, its angry terrors o'er,
It feels the calm of brightness o'er it creep;
Shares in the kindred blessing of the skies,
And hallow'd like the land, in holiest beauty lies.
The winds that travell'd on its breast all night,
And rock'd their own great cradle till they slept,
Have caught up sweetest odors in their flight,
From the soft Haytien gardens;—they have swept
Fruit forests, where the generous tribute grows
Unheeded, and in vain its wealth on earth bestows.
What tidings doth such mournful truth convey
Of savage and regardless nature there!
Still the wild man, untutor'd to obey,
Makes foul the realm that Heaven hath made most fair:
The heart that is not gentle hath no eyes
For beauty, and esteems no loving harmonies.
His mood is in the dark; he loves the night
Even in its stormier aspects;—skies, to him,
Which God hath robed in sweet, give no delight;
The moon herself might just as well be dim;
Breezes of bliss that sweep the placid sea,
Sing in his ears no song of sweet humanity.
Ah! dear their several voices in my breast,
Teaching the moral loving faith makes strong;
There is a hope that will not be repress'd,—
The strifes of earth shall cease and human wrong
Be but a theme for fiction—of a race
That lived in barbarous times, nor had the means of grace.
I feel it in the picture round me spread;
Earth link'd with heaven; old ocean won to calm,
And glassy smooth, as for an angel's tread;
Winds musical and zephyrs full of balm;
And the wild passions of my soul, they rest:—
There is not now a wrong within my breast.
I do forgive mine ancient enemy;—
I would that he were nigh to hear my prayer;
God's light be shining now upon his eye,
God's blessed voice, in mercy, reach his ear:
Hath he a child—may it be blest as she,
The one whom Heaven hath spared, of all my flock, to me.
These winds have blessings in them; they have come
From happiest realms where sorrow never dwells;
They rouse the languid nature to new bloom,
The thought expands, the soul in triumph swells;
Ah! for the power this feeling to impart,
To tell these raptures rising in my heart!
The affections that have slumber'd in the strife,
Sweet charities that human strifes subdue,
And virtues, that man seldom keeps through life,
Return once more, to prove his nature true:
Still may the soul its fondest hope maintain,
When such as these come back to strengthen love again.
Oh! precious ministry of Eve, whose peace
Thus still commends the harmonies that soothe;
Still with thy stars in the great vault increase,
Still with thy breezes freshen hope with youth;
Breathe calm upon the hearts that strive with hate,
And smile on homes by wrong made desolate.
