University of Virginia Library


93

THE GENTLE HAND.

Where trips the blue Piscataqua along in maiden glee,
And throws herself upon the breast of her old lover—Sea,
I stood one August sunset with a gentle hand in mine,—
The sunbeams pouring in the deep like streams of yellow wine.
Upon our right the old Fort stood, forbidding as a frown,
And half within its shadow lay the little dingy town;
And here and there along the shore the fishing-smacks were hauled,
While boats, like lazy turtles, up and down the river crawled!

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The Lighthouse with its eye of fire looked o'er the breakers swell,
Standing all calm and solemn, like some watchful sentinel;
And o'er the undulating lands our stretching eyes would mark
Old Portsmouth's spires tapering up half-way to meet the dark.
Low at our feet the ocean broke in long and frothy rolls,
And like a gem upon its breast we saw the Isle of Shoals!
O! dear to me the Fort, the town, the dimpled ocean's moan,
But dearer was the gentle hand I held within my own!
Like a lion that is wounded, but in scorn disdains to groan,
Creeps to some secretest cavern there to bleed and die alone,
The sun in sullen majesty was creeping to his lair,
His jagged sides a-panting and his red eye-balls a-glare.

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The lovely moon, like Cypris, rose from out the jeweled sea,
And laid her lily hand upon the Light-house on the lee;
And touched the rocky bastion and the ramparts of the Fort,
And ran along the sleepy guns that gaped from ev'ry port.
It was a moon that might have lured the Mermaids from their caves,
From out the glaucous grottoes of their realms beneath the waves,
To sit upon the sloping strand and comb from out their hair
The sea-weed, and to have a chat with loving Mermen there.
O! dear to me the Fort and town asleep in light divine;
But dearer than the landscape was the hand I held in mine!
In brilliant, starry necklaces and bridal sheen arrayed,
The Moon stood out in heaven like a pale unwilling maid;

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She loved the dewy Morning with his yellow curls of light;
She's doomed to wed another and to be the bride of Night.
I whispered this to Lillie as she turned her eyes above;
“'Tis sad,” she said, “'tis very sad to wed not where we love.”
The hand I pressed too ardently was drawn away from mine,
And eyes were turned toward me all bewitchingly divine;
I dared to take that hand again and soothe it in my own;
I dared to steal my arm around a half reluctant zone;
I told her how the waters kissed the islands in their sport,
And—we neither saw the Lighthouse, the islands, nor the Fort!