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THE FISHERMAN'S LIGHTHOUSE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


149

THE FISHERMAN'S LIGHTHOUSE

A picture in my mind I keep,
While all without is shiver of rain;—
Warm firelit shapes, forgotten, creep
Away, and shadows fill my brain.
I see a chill and desolate bay,
That glimmers into a lonely wood,
Till, darkling more and more away,
It glooms an empty solitude.
No cheerful sound afar to hear,
No cheerful sight afar to see;—
The stars are shut in heavens drear,
The darkness holds the world and me.

150

Yet, hark!—I hear a quickening oar,
The burden of a happy song,
That echo keeps along the shore
In faint-repeating chorus long.
And whither moves he through the night,
The rower of my twilight dream?—
A compass in his heart is bright,
And all his pathway is a gleam!
No lighthouse leaning from the rock,
To tell the sea-tossed mariner
Where breakers, fiercely-gathering, shock
A fiery-speaking messenger!
But see, o'er water lighted far,
One steadfast line of splendour come!—
Is it in heaven the evening star?
The fisher knows his light at home!

151

And which is brighter—that which glows
His evening star of faith and rest,
Or that which, sudden-kindled, goes
To meet it from his eager breast?