Page:A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields.djvu/107

76 I love the waters round that rise, The ship that on its errand flies, And all that here mine eyes behold.

Ha! There's the sea-gull. See it springs, Pearls scattering from its tawny wings, Then plunges in the gulfs once more: 'Tis lost in caverns of the main! No! No! It upward soars again, As souls from trials upward soar.

But most I love this seat—this rock, From whence I hear the thunder-shock Of waves eternally that moan, Ever-renewed: methinks Remorse Hath such a cry, and such a force— Wail mothers thus for children gone!