Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/623

 1850-60.] ROSA VERTNER JOHNSON. 607 THE SEA-BIRD'S TREASURE. Ox a rock vast and hoar, By a desolate shore, One bright eve, as I wandered alone, A gaunt sea-bird I spied, Looking down on the tide, Dark and grim, from his wave-beaten throne. Mute and motionless there, In the sun-tinted air. And with plumage as black as the night, That wild ocean-bird seemed Like the form of a fiend, Standing forth from a background of light. A gay, frolicsome breeze Fluttered over the seas. And sang on till the waters were stirred ; But a strange, low lament With its melody blent, As 1 gazed on that spectral bird. For lo I there as he stood. Looking down on the flood, I beheld from his white beak unrolled, By the warm summer air, A long curl of bright hair, ,A brown ringlet, deep tinted with gold. Just such ringlets as grow Above foreheads of snow, Overshadowing earnest blue eyes. As the morning mist shrouds. With its amber-hued clouds, The deep hght of Italian skies. " Tell me, bird, didst thou go Where the coral reefs grow, Ai'ound grottos of crystal and pearl, And most ruthlessly tear That rich, radiant hair From the brow of some fair shipwrecked girl ? " Or where skeletons bleach On the wide barren beach, When upheaved by the billowy brine, Of all beauty bereft, Was that frail relic left, With its life-mocking luster to shine ? " Was it there thou didst find, 'Mid the damp sea-weed twined, That rare curl, where soft ripples once fell On a breast pure and white ; — As in midsummer's light, Dropping down in some stainless sea-shell? " Strange and sad doth the gleam Of that sunny tress seem. As it floats o'er thy smooth, sable plume, Like a beautiful ray From the soul far away. Trembling still round its dark ocean tomb. " For thy mate didst thou bring That frail, glittering thing, To be twined in her storm-beaten nest, As some heavenly thought In its holiness wrought Through the dreams of a sin-tortured breast ? " Does the fond mother mourn For that fair head, now shorn Of its splendor, where dark billows flow ? Does the lullaby still Through her memory thrill, That she sang to her child long ago ? " Does she think of that time, When the sweet Sabbath chime Called her up to the temple of prayer, — Of how fondly she smiled, When that auburn-haired child Knelt beside her in purity there ? " Even now could she press That long glistening tress To her sad breast, methinks it w^ould know That those soft strands were shed From the beautiful head She had pillowed there long, long ago.