Short Poems

He paused. And soon the wildness passed.
Then came the tingling flush of shame.
Remorse and fear are gone as fast.
“The silly thing 's to blame
To quit us so. 'T is plain she loved us not;
Or she had stayed awhile, and shared my cot.”

They gaze upon his ghastly face.
“What ails thee, Lee? and why that glare?”
“Look! ha! 't is gone, and not a trace!
No, no, she was not there!—
Who of you said ye heard her when she fell?
'T was strange!—I 'll not be fooled!—Will no one tell?”

“And when it passed there was no tread!
It leaped the deck.—Who heard the sound?
I heard none!—Say, what was it fled?
Poor girl! and is she drowned?—
Went down these depths? How dark they look, and cold!
She 's yonder! stop her!—Now!—there!—hold her! hold!”

'T is on your souls; it will not out!
Lee, why so lost? 'T is not like thee!
Come, where thy revel, oath, and shout?
“That pale one in the sea!—
I mind not blood.—But she,—I cannot tell!
A spirit was 't?—It flashed like fires of hell!

Why look ye on each other so,
And speak no word?—Ay, shake the head!
She 's gone where ye can never go.
What fear ye from the dead?
They tell no tales; and ye are all true men;—
But wash away that blood; then, home again!

To look on man, and deem it strange
That he on things of earth should brood,
When all the thronged and busy range
To her was solitude,—
O, this was bitterness! Death came and pressed
Her wearied lids, and brought the sick heart rest.

O, no!—To live when joy was dead,
To go with one, lone, pining thought,
To mournful love her being wed,
Feeling what death had wrought;
To live the child of woe, nor shed a tear,
Bear kindness, and yet share not joy or fear;

She's sleeping in her silent cave,
Nor hears the loud, stern roar above,
Nor strife of man on land or wave.
Young thing! her home of love
She soon has reached! Fair, unpolluted thing!
They harmed her not!—Was dying suffering?

It ceased.—With speed o' th' lightning's flash,
A loose-robed form, with streaming hair,
Shoots by.—A leap,—a quick, short splash!
'T is gone!—and nothing there!
The waves have swept away the bubbling tide.
Bright-crested waves, how calmly on they ride!

A crash! They force the door,—and then
One long, long, shrill, and piercing scream
Comes thrilling 'bove the growl of men.
'T is hers!—O God, redeem
From worse than death thy suffering, helpless child!
That dreadful shriek again,—sharp, sharp, and wild!