Like the strong sweep of ocean-breath the power
Of one resistless thought transformed my hour
Of love-dreams to a fear. All hopelessly
I knew love's impotence, and my despair
Stretched soul-hands forth, and quivered to a prayer.
My passionate heart cried out: "If his dear life
Through stress of keen temptation merits aught
Of penance or requital, be it wrought
Upon _my_ life. If only through the strife
Is won the peace, through drudgery the gain,
Give him the issue, and to me the pain!"
Some day, in our soul's course o'er trackless lands,
Swayed oft by adverse winds, or swept along
In Fate's wild current with the fluttering throng
Towards Sin's engulfing maelstrom, spirit hands
Will brace our trembling wings, and through the night
Point and upbear in our last trembling flight.
Song.
Red gleams the mountain ridge,
Slow the stream creeps
Under the old bent bridge,
And labor sleeps.
There are no restless birds,
No leaves that stir,
Dusk her gray mantle girds,
Night's harbinger.
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