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MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
I will not shrink to see thee with a bloodless lip and cheek—
Come to me from the ocean's dead!—thou'rt surely of them—speak!"
She listened—'twas the wind's low moan,
'Twas the ripple of the wave,
'Twas the wakening ospray's cry alone,
As it started from its cave.
"I know each fearful spell
Of the ancient Runic lay,
Whose mutter'd words compel
The tempest to obey.
But I adjure not thee
By magic sign or song,
My voice shall stir the sea
By love,—the deep, the strong!
