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THE SAILOR.
And low and small the room; but still it had
A look of comfort; on the white-washed walls
Were ranged her many ocean treasures—shells,
Some like the snow, and some pink, with a blush
Caught from the sunset on the waters; plumes
From the bright pinions of the Indian birds;
Long dark sea-weeds, and black and crimson berries,
Were treasured with the treasuring of the heart.
Her sailor brought them, when from his first voyage
He came so sunburnt and so tall, she scarce
Knew her fair stripling in that manly youth.
Like a memorial of far better days,
The large old Bible, with its silver clasps,
Lay on the table; and a fragrant air
Came from the window: there stood a rose-tree—
Lonely, but of luxuriant growth, and rich
