ON the wan sea-strand Lonely I lay, and in sorrowful brooding. The sun sank lower and lower, and flung His red rays, glowing, on the water, And I watched the far white billows, In the grip of the flood, Foaming and roaring, nigher and nigher— Strange medley of sounds! a whispering and wailing, A laughing and murmuring, sobbing and sighing, Low voices, the while, a strange lullaby singing. Methought I heard long-forgotten legends, World-old adorable folk-tales, That long since in boyhood From neighbors' children I learnt; When, of a summer evening, On the steps of stone by the house-door, We squatted for quiet story-telling, With small hearts eagerly listening And young eyes keen for wonders; While the fair grown-up maidens Sat, 'mid balm-breathing pots of flowers, At a window over the way there, With rosy faces, Smiling and lit by the moon. |