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« Oh, Mother !" said the anxious Jane,
“ He surely will return ere long....
Yes ; soon my father I shall see,
And, while he smiles, upon his knee
I'll sit, and sing my artless song."

Now Rachel talks in cheerful guise,
And smiles, her little child to cheer,
Yet at each sound she turns her head,
And hopes she hears her husband's tread,
She struggles hardly with her fears.

'Tis dark, and still no Basil comes,
How fares the wretched Rachel now!
How may she cheer her drooping child !
(Herself with dread and anguish wild)
How may she smile! give comfort how !

Around her child her arms she threw,
Her warm tears on her child's face dropped ;
And close she strained her to her breast,
Her voice by anguish was supprest,
Her breath by rising sobs was stopped.

At length...." Oh, Basil! wast thou here!
Wast thou but here!” at length she cried,
“ Oh might I hear thy feet once more
Approaching to thy cottage door,
Or see thee sitting by my side!

Oh couldst thou hear me! but thy ears
Perhaps are deaf to human cry.
E'en now,

while thus I sit and weep, O'er thee some whelming wave may sweep, And cold and breathless thou may'st lie.

Perhaps, thy little boat o'erset,
E'en now thou strivest with the wave :
Thou may'st be struggling near the rock
Where the steep banks thy efforts mock,
Where still some friendly hand might save."

As real Rachel's terrors paint
The thoughts that fit across her brain :
No force might hold her, forth she springs ;
Those thoughts of horror lend her wings;
Alone she leaves her little Jane.

Down to the lake she goes.... The wind
Yet murmurs though the storm is o'er.
Sounds of strange import swell the breeze,
As wild it murmurs through the trees,
Still the subsiding waters roar.

Thick clouds sail sullenly along;
And how may Rachel keep her way!
Unless some star with faint green light
Shines glimmering through the gloomy night,
Or the moon lends a transient ray.

Thick clouds sail on....On Rachel goes ;
Nothing may turn her from her way ;
Whether 'tis dark, or with green light
Some dim star glimmers through the night,
Or the moon lends a transient ray.

Up springs a breeze ; the clouds sail on,
Fast o'er the face of heaven they fly,
Swiftly they fly, and bright and clear
Between the sparkling stars appear ;
The shining moon looks from the sky.

And who is she that on the rock
With hurrying pace runs to and fro ?
And now she stands, fixed in one spot ;
And o'er the lake her eye is shot, a
Her face the moon-beams plainly show.

What may it be that rocks, and heaves
With gulphing sound ? It holds her eye....
Is that her Basil's shattered boat ?
Are those his oars that near it float ?
If not, ah why that piercing cry?

Heard you that shriek ? heard you that plunge ?
Heard you ?.... And yet you could not save!
And when the morrow's sun shall gleam,
Shall the first form that meets his beam
Be Rachel breathless on the wave !

Long, long the little Jane may sit
And listen at the cottage door ;
She shall but hear the night-wind's sigh,
She shall but hear the owlet's cry,
Or distant torrent's sullen roar.

a Why not shoot, as well as “ dart,” according to Milton, or “ hurl" an eye, according to Cowley ?

Long may she for her father look,
And long her mother hope to see ;
But all that meets her longing sight
Shall be some star's pale glimmering light,
Or half-seen shape of waving tree.

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