And backwards flew to her billowy breast, The waves were white, and red the morn, I've lived since then, in calm and strife, With wealth to spend, and power to range, But never have sought nor sighed for change; THE OWL BARRY CORNWALL (B. W. PROCTER) N the hollow tree, in the gray old tower, IN hollow in gray, Dull, hated, despised in the sunshine hour, Not a bird of the forest e'er mates with him; But at night, when the woods grow still and dim, O, when the night falls, and roosts the fowl, And the owl hath a bride who is fond and bold, And with eyes like the shine of the moonshine cold Not a feather she moves, not a carol she sings, But when her heart heareth his flapping wings, O, when the moon shines, and the dogs do howl, Mourn not for the owl nor his gloomy plight! If a prisoner he be in the broad daylight, Thrice fonder, perhaps, since a strange, dark fate So when the night falls, and dogs do howl, Sing Ho! for the reign of the hornèd owl! We know not alway who are kings by day, But the king of the night is the bold brown owl. I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER THOMAS HOOD REMEMBER, I remember He never came a wink too soon, I remember, I remember I remember, I remember Where I was used to swing, And thought the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing; My spirit flew in feathers then, And summer pools could hardly cool I remember, I remember The fir trees dark and high; I used to think their slender tops It was a childish ignorance, But now 'tis little joy To know I'm further off from Heaven Than when I was a boy. |