TWO MOTHERS

One night two lonely women met
Beside a storm-swept bay;
With tears their mournful eyes were wet,
Their pale lips salt with spray;
They passed; then turned, as though each yearned
Some friendly word to say.

"Poor soul", cried one, "hast thou no fear
To walk this haunted strand?
What hopeless sorrow brings thee here,
Where dead men drift to land?
I too have grief beyond relief;
Speak! I can understand."

"I mourn a son", the other said;
"That ocean is his grave;
My heart will not be comforted,
It breaks with every wave;
Would I might sleep in yonder deep
With him I could not save!

"The wind was raging, as to-night;
Straight on these rocks it blew;
I watched until the dawning light
Disclosed the wreck to view;
From where we stand I saw his hand
Wave me a last adieu!

"He deemed the boat too frail to bear
Another living freight;
'Push off'! he said with tranquil air,
'Go first, and I will wait;'
But all the while, despite his smile,
He knew 'twould be too late.

"That heartless crew shall nevermore
God's absolution find!
They watched, like cravens, from the shore
The man they left behind
Go down before the breakers' roar,
The surges and the wind!

"Hence, when such maddened tempests rave,
I cannot rest at home,
For then the billows deck his grave
With flowers of snow-white foam;
And here I pray till break of day
Beneath night's starless dome."

A silence fell; then, faint and low,
The other, weeping, said;
"My heavier woe thou needst not know;
Within his ocean bed
On thy son's name there rests no shame;
Would God that mine were dead!"

AT HOCHFINSTERMUeNZ

Once more between its walls of pines
I see the long ravine expand
To where the ice-world's crystal lines
Define the realm of Switzerland.

Once more, a thousand feet below,
I watch the river's silver sheen,
As, foaming in its fettered flow,
It rushes from the Engadine.

Forever young, forever old,
This gorge, where stream with forest blends,
These glittering peaks, these glaciers cold,--
Are all to me familiar friends.

I know, alas, their towering forms
Of unresponsive rocks and snow
Are heartless as their wintry storms,
And heed not if I come or go;

Yet none the less I love to trace
Their stainless crests along the sky,
And, as I greet each well-known face,
Each seems in turn to make reply.

So potent is the subtle spell
That clothes such masses with a mind;
So strong the instincts which impel