154 Walks in New England 



Of the eternal Silence : truths that wake 



To perish never; 

 While neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour, 



Nor man nor boy, 

 Nor all that is at enmity with joy 

 Can utterly abolish or destroy ! 



Hence in a season of calm weather, 



Though inland far we be, 

 Our souls have sight of that immortal sea 



Which brought us hither, 



Can in a moment travel thither, 

 And see the Children sporting on the shore, 

 And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore ! &quot; 



THE SYMPHONY OF THE STORM 



The storm-ship dips its swift rudder 

 Deep into cloud waves that shudder 

 And shake into showers o er the land, 

 Descending, possessing the land. 

 The hills in its mist-wake are hidden, 

 The woods with its wild winds are ridden, 



They tremble and toss, 

 As seaweeds are tossed on the strand ; 



They moan o er the loss 

 Of the leaves that they loose on demand 

 Of the guides of the ship, the storm-spirits, 

 Now in power for the hour 

 While deep-bosomed clouds lower; 



