SEA SPRAY &> SMOKE DRIFT 



Oh, tell me, ancient friend, ever ready to 

 defend 

 In our boyhood, at the base of life's long 

 hill. 

 Are you waking yet or sleeping ? have you 

 left this vale of weeping ? 

 Or do you, like your comrade, linger still ? 



Oh, whisper, buried love, is there rest and 

 peace above ? — 

 There is little hope or comfort here below ; 

 On your sweet face lies the mould, and your 

 bed is straio;ht and cold — 

 Near the harbour where the sea-tides ebb 

 and flow. 

 • • • • • 



All silent — they are dumb — and the breezes 

 go and come 

 With an apathy that mocks at man's 

 distress; 

 Laugh, scoffer, while you may ! I could bow 

 me down and pray 

 For an answer that might stay my bitter- 

 ness. 



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