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Monotonous, so monotonous, but oh! so sweet, so


When my hid heart is throbbing forth a voice,
And the two voices meet.


The void within the calm for which I yearned,
Until this moment was imperfectly discerned;
But now I feel to the roots of life an inner melody,
That harmonises my unquiet heart

With the unquiet sea.


Hear I the crawling movements of the main ?

Or hear I dim heart-echoes dying in the brain?

Is there but one impatient moan, and is it of the sea? And, if two voices speak, which voice belongs

To ocean, which to me?


The sounds have mingled into some faint whole,
Inseparate, trembling o'er the fibres of my soul;

And the cool waves have a magic all my swooning

blood to quell ;

The sea glides thro' and thro' me, and my soul
Keeps sea-sound like a shell.


Ah, the monotonous music in my soul,

Enlarging like the waves, murmuring without control!— Is it that changeful nature can rest not night nor day? And is the music born of this lorn Man,

Or Ocean,-Horace, say?


Are these vibrations but a prophecy

Of wondrous storms unborn, in nature and in me? And is this sweetly sad unrest that I and Ocean share The vital principle abroad in earth

And water, fire and air?


Is there a climbing element in life

Which is at war with rest, alternates strife with strife,

Whereby we reach eternal seas upon whose shores


Ev'n Joy can sleep,—because no moan like this
Within those waves is heard?




WE are the fairies of the Snow,
Hushing sweet hearts where'er we go!—
Our gentle motion from the skies
Has voiceless music for the eyes,
And with that music unaware
We stir the grey and wintry air,
And, mirror'd in the eyes, we roll

With thought-like glamour to the Soul!


We are the fairies of the Snow,

Hushing the heart where'er we go!—

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We paint the earth in winter hours
With stainless pictures of the flowers,
We kiss the dark earth till it grows
A silver cloud of pure repose,

Till nature's troublous yearning sense
Hushes itself to reverence!


We are the fairies of the Snow,
Hushing the heart where'er we go!-
We weave with fleecy fingers sweet
The dying Winter's winding-sheet,
We whisper comfort while we place
Our parting kisses on his face,
And leave upon the face we press
Pale signs of unborn loveliness!


We are the fairies of the Snow,

Working for weal where'er we go!
We warm the quick'ning babe of spring

Under a silken carpeting,

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