THE WATCHER.

Night comes, but he comes not! I fear

The treacherous ice; what do I hear?

Bells? nay, I am deceived again,—

‘ Tis but the ringing in my brain.

Oh how the wind goes shrieking past!

Was it a voice upon the blast?

A cry for aid? My God protect!

Preserve his life — his course direct!

How suddenly it has grown dark —

How very dark without — hush! hark!

‘ Tis but the creaking of the door;

It opens wide, and nothing more.

Then wind and snow came in; I thought

Some straggler food and shelter sought;

But more I feared, for fear is weak,

That some one came of him to speak:

To tell how long he braved the storm,

How long he kept his bosom warm

With thoughts of home, how long he cheered

His weary horse that plunged, and reared,

And wallowed through the drifted snow

Till daylight faded, and the glow

Of hope went out; how almost blind,

He peered around, below, behind,—

No road, no track, the very shore

All blotted out,— one struggle more,

It is thy last, perchance, brave heart!

O God! a reef! the masses part

Of snow and ice, and dark and deep

The waters lie in death-like sleep;

He sees too late the chasm yawn;

Sleigh, horse and driver, all are gone!

Father in heaven! It may be thus,

But thou art gracious,— pity us,

Save him, and me in mercy spare

What‘ twould be worse than death to bear.

Hark! hark! am I deceived again?

Nay,‘ tis no ringing in my brain;

My pulses leap — my bosom swells —

Thank God! it is, it is his bells!