THE WRECK OF THE ANCIENT COASTER.

HER side is in the water,

Her keel is in the sand,

And her bowsprit rest on the low gray rock

That bounds the sea and land.

Her deck is without a mast,

And sand and shells are there,

And the teeth of decay are gnawing her planks

In the sun and the sultry air.

No more on the river’ s bosom,

When sky and wave are calm,

And the clouds are in summer quietness,

And the cool night-breath is balm,

Will she glide in the swan-like stillness

Of the moon in the blue above,—

A messenger from other lands,

A beacon to hope and love.

No more in the midnight tempest

Will she mock the mounting sea,

Strong in her oaken timbers,

And her white sail’ s bravery.

She hath borne, in days departed,

Warm hearts upon her deck;

Those hearts, like her, are mouldering now,

The victims and the wreck

Of time, whose touch erases

Each vestige of all we love;

The wanderers, home returning,

Who gazed that deck above,

And they who stood to welcome

Their loved ones on that shore,

Are gone,— and the place that knew them

Shall know them nevermore.