27.12.2010, 17:32
LITTLE PHOEBE,
Or the second gathering of the Sea-shells.
The rain had pour'd all day, but clear'd at night,
When, with her little basket on her arm.
She left the door-step of that seaside farm ;
The weeping tamarisk glisten'd in the light.
And chanticleer's green feathers softly waved
Against the dying sunshine. Forth she fared,
Our host's sweet child, his Phoebe golden-hair'd.
To gather shells, wherewith the beach was paved ;
At dusk, she took the homeward path that led
Beneath yon dark-blue ridge, when, sad to tell.
On her fair head the gloomy Lias fell.
Crumbled by storms,—they found her bruised and dead :
Her basket-store was scatter'd by the fall.
But loving hands replaced and kept them all.
Or the second gathering of the Sea-shells.
The rain had pour'd all day, but clear'd at night,
When, with her little basket on her arm.
She left the door-step of that seaside farm ;
The weeping tamarisk glisten'd in the light.
And chanticleer's green feathers softly waved
Against the dying sunshine. Forth she fared,
Our host's sweet child, his Phoebe golden-hair'd.
To gather shells, wherewith the beach was paved ;
At dusk, she took the homeward path that led
Beneath yon dark-blue ridge, when, sad to tell.
On her fair head the gloomy Lias fell.
Crumbled by storms,—they found her bruised and dead :
Her basket-store was scatter'd by the fall.
But loving hands replaced and kept them all.