AT YORK.

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The moon-light falls upon the sea, And leaves a path of glory; The waves creep high upon the shore, And roll the shining pebbles o’er; Then, running back in noisy play To meet the ever-dashing spray, Like loyal lovers, gay and free, Repeat the same sweet story.
The light-house, on the lonely isle, Where shadows now are creeping, Like sentinel, so true and brave, Stands forth to stay each coming wave; In raging storm as well as calm This stalwart giant fears no harm, And thro’ the night keeps watch the while The fisher folk are sleeping.
A little boat now comes to view, And, in the path of splendor, It seems to drift with idle oar, To distant moon and unknown shore,— Till human vision, at its best, Can scarce discern, on ocean’s crest, That tiny speck that rocks the two To love dreams new and tender.
The stars are peeping from the blue, The “milky way” revealing; A row of houses, on the sand, Like line of fronted soldiers stand; How dimly, thro’ the deepening night, The cottage candle throws its light, While breezes blow the curtains through— A glimpse of home life stealing!
Some faint reflections on the deep And to wet sands are creeping; While, from the light within the tower Whose steady glare reveals its power, A path of red on land and sea, Where waves make sweetest melody, Reflects and soothes the mermaid’s sleep Its hourly night watch keeping.
O beauteous evening! Peace above, O’er sea and shore is falling; On such a calm and glorious night The human heart is nearer right; God seems so great, and Heaven so fair, That man and earth can not compare; On night like this, the souls that love Are roused to higher calling.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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