POETRY.

The Mother who has Child at Sea.
{"character_count": 2050, "word_count": 380, "ccnet_language_score": [0.9101999998092651], "ccnet_perplexity": [2221.10009765625], "fasttext_language": ["en"]}
Inc MOther VINO mas n Child at Sea.
There's an eye that looks on the swelling


cloud,


Folding the moon in funeral shroud,
That watches the stars dying one by one,
I'LL the whole of heavens calm light hath


gone;
There s an ear that lists to the Kissing surge,
As the mourner turns to the anthem dirge,
That eye! that ear! oh, whose can they be,
But mothers, who hath child at scar
There's cheek that is getting ashy white,
AS the token of storm come on with night,
Theirs form that's fixed at the lattice pane,
10 mark how the gloom gathers over the


main,


While the yeasty pillows lash the shore
With lottier sweep and hoarser roar.
That cheek! that form! oh, whose can they


be,


But mothers, who hath child at sea?
The rushing whistle chilIs her blood.
As the north wind hurrics TO scourge the


food.


And the ICY sh.ver spreads to her heart
As the first red hueg lines Of Ightning start
That ocean bohs, all mute she stands.
With parted lips and tight-casped hands.
Oh, marvel not at her fear for she
is mother who hath ch,Id at sea
She conlures up the fearful scene,
VI yawnlng waves, where the ship between.
With striking keel and spnter'd mast
Is plunging hard and laundering fast,
She sees her boy with lank drench'd hair,
Cllnglng on to the wreck with cry of des-


pair.


Oh, the vision is mad lining! No grief can


be


Like mothers who hath child at sea.
She pressed her brow-she sinks and knees
Whilst the blast howls on and the thunder


peals;


She breathes not word, for her passionate


prayer


Is too fervent and deep for the lips to bear;
1t is poured in the long convulisve sigh.
In the straining glance of an upturncd eye,
And hoier offering cannot be,
Than the mothers prayer for her child at


sea.


Oh! love the winds when they spurn con-


troll,


For they suit myown bond-hatng soul;
| like to hear them sweeping past;
Like the eagles pinion, free and fast;
But pang will rise, with sad alloy,
TO soften my spirit and sink my Joy,
When think how dismal the ir voices must be
10 mother who hath child at sea-