PARTED.

Farewell, farewell—a sadder strain No other English word can give; But we are parted though we live, And ne’er may meet on earth again. My life is void without thy love— A harp with half its strings destroyed; And thoughts of pleasures once enjoyed, Can naught of consolation prove. We live apart—the ocean’s flow Divides thy sunny home from mine; And, musing on the shore’s decline, I watch the waters come and go. I trace thy image in the sand; I call thy name—I call in vain: The breeze is blowing from the main, And mocks me waiting on the strand. I see the mighty rivers roll To plunge, tumultuous, in the sea; So all my thoughts flow on to thee, And merge together in their goal. But thou hast uttered ‘Fare thee well;’ And I must bid a last adieu, Nor let the aching heart pursue The longings that no tongue can tell. . . . . . And now, the slow returning tide No longer murmurs of the sea; The breeze has changed; it flies to thee And breathes my message at thy side. The tide shall ebb and flow for aye, The fickle breeze may wander free; But all my thoughts shall flow to thee, Till life and longing pass away. Francis Ernest Bradley.