SUFFOLK.

Gray shadows speed the fading day, And creeping mists assert their sway; They rise arrayed in varied hue, From sober black to faintest blue, As smoke mounts o’er a slumbering fire, Or lingers round some funeral pyre. Across the fields and in the wood, Where pheasant nestles o’er her brood, No sound is heard; the lifeless trees Scarce move their branches in the breeze, And fallen leaves lie curled and damp Where glow-worm shows his tiny lamp. Soon too with day the shadowed light Will folded sleep, in arms of night. Upon the marsh and up the hill Wild rabbits scamper with a will. The crimson sun so warm and red Now sunken lies, in regal bed, And tinted clouds float gently by, Like rose-leaves o’er a painted sky. The bending river wends its way, Through meadows green where oxen stray; It stretches out its lengthy arm, Which twists and turns past heath and farm. Here, wild fowl often make their nest, And plover, too, with golden crest, From off its banks will fly or run Amid the reeds at setting sun. The village wrapt in sweet content Reviews, ere night, the day well spent; And cotters lean without their door To talk with friends the season o’er. Beyond the sward, smooth lies the beach Whence mighty waters onward reach, And to the shore still rippling send Sweet murmurings that do not end. So softly do the wavelets move, They seem to breathe but words of love As if they feared or trembled, lest They hurt one shell upon its breast; Or cast one pebble on the sand, Lest it should know their strength of hand. Thus fades the day before my sight While nature waits the coming night.

Dark broke the daylight, cold and gray, And sea-birds flecked the foaming spray, Above the deep. The waves now dashed, And rolling huge, so heavily lashed Their watery fleece against the strand. But yesterday, with loving hand, They laved its face with warm caress, And softly on its cheek did press. The glowing sun, which blessed that day, Now frowning clouds hid far away. No tinted rays could burst the veil, Which falling thick in showers of hail, And stinging sleet, that blew so fierce, The smallest floweret seemed to pierce; And tossed aside the golden sheaf, Or cut like steel each tiny leaf. The breeze arose, but not to jest, Or soothe those fears which breathe unrest; It sprang up strong—not lightly gay— Nor deigned with one rose-leaf to play; But rushing madly to the wood, Uprooted trees as there they stood, Then threw them down among the gorse, And crushed the ferns with cruel force. When, whistling by the sea-girt dale, It caused the fisherwife to pale; And made the worn-out rafters quake, The sleepers suddenly awake. The busy smacksmen set their sail, And trim their boats to ride the gale; While aged seamen creep in sight To glean the dangers of the night. They long to join the gallant band, Though wan of face and weak of hand, And gaze upon the angry sea, Which stirs the fading memory To bring some peril past to each, A lesson new, their age to teach, When walking back to humble cot, Each ache and ailment is forgot. And in their homes the threadbare tale Of wreck and rescue will not fail The hours to enliven thro’ the day, And chase aside the shadows gray, Which, round their lives’ uncertain sea, Now deepen where the warnings be Of one last voyage which must be made Ere sailings be for ever stayed.

At noon’s sweet hour came peace once more, Wide open Nature laid her store Of fragrant flowers—the birds sang gay, To blot the sins of dawn away. The sea herself, though foaming still, Acknowledged then a stronger will, Altho’ at night the mourner’s tear Fell thick and fast. Yet ever here Tears dew the sorrow-stricken eyes, While grief sits by to foster sighs. Men only learn in Heaven above The wisdom of our Father’s love.