2 DECEMBER 1876, Page 14

POETRY.

SEA-WEED.

Aidts, poor weed ! The careless tide Has left thee with his lightest foam ; And now a desert drear and wide Divides thee from thy wished-for home. His flow may bear thee back once more, But canst thou live thy life of yore?

Alas, I, too, am left awhile By her I love, in lightest play! On distant loves I see her smile, I hear her laughter far away. Her heart may turn to me again, But can my heart forget the pain ? R. I. 0.