THE FEAR OF SOLITUDE.
I WOKE at dawn, and risen from my bed, Gazed at the new-born day serene and suave.
Silver and gold and pearl were overhead
Like some sea-shell new garnered from the wave,.
And such faint music from the morning sped As mourners' singing by a distant grave.
Far out at sea a beating vessel bore Westward with scarce discoverable speed, Creeping athwart a distant island shore
That traced an outline faintly filigreed With creviced mountain whose low summits wore A cloudy chariot yoked with fleecy steed.
At foot, a little bay lay cradled deep Whereon the idle fishing fleet was drawn, No ripple hurt the waters' quiet sleep That lay as peaceful as a garden lawn, The lighthouse at the harbour mouth did peep A flashing eye of red upon the dawn.
No voice I heard, nor any certain sound, Save when the hungry sea-gull cried awhile. All was so hushed and lonely that I found A nameless fear in all this silent Isle, As though the very sea might rise and bound And overwhelm me. Lo! his treacherous smile Some men there be who glory in such case, A mountain-top immutable—a throne.
I am not such, and I am face to face With this fierce question now immediate grown, —Am I afraid of God, who am so base I dare not venture in such place, alone P
HENRY BELL.
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