POETRY.
ON THE EMBANKMENT,
0 FALLEN bride of Adria, keep thy doves,
And keep thou thine, 0 Tuscan city of flowera, To mix the cooing gossip of their loves With solemn chiming from your palace towers.
Here, where a stormy sunset fills the sky, Here, where brown masts go sliding out to sea, Here, where the beacon clock-tower flares on high, Mother of Empire, where are birds for thee?
Yonder they come! a fearless, tameless crew, Shrieking wild tidings of the outer sea, Calling thy sons to deeds of derring-do, Mother of Empire, here are birds for thee!
Seagulls, who laughed when Drake came sailing home, Seagulls, who wailed at news of Trafalgar, They know thy children's road across the foam,.
They greet them coming Thamesward from afar.
These are no holy doves with angel wings, These, the fierce spirits of our Northern sires ; These are the souls of ancient sailor Kings, This the Valhalla of their souls' desires.
DOROTHEA. TOWNSHENT!.
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