Page:The Seaside and the Fireside.djvu/69

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The Fire of Drift-wood.
47
The very tones in which we spake Had something strange, I could but mark;The leaves of memory seemed to make A mournful rustling in the dark.
Oft died the words upon our lips, As suddenly, from out the fireBuilt of the wreck of stranded ships, The flames would leap and then expire.
And, as their splendor flashed and failed, We thought of wrecks upon the main,—Of ships dismasted, that were hailed And sent no answer back again.
The windows, rattling in their frames,— The ocean, roaring up the beach,—The gusty blast,—the bickering flames,— All mingled vaguely in our speech.
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