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With face against the pane,
Looks out across the night
And sees the Beacon LightN
A-trembling in the rain.
She hears the sea birds screech,
And the breakers on the beach

Making moan, making moan.
And the wind about the eaves
Of the cottage sobs and grieves;
And the willow tree is blown

To and fro, to and fro,

Till it seems like some old crone
Standing out there all alone,
With her woe!

Wringing, as she stands,

Her gaunt and palsied hands;
While Mabel, timid Mabel,

With face against the pane,
Looks out across the night,
And sees the Beacon Light
A-trembling in the rain.

Set the table, maiden Mabel,

And make the cabin warm;
Your little fisher lover

Is out there in the storm;

And your father-you are weeping!

O Mabel, timid Mabel,

Go spread the supper table, And set the tea a-steeping. Your lover's heart is brave,

His boat is stanch and tight;

And your father knows the perilous reef That makes the water white.

But Mabel, Mabel darling, With face against the pane, Looks out across the night

At the Beacon in the rain.

The heavens are veined with fire!
And the thunder, how it rolls!
In the lullings of the storm

The solemn church bell tolls
For lost souls!

But no sexton sounds the knell
In that belfry old and high;
Unseen fingers sway the bell,

As the wind goes tearing by!

How it tolls for the souls

Of the sailors on the sea!
God pity them, God pity them,
Wherever they may be!

God pity wives and sweethearts
Who wait and wait in vain!

And pity little Mabel,

With face against the pane.

A boom!-the lighthouse gun!
(How its echo rolls and rolls!)
'Tis to warn the home-bound ships
Off the shoals!

[graphic]

"The heavens are veined with fire!" (See page 300.)

See! a rocket cleaves the sky

From the Fort-a shaft of light! See! it fades, and, fading, leaves Golden furrows on the night!

What made Mabel's cheek so pale? What made Mabel's lips so white? Did she see the helpless sail

That, tossing here and there, Like a feather in the air, Went down and out of sightDown, down, and out of sight? O, watch no more, no more,

With face against the pane;

You can not see the men that drown By the Beacon in the rain!

From a shoal of richest rubies

Breaks the morning clear and cold; And the angel of the village spire,N Frost-touched, is bright as gold. Four ancient fishermen,

In the pleasant autumn air,
Come toiling up the sands,

With something in their hands,-
Two bodies stark and white,

Ah, so ghastly in the light,

With seaweed in their hair!

O ancient fishermen, ·

Go up to yonder cot!

You'll find a little child,

With face against the pane,

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