BY THE SEA.

Blue is the mist on the mountains, White is the fog on the sea; Ruby and gold is the sunset,— And Bertha is waiting for me.

Down on the loathsome sand-beach, Her eyes as blue as the mist; Her brows as white as the sea-fog,— Bertha, whose lips I have kissed.

Bertha, whose lips are like rubies, Whose hair is like coiléd gold; Whose sweet, rare smile is tenderer Than any legend of old.

One morn, one noon, one sunset, Must pass before we meet; O wind and sail bear steady on, And bring me to her feet.

The morn rose pale and sullen, The noon was still and dun; Across the storm at sunset, Came the boom of a signal-gun.

Who treads the loathsome sand-beach, With wet, disordered hair; With garments tangled with sea-weed, And cheeks more pale than fair?

O blue-eyed, white-browed maiden, He will keep love's tryst no more; His ship sailed safely into port— But on the heavenward shore.