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192

WOLFE OF THE KNOLL.

Is soundless as the breath of flowers.
In the old nurse there stirreth naught
Save the swift lightning of her thought,
That knows a readier path to find
To the far land that gave her birth,
Than through the electric links that bind
So close the once dissevered earth ;
For she hath fasted, prayed and wept,
Till the soul's vision, that had slept
Somewhat from age, now backward cast,
In one broad glance holds all the past.

No more a weak and withered thing,
Wasted by time and tears, she seems,
But a young wife, whose fresh glad spring
Is opening in love's sunniest beams.
Again on Iceland's rocky coast
She sits beneath the pole-star's ray,
Its pale, calm shining well nigh lost
In the wild North-light's dancing play ;