The Light-Houses

TWO pale sisters, all alone,On an island bleak and bare,Listening to the breakers' moan,Shivering in the chilly air;Looking inland towards a hill,On whose top one aged treeWrestles with the storm-wind's will,Rushing, wrathful, from the sea.

Two dim ghosts at dusk they seem,Side by side, so white and tall,Sending one long, hopeless gleamDown the horizon's darkened wall.Spectres, strayed from plank or spar,With a tale none lives to tell,Gazing at the town afar,Where unconscious widows dwell.

Two white angels of the sea,Guiding wave-worn wanderers home;Sentinels of hope they be,Drenched with sleet, and dashed with foam,Standing there in loneliness,Fireside joys for men to keep;Through the midnight slumberlessThat the quiet shore may sleep.

Two bright eyes awake all nightTo the fierce moods of the sea;Eyes that only close when lightDawns on lonely hill and tree.O kind watchers! teach us, too,Steadfast courage, sufferance long!Where an eye is turned to you,Should a human heart grow strong.