Thomas Wentworth Higginson, John Greenleaf Whittier

On the pillow the sister tossed her head:
‘Hall of the Heron is safe,’ she said.

‘ In the tautest schooner that ever swam
He rides at anchor in Anisquam.

‘ And, if in peril from swamping sea
Or lee-shore rocks, would he call on thee?’

But the girl heard only the wind and tide,
And wringing her small white hands she cried-

‘ O sister Rhoda! there's something wrong:
I hear it again, so loud and long.

‘ “Annie! Annie!” I hear it call,
And the voice is the voice of Estwick Hall.’

Up sprang the elder with eyes aflame;
‘Thou liest! he never would call thy name,

‘If he did, I would pray the wind and sea
To keep him for ever from thee and me.’

Then out of the sea blew a dreadful blast:
Like the cry of a dying man it passed.

‘ The young girl hushed on her lips a groan,
But through her tears a strange light shone--

The solemn joy of her heart's release
To own and cherish its love in peace.

‘ Dearest! ’ she whispered under breath,
‘Life was a lie, but true is death.

‘The love I hid from myself away
Shall crown me now in the light of day.

‘ My ears shall never to wooer list,
Never by lover my lips be kissed.