Thomas Wentworth Higginson, John Greenleaf Whittier

No lance have I, in joust or fight
To splinter in my lady's sight;
But at her feet how blest were I
For any need of hers to die.

The sisters

The rush of wind, the ramp and roar,
Of great waves climbing a rocky shore.

Annie rose up in her bedgown white,
And looked out into the storm and night.

‘Hush, and hearken’ she cried in fear,
‘Hearest thou nothing? sister dear! ’

‘ I hear the sea and the plash of rain,
And roar of the northeast hurricane.

‘ Get thee back to the bed so warm I
No good comes of watching a storm.

‘ What is it to thee, I fain would know,
That waves are roaring and wild winds blow?

‘ No lover of thine is afloat to miss
The harbour lights on a night like this.’

‘ But I heard a voice cry out my name:
Up from the sea on the wind it came.

‘ Twice and thrice have I heard it call;
And the voice is the voice of Estwick Hall.’