As Mrs. Grosvenor returned her son's embrace, she felt that perhaps she
had said too much; that she had been selfish in wishing to have him
always near her; and she observed that he wore an expression of pain, of
deep emotion, which he in vain attempted to conceal.
The Sea-flower had rested her head upon her hand, and while her mother
had been engaged with Harry, a silent spectator might have wondered to
what unseen object those deep oases of love were imparting their
purity. The words of Harry had fallen upon her ear,--"I shall see what
old Ocean is made of;" shall we follow in the train of her musings? they
will lead us not where the fallen tread. On the banks of the still
waters of peace, 'neath the willows, whose tears are of innocence, frisk
the tender lambs, who taste only of the sweets of the green pasture:--"I
shall see what old ocean is made of." Far away in coral dells, where the
nymphs of ocean tune their harps in praise to Nature's God, the
Sea-flower loves to ramble, as if she had been a child in time long
past, and the mysteries of ocean were that childhood's home. Ah, loved
one, thou dost not pause to find what 'tis which makes thy heart to beat
in unison with the murmuring of the waters! perchance those restless
billows are but the echoings of thy soul's desire to breathe that upper
air, and breathing, gasp for more, 'Tis not for us to tell thee that
bright ones came down, and bore the spirit of her who gave thee life, to
that better land, from hence; nor of the dying prayer, "Lord, keep my
child," which was caught up by each listening billow, and the
supplication, e'er since renewed by the voices of the deep.
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