' 
 
" And ships far-off go sailing by 
 In some white-winged fleet.*' Page xi. 
 
SURF AND WAVE: 
 
 THE SEA AS SUNG BY THE POETS. 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 ANNA L. WARD. 
 
 Great Ocean ! strongest of Creation *s sons ! 
 Unconquerable, unreposed, untired." 
 
 POLLOK : Course of Time. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 THOMAS Y. CROW ELL & CO. 
 
 13 ASTOR PLACE. 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1883, 
 BY THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO. 
 
 .franklin JDrrss: 
 
 RAND, AVERY, AND COMPANY, 
 BOSTON. 
 
Thou wert before the continents, before 
 The hollow heavens, which like another sea 
 Encircles them and thee '; but whence tJiou wert, 
 And when thou wast created, is not known. 
 Antiquity was young when thou wast old. 
 There is no limit to thy strength, no end 
 To thy magnificence. Thou goest forth 
 On thy long journeys to remotest lands, 
 And contest back unwearied. 
 
 RICHARD HENRY STODDARD: Hymn to the Sea. 
 
EDITOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 ] HE compiler of these Songs and Poems of the 
 Sea returns thanks to those kind friends whose 
 contributions and encouragement have so 
 greatly aided her work. She trusts that none will miss 
 their favorite poems from these pages ; but, should this 
 happen, she hopes to have made amends by offering 
 some lyrics which now appear for the first time, and 
 many others which are rarely to be found. 
 
 Many of the full-page illustrations, and all of the 
 vignettes which are placed before and after the various 
 divisions of the book, are from original designs by Miss 
 FLORENTINE H. HAYDEN, to whom the particular grati- 
 tude of the compiler and publishers is hereby rendered. 
 
 Thanks are due to Messrs. D. APPLETON & COMPANY, 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, HOUGH- 
 TON, MIFFLIN, & COMPANY, JAMES R. OSGOOD & COMPANY, 
 
vi EDITORS PREFACE. 
 
 A. WILLIAMS & COMPANY, "OUR CONTINENT," "THE CEN- 
 TURY COMPANY," and others, for the permission to use in 
 this volume copyrighted poems which they control. 
 
 With this brief preface she bids "Bon voyage.'" to all 
 her readers. 
 
 A. L. W. 
 
 BLOOMFIELD, N.J., May, 1883. 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 PROEM . 
 
 PREFACE . 
 
 INTRODUCTORY POEM 
 
 SEA-BREEZES 
 
 WAVES OF THE DEEP 
 
 SEA-SPRAY 
 
 SURF- EDGES . 
 
 OCEAN-SOUNDINGS 
 
 INDEX OF AUTHORS 
 
 INDEX OF POEMS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 iii 
 v 
 ix 
 
 i 
 
 T 33 
 231 
 
 305 
 459 
 595 
 609 
 
INTRODUCTORY POEM 
 
 BY 
 
 SAMUEL W. DUFFIELD. 
 
JETSAM. 
 
 WHEN days are bright, and hope is high, 
 When sun and wind are sweet, 
 The little ripples dart and fly, 
 
 And gladden at my feet; 
 And ships far off go sailing by 
 In some white-winged fleet. 
 
 My heart is light : I laugh and sing 
 
 As by myself I go; 
 My thoughts, like gulls on lazy wing, 
 
 Move purely to and fro ; 
 I lack not then for any thing 
 
 Which nature can bestow. 
 
 But if, against that dimmest verge 
 
 Which joins the sky and sea, 
 Some huge dark hand begins to urge 
 
 The waters wrathfully, 
 They sweep in swiftly-rising surge 
 
 Through my serenity. 
 
 And yet to-morrow to the sand 
 
 The little bird will come, 
 To-morrow will be warm and bland 
 
 O'er wreaths of perished foam, 
 And weed and shell flung up to land 
 
 Will meet me as I roam, 
 
 xi 
 
xii JETSAM. 
 
 O soul of mine ! thou art a sea 
 By which I love to stray, 
 
 A broken-edged eternity 
 To lift me when I play: 
 
 Why should I shun the agony 
 "Which gives me joy to-day? 
 
 soul of mine ! thou hidest well 
 The secrets of thy breast ; 
 
 1 only know by weed or shell 
 
 The distant and the best: 
 I bless the tide whose pulses tell 
 That after storm is rest. 
 
 SAMUEL WILLOUGHBY DUFFIELD. 
 
EA-BREEZES. 
 
 WINDS come whispering lightly from the west, 
 Kissing, not ruffling, the blue deep's serene. 
 
 BYRON: Childe Harold, Canto II. St. 70. 
 
CHRYSAOR. 
 
 TUST above yon sandy bar, 
 J As the day grows fainter and dimmer, 
 
 Lonely and lovely a single star 
 Lights the air with a dusky glimmer. 
 
 Into the ocean, faint and far, 
 
 Falls the trail of its golden splendor ; 
 
 And the gleam of that single star 
 Is ever refulgent, soft, and tender. 
 
 Chrysaor, rising out of the sea, 
 
 Showed thus glorious and thus emulous, 
 
 Leaving the arms of Callirrhoe, 
 
 Forever tender, soft, and tremulous. 
 
 Thus o'er the ocean, faint and far, 
 
 Trailed the gleam of his falchion brightly : 
 
 Is it a god, or is it a star, 
 
 That, entranced, I gaze on nightly? 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 3 
 
COUNT ARNALDOS. 
 
 COUNT ARNALDOS. 
 
 WHO had ever such adventure, 
 Holy priest, or virgin nun, 
 As befell the Count Arnaldos 
 At the rising of the sun ? 
 
 On his wrist the hawk was hooded ; 
 
 Forth with horn and hound went he, 
 When he saw a stately galley 
 
 Sailing on the silent sea. 
 
 Sail of satin, masts of cedar, 
 Burnished poop of beaten gold : 
 
 Many a morn you'll hood your falcon 
 Ere you such a bark behold. 
 
 Sails of satin, masts of cedar, 
 Golden poops, may come again ; 
 
 But mortal ear no more shall listen 
 To yon gray-haired sailor's strain. 
 
 Heart may beat, and eye may glisten ; 
 
 Faith is strong, and hope is free ; 
 But mortal ear shall no more listen 
 
 To the song that rules the sea. 
 
 When the gray-haired sailor chanted, 
 Every wind was hushed to sleep ; 
 
 Like a virgin bosom panted . 
 All the wide, reposing deep. 
 
 Bright in beauty rose the star-fish 
 From her green cave down below ; 
 
THE WHITE SQUALL. 
 
 Right above, the eagle poised him, 
 Holy music charmed them so. 
 
 " Stately galley ! glorious galley ! 
 
 God hath poured his grace on thee : 
 Thou alone mayst scorn the perils 
 
 Of the dread, devouring sea. 
 
 " False Almeria's reefs and shallows, 
 
 Black Gibraltar's giant rocks, 
 Sound and sand-bank, gulf and whirlpool, 
 
 All my glorious galley mocks." 
 
 "For the sake of God, our maker," 
 (Count Arnaldos' cry was strong,) 
 
 " Old man, let me be partaker 
 In the secret of thy song ! " 
 
 " Count Arnaldos ! Count Arnaldos ! 
 
 Hearts I read, and thoughts I know : 
 Wouldst thou learn the ocean secret, 
 
 In our galley thou must go." 
 
 LOCKHART'S SPANISH BALLADS. 
 
 THE WHITE SQUALL. 
 
 (IN THE MEDITERRANEAN.) 
 
 ON deck, beneath the awning, 
 I dozing lay, and yawning : 
 It was the gray of dawning, 
 
 Ere yet the sun arose ; 
 And above the funnel's roaring, 
 And the fitful wind's deploring, 
 
THE WHITE SQUALL. 
 
 I heard the cabin snoring 
 
 With universal nose. 
 I could hear the passengers snorting ; 
 I envied their disporting ; 
 Vainly I was courting 
 
 The pleasure of a doze. 
 
 So I lay, and wondered why light 
 Came not, and watched the twilight, 
 And the glimmer of the skylight 
 
 That shot across the deck, 
 And the binnacle pale and steady, 
 And the dull glimpse of the dead-eye, 
 And the sparks in fiery eddy 
 
 That whirled from the chimney-neck. 
 In our jovial floating prison 
 There was sleep from fore to mizzen ; 
 And never a star had risen 
 
 The hazy sky to speck. 
 Strange company we harbored : 
 We'd a hundred Jews to larboard, 
 Unwashed, uncombed, unbarbered, 
 
 Jews black and brown and gray. 
 To starboard Turks and Greeks were ; 
 Whiskered and brown their cheeks were; 
 Enormous wide their breeks were ; 
 
 Their pipes did puff away. 
 And so the hours kept tolling ; 
 And through the ocean rolling 
 'Vent the brave " Iberia " bowling, 
 
 Before the break of day, 
 When a squall, upon a sudden, 
 Came o'er the waters scudding ; 
 
THE WHITE SQUALL. 
 
 And the clouds began to gather, 
 And the sea was lashed to lather, 
 And the lowering thunder grumbled, 
 And the lightning jumped and tumbled, 
 And the ship, and all the ocean, 
 Woke up in wild commotion. 
 Then the wind set up a howling, 
 And the poodle-dog a yowling ; 
 And the cocks began a crowing ; 
 And the old cow raised a lowing 
 As she heard the tempest blowing ; 
 And fowls and geese did cackle ; 
 And the cordage and the tackle 
 Began to shriek and crackle ; 
 And the spray dashed o'er the funnels, 
 And down the deck in runnels ; 
 And the rushing water soaks all, 
 From the seaman in the fo'ksal 
 To the stokers, whose black faces 
 Peer out of their bed-places ; 
 And the captain he was bawling ; 
 And the sailors pulling, hauling ; 
 And the quarterdeck tarpauling 
 Was shivered in the squalling ; 
 And the passengers awaken, 
 Most pitifully shaken ; 
 And the steward jumps up, and hastens 
 For the necessary basins. 
 
 And when, its force expended, 
 The harmless storm was ended, 
 And as the sunrise splendid 
 Came blushing o'er the sea, 
 
JACK HUMPHREY'S OATH. 
 
 I thought, as day was breaking, 
 My little girls were waking, 
 And smiling, and making 
 A prayer at home for me. 
 
 WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. 
 
 JACK HUMPHREY'S OATH. 
 
 FOLK LORE. 
 
 FROM Wampoa sailed a gallant ship 
 Out o'er the China Sea : 
 A stout, bold man commanded her 
 
 They called him Jack Humphrey. 
 The captain's mate a sweetheart had, 
 
 And home he longed to be, 
 Which made him whistle for a wind, 
 And speak the master free. 
 
 " Tis long ere we get home, I trow, 
 
 The way is long to sail : 
 T\vo hundred days 'twill be, or more, 
 
 Withouten any fail." 
 Up spake Jack Humphrey with an oath, 
 
 Now, messmates, mark me well: 
 In heaven above, or sea beneath, 
 
 Nought can a strong man quell. 
 
 " A strong man's love, a strong man's will, 
 
 May Heaven itself defy : 
 Oh ! I'll be back in half that time, 
 
 As my name's Jack Humphrey. 
 A hundred days, my hearty tars, 
 
 And we'll in Portland be, 
 
JACK HUMPHREYS OATH. 9 
 
 You with your sweethearts, I with Jane : 
 So crowd the canvas free." 
 
 Oh ! Portland is a seagirt town, 
 
 With hills of slippery clay, 
 Whose tender matrons steadfast are 
 
 To mariners away 
 Good Portland, in the State of Maine, 
 
 A cold and bleak countrie : 
 Thy mother knits the mittens warm 
 
 For thy next voyage, Humphrey. 
 
 Thy mother lays the Bible down, 
 
 And sips the good green tea ; 
 For she bethinks her of the son 
 
 That brought it o'er the sea. 
 Fair Jeannie climbs up old Whitehead, 1 
 
 That looms from out the sea ; 
 And every ship that passes by 
 
 She takes for Jack Humphrey. 
 
 She puts the pearl-shell to her ear, 
 
 And listens to the sound ; 
 For well she knows, if it is mute, 
 
 The giver must be drowned. 
 The good ship reels with press of sail : 
 
 Her topsails rake the blast ; 
 Good-lack, 'Jack Humphrey ! but the ship 
 
 Is going wondrous fast. 
 
 By Madagascar's savage strand, 
 
 With winds that westering blew, 
 And westward sets the shipwrecked spar 
 
 And weed they drifted through ; 
 
 1 Whitehead is a rocky headland, so called, at the entrance to the harbor of 
 Portland- 
 
I o JA CK HUMPHRE Y '5 OA TH. 
 
 Adown the Indian Ocean now ; 
 
 By Cape Agulhas by 
 " A steady hand, my helmsman, bear : 
 
 The wind is wondrous high. 
 
 " Around the Cape now bear her up ; 
 
 Look to the table-land ! 
 A ghostly shroud is flapping there, 
 
 Waved by no mortal hand." 
 Westward, westward, steering on, 
 
 Nor never furled a sail ; 
 The masts and spars loud shrieked, and bowed 
 
 Before the heavy gale. 
 
 The great white auk, from out the north 
 
 Far driven by the wind, 
 Hails with a scream the gallant ship, 
 
 And surgeth on behind. 
 The cold, pale moon, with white wan face, 
 
 Looked through the mackerel-sky, 
 And looked upon the great white auk 
 
 That flappeth heavily. 
 
 The cold moon from the mackerel-sky 
 
 Looked on the laboring ship, 
 Where stood Jack Humphrey by the mast, 
 
 With proud and curling lip. 
 Like wool the flecking foam is cast ; 
 
 The murky night is cold : 
 " O captain ! douse the stud'n'-sails; 
 
 I trow you are too bold." 
 
 " Now, hold thy speech, thou mariner : 
 The mast may shake and bow, 
 
JACK HUMPHREY'S OATH. n 
 
 And every sail be split in twain ; 
 
 But we will go as now." 
 "A ship ! a ship ! Jack Humphrey, mark ! 
 
 Close reefed is her topsail, 
 And all her canvas carried home, 
 
 That she may bide the gale." 
 
 "A sail ! " the captain jeering cried ; 
 
 " She scuds under bare poles, 
 And every face is white as death : 
 
 God save their craven souls ! " 
 "Amen ! amen ! " the sailors cried : 
 
 " We wish them nothing less ; 
 For our good ship will soon go down : 
 
 Pray God our souls to bless." 
 
 " Ahoy ! ahoy ! thou bold captain : 
 
 How is't ye bear such sail? 
 Ahoy ! ahoy ! where are ye bound, 
 
 An ye ride out the gale? " 
 Jack Humphrey leaped the quarterdeck, 
 
 And loud his two feet rang : 
 He swore an oath, and loud he laughed, 
 
 Athrough the trumpet clang. 
 
 Jack Humphrey leaped the weather-rail ; 
 
 Fierce did his trumpet yell : 
 " I'm bound for home in sixty days 
 
 Or else I go to h 1 ! " 
 " Now God forefend, thou wicked man ! 
 
 Thy speech is over bold : 
 I would not be in thy good ship, 
 
 An she were made of gold." 
 
12 JACK HUMPH RE Y 'S OA TH. 
 
 Jack Humphrey strode the quarterdeck, 
 
 In scorn loud laughed he : 
 Now bear away, my helmsman, bear; 
 
 The wind pipes merrily." 
 The helmsman braced his two feet wide, 
 
 The prow so ploughed the sea ; 
 And every man sank to his knees : 
 
 Oh ! kneel thee, Jack Humphrey. 
 
 Adown, adown ! the sea sucks in, 
 
 The hull, the mast, the spar, 
 Above spreads out a mackerel-sky, 
 
 And shows a single star. 
 Below, the surging billows roar ; 
 
 Sea-monsters rise and fall ; 
 And winds from out the gathering wrack 
 
 Unto each other call. 
 
 The great white auk above the place 
 
 Wheels wildly to and fro ; 
 The beacon she has followed long 
 
 The sail, as white as snow 
 Has vanished from the boundless space, 
 
 And she is left to be 
 A trackless wanderer alone 
 
 Upon the pathless sea. 
 
 Long shall the seaman hear her cry 
 
 Above the raging blast, 
 And shudder when her feet alight 
 
 Upon the reeling mast ; 
 Long shall the mother watch and wait ; 
 
 Long shall the maiden weep ; 
 
THE WATER WRAITH. 
 
 Long shall the merchant count the gains 
 His Indian ship shall heap. 
 
 But stout Jack Humphrey nevermore 
 
 The storm with pride will breast : 
 The daring heart and reckless tongue 
 
 Are each alike at rest. 
 Long shall sweet Jeannie, weeping, watch, 
 
 And hope, for many a year, 
 To see round Whitehead's stormy peak 
 
 Her lover's ship appear. 
 
 ELIZABETH OAKES SMITH. 
 
 THE WATER WRAITH. 1 
 
 THE sea is moaning, the new-born cries ; 
 In her child -bed sorrow the mother lies, 
 And the fisher fisheth far away, 
 In the morning gray. 
 
 The lift is laden, the dawn appears : 
 Is it the moan o' the wind he hears? 
 Is it the splash o' the ocean foam ? 
 Or a cry from home ? 
 
 The wind is whistling in shroud and street 
 He fisheth there that the babe may eat ; 
 He gazeth down from the side of his bark 
 On the waters dark. 
 
 Sees he the gleam o' the foam-flake there, 
 Or a white, white face in its floating hair? 
 Salt seaweeds that are shoreward drifted, 
 Or arms uplifted ? 
 
 1 Wraith, the apparition of one on the point of death. 
 
I 4 UNLOVED AND ALONE. 
 
 His heart is heavy, his lips are set ; 
 He sighs as he draggeth in his net : 
 The dawning brightens, the water screams, 
 And the white face gleams. 
 
 Tis chill, so chill, as he shoreward flies : 
 The boat is laden, the new-born cries ; 
 But the wraith of the mother fades far away 
 In the morning gray. 
 
 ROBERT BUCHANAN. 
 
 UNLOVED AND ALONE. 
 
 THE sea-dove some twin-shadow has; 
 The lark has lovers in seas of grass ; 
 The wild beast trumpets back his vow ; 
 The squirrel laughs along his bough : 
 But I, I am as alone, alas ! 
 As yon white moon when white clouds pass, 
 As lonely and unloved, alas ! 
 As clouds that weep and drop and pass. 
 
 O maiden ! singing silver sweet 
 At cabin-door, in field of corn, 
 Where woodbines twine for thy retreat, 
 Sing sweet through all thy summer morn, 
 For love is landing at thy feet, 
 In that fair isle in seas of corn ; 
 But I, I am unloved and lorn 
 As winter winds of winter morn. 
 
 The ships, black-bellied, climb the sea; 
 The seamen seek their loves on land ; 
 And love and lover, hand in hand, 
 Go singing, glad as glad can be : 
 
THE SAILOR. 15 
 
 But nevermore shall love seek me 
 
 By blowy sea or broken land, 
 By broken wild or willow-tree, 
 Nay, nevermore shall love seek me. 
 
 , , JOAQUIN MILLER. 
 
 THE SAILOR. 
 
 (A ROMAIC BALLAD.) 
 
 THOU that hast a daughter 
 For one to woo and wed, 
 Give her to a husband 
 
 With snow upon his head. 
 Oh ! give her to an old man, 
 
 Though little joy it be, 
 
 Before the best young sailor 
 
 That sails upon the sea. 
 
 How luckless is the sailor 
 
 When sick and like to die ! 
 He sees no tender mother, 
 
 No sweetheart standing by. 
 Only the captain speaks to him : 
 
 " Stand up, stand up, young man ! 
 And steer the ship to haven, 
 
 As none beside thee can." 
 
 " Thou say'st to me, ' Stand up, stand up ! ' 
 
 I say to thee, ' Take hold ! ' 
 Lift me a little from the deck : 
 
 My hands and feet are cold. 
 And let my head, I pray thee, 
 
 With handkerchiefs be bound : 
 There ! take my love's gold handkerchief, 
 
 And tie it tightly round. 
 
16 HOW'S MY BOY? 
 
 " Now bring the chart, the doleful chart : 
 
 See where these mountains meet ! 
 The clouds are thick around their head, 
 
 The mists around their feet. 
 Cast anchor here : 'tis deep and safe 
 
 Within the rocky cleft, 
 The little anchor on the right, 
 
 The great one on the left. 
 
 " And now to thee, O captain ! 
 
 Most earnestly I pray, 
 That they may never bury me 
 
 In church or cloister gray, 
 But on the windy sea-beach, 
 
 At the ending of the land, 
 All on the surfy sea-beach, 
 
 Deep down into the sand. 
 
 " For there will come the sailors : 
 
 Their voices I shall hear, 
 And at casting of the anchor, 
 
 The yo-ho loud and clear, 
 And at hauling of the anchor, 
 
 The yo-ho and the cheer. 
 Farewell, my love ; for to thy bay 
 
 I nevermore may steer ! " 
 
 WILLIAM ALLINGHAM. 
 HOW'S MY BOY? 
 
 " TT sailor of the sea ! 
 
 XI How's my boy, my boy?" 
 " What's your boy's name, goodwife ? 
 And in what ship sailed he ? " 
 
HOW'S MY BOY? 17 
 
 " My boy John 
 
 He that went to sea : 
 What care I for the ship, sailor? 
 
 My boy's my boy to me. 
 
 " You come back from sea," 
 
 And not know my John? 
 I might as well have asked some landsman 
 
 Yonder down in the town. 
 There's not an ass in all the parish 
 
 But he knows my John. 
 
 " How's my boy, my boy ? 
 
 And unless you let me know, 
 I'll swear you are no sailor, 
 
 Blue jacket or no, 
 Brass buttons or no, sailor, 
 
 Anchor and crown or no ! 
 Sure his ship was the 'Jolly Briton ' " 
 
 " Speak low, woman, speak low ! " 
 " And why should I speak low, sailor, 
 
 About my own boy John ? 
 If I was loud as I am proud, 
 
 I'd sing him over the town. 
 Why should I speak low, sailor?" 
 
 " That good ship went down." 
 
 " How's my boy, my boy ? 
 
 What care I for the ship, sailor? 
 
 I never was aboard her. 
 Be she afloat, or be she aground, 
 Sinking or swimming, I'll be bound 
 
 Her owners can afford her ! 
 I say, How's my John?" 
 
l8 LEGEND OF THE CORRIEVRECHAN. 
 
 " Every man on board went do\rn, 
 Every man aboard her." 
 " How's my boy, my boy ? 
 
 What care I for the men, sailor? 
 
 I'm not their mother 
 How's my boy, my boy ? 
 
 Tell me of him, and no other ! 
 How's my boy, my boy?" 
 
 SIDNEY DOBELL. 
 
 LEGEND OF THE CORRIEVRECHAN. 
 
 T)RINCE BREACAN of Denmark was lord of 
 . the strand, 
 
 And lord of the billowy sea : 
 Lord of the sea, and lord of the land, 
 
 He might have let maidens be. 
 
 A maiden he met with locks of gold, 
 
 Astray by the billowy sea : 
 Maidens listened in days of old, 
 
 And repented grievously. 
 
 Wiser he left her in sorrows and wiles : 
 
 He went sailing over the sea, 
 And came to the Lord of the Western Isles : 
 
 " Now give me thy daughter," said he. 
 
 The Lord of the Isles he rose and said, 
 " If thou art not a king of the sea, 
 
 Think not the Maid of the Islands to wed, 
 She is too good for thee. 
 
LEGEND OF THE CORRIEVRECHAN. 19 
 
 " Hold thine own three nights and days 
 
 In this whirlpool of the sea, 
 Or turn thy prow, and go thy ways, 
 
 And let the sea-maiden be." 
 
 Prince Breacan he turned his sea-dog prow 
 
 To Denmark over the sea : 
 " Wise women," he said, " now tell me how 
 
 In yon whirlpool to anchor me." 
 
 " Make a cable of hemp, and a cable of wool, 
 
 And a cable of maidens' hair, 
 And hie thee back to the roaring pool, 
 
 And anchor in safety there. 
 
 " The smiths, for love, on the eve of Yule 
 
 Will forge thee three anchors rare ; 
 Thou shalt gather the hemp, and shear the wool, 
 
 And the maidens will bring their hair. 
 
 " Of the hair that is brown thou shalt twist one 
 strand ; 
 
 Of the hair that is raven, another ; 
 Of the golden hair thou shalt twine a band 
 
 To bind the one to the other." 
 
 He gathered the hemp, and he shore the wool ; 
 
 And the maidens brought their hair, 
 To hold him fast in the roaring pool 
 
 By three anchors of iron rare. 
 
 He twisted the brown hair for one strand, 
 
 And the raven hair for another ; 
 He twined the golden hair in a band 
 
 To bind the one to the other. 
 
20 LEGEND OF THE CORRIEVRECHAN. 
 
 He took the cables of hemp and wool, 
 
 He took the cable of hair, 
 And he hied him back to the roaring pool, 
 
 And he cast the three anchors there. 
 
 The whirlpool roared, and the day went by, 
 And night came down on the sea ; 
 
 But, or ever the morning had broke the sky, 
 The hemp had broken in three. 
 
 The night it came down ; the whirlpool it ran ; 
 
 The wind it fiercely blew ; 
 And, or ever the second morning began, 
 
 The wool had parted in two. 
 
 The storm it roared all day the third, 
 
 And the whirlpool reeled about ; 
 The night came down like a wild black bird : 
 
 But the cable of hair held out. 
 
 Round and around, with a giddy swing, 
 ^"ent the Sea- King through the dark ; 
 
 And round went the rope in the swivel-ring ; 
 And round went the straining bark. 
 
 Prince Breacan he sat by the good boat's prow, 
 
 A lantern in his hand ; 
 Blest be the maidens of Denmark now ! 
 
 By them shall Denmark stand. 
 
 He watched the rope through the tempest black, 
 
 A lantern in his hold : 
 Out, out, alack ! one strand will crack, 
 
 And it is of shining gold. 
 
WITH THE TIDE. 21 
 
 The third morn, clear and calm, came out ; 
 
 Nor lord nor ship was there : 
 For the golden strand in the cable stout 
 
 Was not all of maidens' hair. 
 
 GEORGE MACDONALD. 
 
 WITH THE TIDE. 
 
 SWIFT o'er the water my light yacht dances, 
 Flying fast from the wind of the south ; 
 Bright from her bowsprit the white foam glances, 
 And straight we steer for the harbor's mouth. 
 
 The coast-line dim from the haze emerges, 
 With tender tints of the spring-time toned ; 
 
 On silver beaches roll sparkling surges ; 
 
 And woods are green on the hills enthroned. 
 
 The sentinel lighthouses watch together 
 As the stately river we reach at last ; 
 
 The robins sing in the blithe May weather ; 
 And the flood-tide bears us onward fast. 
 
 From bank to bank flows a chorus mellow 
 Of rippling frogs and of singing birds ; 
 
 The fields are starry with flowers of yellow ; 
 And green slopes pasture the lowing herds. 
 
 A lovely perfume blows softly over 
 From apple-blossoms on either side, 
 
 From golden willow and budding clover, 
 And many a garden of lowly pride. 
 
22 WITH THE TIDE. 
 
 And a lazy echo of glad cocks crowing 
 From dooryards cosey rings far and near ; 
 
 And the city's murmur is slowly growing 
 From out the distance distinct and clear. 
 
 Over the river so broadly flowing, 
 
 Cottages look from the sheltering trees ; 
 And out through the orchard, with blossoms snowing, 
 Comes brown-haired maiden from one of these. 
 
 She waves her hand as in friendly token, 
 And watches my swift boat sailing on ; 
 
 I answer her signal no word is spoken : 
 Tis but a moment, and she is gone. 
 
 And when, from the far-off town returning, 
 
 Dropping down with the ebbing tide, 
 Seaward we sail, with the sunset burning, 
 
 O'er wastes of the ocean lone and wide, 
 
 Again in the orchard, her white hand lifted 
 Shows like a waft of a sea-bird's wing ; 
 
 While the rosy blossoms are o'er her drifted, 
 And loud with rapture the robins sing. 
 
 I know her not, and shall know her never ; 
 
 But ever I watch for that friendly sign ; 
 And up or down with the stately river 
 
 Her lovely greeting is always mine. 
 
 And her presence lends to the scene a glory, 
 More beauty to blossom and stream and tree ; 
 
 And back o'er the wastes of the ocean hoary 
 Her gentle image I take with me. 
 
 CELIA THAXTER. 
 
THE NEW DAY. 23 
 
 AT THE HARBOR-MOUTH. 
 
 AT the harbor-mouth, at the harbor-mouth, 
 The little white sails I see ; 
 And they veer to the north, and they turn to the south, 
 
 And they glide so gracefully : 
 But the great gray ships go far below 
 The rim of the harbor that loves them so. 
 
 In the happy days, in the happy days, 
 
 My beautiful dreams go by ; 
 And the sun is so bright, as he gives them his rays, 
 
 That I bless the sea and sky : 
 But the mightier thoughts are far below 
 The words of the singer who loves them so. 
 
 SAMUEL WILLOUGHBY DUFFIELD. 
 
 THE NEW DAY. 
 (PROLOGUE.) 
 
 THE night was dark, though sometimes a faint star 
 A little while a little space made bright. 
 Dark was the night, and like an iron bar 
 Lay heavy on the land, till o'er the sea 
 Slowly, within the east, there grew a light 
 Which half was starlight, and half seemed to be 
 The herald of a greater. The pale white 
 Turned slowly to pale rose, and up the height 
 Of heaven slowly climbed. The gray sea grew 
 Rose-colored like the sky. A white gull flew 
 Straight toward the utmost boundary of the east, 
 Where slowly the rose gathered and increased. 
 
24 TACKING SHIP OFF SHORE. 
 
 It was as on the opening of a door 
 
 By one who in his hand a lamp doth hold, 
 
 (Its flame yet hidden by the garment's fold,) 
 
 The still air moves, the wide room is less dim. 
 
 More bright the east became ; the ocean turned 
 
 Dark and more dark against the brightening sky ; 
 
 Sharper against the sky the long sea-line ; 
 
 The hollows of the breakers on the shore 
 
 Were green like leaves whereon no sun doth shine, 
 
 Though white the outer branches of the tree. 
 
 From rose to red the level heaven burned : 
 
 Then sudden, as if a sword fell from on high, 
 
 A blade of gold flashed on the ocean's rim. 
 
 RICHARD WATSON GILDER. 
 
 TACKING SHIP OFF SHORE. 
 
 THE weather leach of the topsail shivers ; 
 The bowlines strain, and the lee-shrouds slacken ; 
 The braces are taut, and the lithe boom quivers ; 
 
 And the waves with the coming squall-cloud blacken. 
 
 Open one point on the weather-bow 
 
 Is the lighthouse tall on Fire-Island Head : 
 
 There's a shade of doubt on the captain's brow, 
 And the pilot watches the heaving lead. 
 
 I stand at the wheel ; and, with eager eye, 
 
 To sea and to sky and to shore I gaze, 
 Till the muttered order of " FULL AND BY ! " 
 
 Is suddenly changed to " FULL FOR STAYS ! " 
 
 The ship bends lower before the breeze 
 As her broadside fair to the blast she lays ; 
 
TACKING SHIP OFF SHORE. 25 
 
 And she swifter springs to the rising seas 
 As the pilot calls, " STAND BY FOR STAYS ! " 
 
 It is silence all, as each in his place, 
 
 With the gathered coils in his hardened hands, 
 
 By tack and bowline, by sheet and brace, 
 Waiting the watchword impatient stands. 
 
 And the light on Fire-Island Head draws near, 
 
 As, trumpet-winged, the pilot's shout 
 From his post on the bowsprit's heel I hear, 
 
 With the welcome call of " READY ! ABOUT ! " 
 
 No time to spare ; it is touch and go : 
 
 And the captain growls, " DOWN HELM ! HARD DOWN ! " 
 As my weight on the whirling spokes I throw, 
 
 While heaven grows black with the storm-cloud's 
 frown. 
 
 High o'er the knight-heads flies the spray 
 As we meet the shock of the plunging sea ; 
 
 And my shoulder stiff to the wheel I lay, 
 As I answer, " AY, AY, SIR ! HARD-A-LEE ! " 
 
 With the swerving leap of a startled steed, 
 The ship flies fast in the eye of the wind : 
 
 The dangerous shoals on the lee recede, 
 
 And the headland white we have left behind. 
 
 The topsails flutter ; the jibs collapse, 
 
 And belly and tug at the groaning cleats ; 
 
 The spanker slaps, and the mainsail flaps ; 
 
 And thunders the order, " TACKS AND SHEETS ! " 
 
26 THE DEMON LOVER. 
 
 Mid the rattle of blocks and the tramp of the crew, 
 
 Hisses the rain of the rushing squall : 
 The sails are aback from clew to clew ; 
 
 And now is the moment for " MAINSAIL, HAUL ! " 
 
 And the heavy yards, like a baby's toy, 
 
 By fifty strong arms are swiftly swung : 
 She holds her way, and I look with joy 
 
 For the first white spray o'er the bulwarks flung. 
 
 " LET GO, AND HAUL ! " Tis the last command, 
 And the head-sails fill to the blast once more ; 
 
 Astern and to leeward lies the land, 
 
 With its breakers white on the shingly shore. 
 
 What matters the reef, or the rain, or the squall ? 
 
 I steady the helm for the open sea ; 
 The first mate clamors, " BELAY THERE, ALL ! " 
 
 And the captain's breath once more comes free. 
 
 And so off shore let the good ship fly : 
 
 Little care I how the gusts may blow ; 
 In my fo'castle-bunk, in a jacket dry 
 
 Eight bells have struck, and my watch is below. 
 
 WALTER MITCHEL. 
 
 THE DEMON LOVER. 
 
 where have you been, my long, long love, 
 This long seven years and mair? " 
 " Oh ! I'm come to seek my former vows 
 Ye granted me before." 
 
THE DEMON LOVER. 27 
 
 " Oh, hold your tongue of your former vows ! 
 
 For they will breed sad strife : 
 Oh, hold your tongue of your former vows ! 
 
 For I am become a wife." 
 
 He turned him right and round about, 
 
 And the tear blinded his e'e : 
 " I wad never hae trodden on Irish ground, 
 
 If it had not been for thee. 
 
 " I might have had a king's daughter, 
 
 Far, far beyond the sea : 
 I might have had a king's daughter, 
 
 Had it not been for love o' thee." 
 
 " If ye might have had a king's daughter, 
 
 Yersell ye had to blame : 
 Ye might have taken the king's daughter, 
 
 For ye kend that I was nane." 
 
 " Oh, faulse are the vows o' womankind ! 
 
 But fair is their false bodie : 
 I never would hae trodden on Irish ground, 
 
 Had it not been for love o' thee." 
 
 " If I was to leave my husband dear, 
 
 And my two babes also, 
 Oh, what would you have to take me to, 
 
 If I with you should go ? " 
 
 " I have seven ships upon the sea ; 
 
 The eighth brought me to land, 
 With four and twenty bold mariners, 
 
 And music on every hand." 
 
28 THE DEMON LOVER. 
 
 She has taken up her two little babes, 
 Kissed them baith cheek and chin : 
 
 " Oh, fare ye we el ! my ain two babes, 
 For I'll never see you again." 
 
 She set her foot upon the ship, 
 No mariners could she behold ; 
 
 But the sails were o' the taffetie, 
 And the masts o' the beaten gold. 
 
 She had not sailed a league, a league, 
 
 A league but barely three, 
 When dismal grew his countenance, 
 
 And drumlie grew his e'e. 
 
 The masts, that were like the beaten gold, 
 
 Bent not on the heaving seas ; 
 And the sails, that were o' the taffetie, 
 
 Filled not in the eastland breeze. 
 
 They had not sailed a league, a league, 
 
 A league but barely three, 
 Until she espied his cloven foot, 
 
 And she wept right bitterly. 
 
 " Oh ! what hills are yon, yon pleasant hills, 
 That the sun shines sweetly on?" 
 
 " Oh, yon are the hills of heaven ! " he said, 
 " Where you will never win." 
 
 " Oh ! whaten a mountain is yon," she said, 
 " All so dreary wi' frost and snow? " 
 
 " Oh, yon is the mountain of hell ! " he cried, 
 "Where you and I will go." 
 
GOD BLESS THE SHIPS. 29 
 
 And aye, when she turned her round about, 
 
 Aye taller he seemed to be, 
 Until that the masts o' the gallant ship 
 
 Nae taller were than he. 
 
 The clouds grew dark, and the wind grew loud ; 
 
 And the levin filled her e'e ; 
 And waesome wailed the snow-white sprites 
 
 Upon the gurlie sea. 
 
 He struck the topmast wi' his hand, 
 
 The foremast wi' his knee ; 
 And he brake that gallant ship in twain, 
 
 And sank her in the sea. 
 
 OLD ENGLISH BALLAD. 
 
 GOD BLESS THE SHIPS. 
 
 THROUGH the crossed bracken-boughs, 
 Green, brown, and golden ; 
 Between the frowning brows 
 
 Of two cliffs, holden 
 In Nature's picture-frame, 
 Where the land dips, 
 Across the sunset flame 
 Sail the good ships. 
 
 Outward or homeward bound, 
 
 Free or deep laded ; 
 Like ghosts without a sound 
 
 When the west's faded ; 
 Cleaving the moonshine-track 
 
 Where the white strips 
 Bar the dark waters back 
 
 God save the ships ! 
 
30 THE DIVER. 
 
 Sad eyes are straining 
 
 To catch the sail's flutter ; 
 Salt tears are raining 
 
 What voice dare not utter. 
 Bound far to distant lands, 
 
 As the rope slips, 
 Bent heads and clasping hands 
 
 Pray for the ships. 
 
 Home with the evening-tide, 
 
 Colors free blowing, 
 Quick by fond eyes descried, 
 
 Coming or going : 
 Still as they cross our sight 
 
 Wakes to our lips 
 One prayer, by day and night, 
 
 " God bless the ships ! " 
 
 ANONYMOUS. 
 
 THE DIVER. 
 
 , where is the knight or the squire so bold 
 As to dive to the howling Charybdis below? 
 I cast into the whirlpool a goblet of gold, 
 
 And o'er it already the dark waters flow : 
 Whoever to me may the goblet bring 
 Shall have for his guerdon that gift of his king." 
 
 He spoke ; and the cup, from the terrible steep 
 That rugged and hoary hung over the verge 
 
 Of the endless and measureless world of the deep, 
 Swirled into the maelstrom that maddened the surge. 
 
 " And where is the diver so stout to go, 
 
 I ask ye again, to the deep below ? " 
 
THE DIVER. 31 
 
 And the knights and the squires that gathered around 
 Stood silent, and fixed on the ocean their eyes : 
 
 They looked on the dismal and savage profound, 
 
 And the peril chilled back every thought of the prize. 
 
 And thrice spoke the monarch : " The cup to win, 
 
 Is there never a wight who will venture in? " 
 
 And all as before heard in silence the king, 
 
 Till a youth, with an aspect unfearing, but gentle, 
 
 Mid the tremulous squires, stept out from the ring, 
 Unbuckling his girdle, and doffing his mantle ; 
 
 And the murmuring crowd, as they parted asunder, 
 
 On the stately boy cast their looks of wonder. 
 
 As he strode to the marge of the summit, and gave 
 One glance on the gulf of that merciless main, 
 
 Lo ! the wave that forever devours the wave 
 Casts roaringly up the Charybdis again, 
 
 And, as with the swell of the far thunder-boom, 
 
 Rushes foamingly forth from the heart of the gloom. 
 
 And it bubbles and seethes, and it hisses and roars, 
 As when fire is with water commixed and contending ; 
 
 And the spray of its wrath to the welkin upsoars, 
 And flood upon flood hurries on, never ending ; 
 
 And it never will rest, nor from travail be free, 
 
 Like a sea that is laboring the birth of a sea. 
 
 And at last there lay open the desolate realm ! 
 
 Through the breakers that whitened the waste of the 
 
 swell, 
 Dark, dark, yawned a cleft in the midst of the whelm, 
 
 The path to the heart of that fathomless hell. 
 
32 THE DIVER. 
 
 Round and round whirled the waves, deep and deeper 
 still driven, 
 
 Like a gorge through the mountainous main thunder- 
 riven. 
 
 The youth gave his trust to his Maker. Before 
 That path through the riven abyss closed again 
 
 Hark ! a shriek from the crowd rang aloft from the shore, 
 And, behold ! he is whirled in the grasp of the main ! 
 
 And o'er him the breakers mysteriously rolled, 
 
 And the giant-mouth closed on the swimmer so bold. 
 
 O'er the surface grim silence lay dark and profound ; 
 
 But the deep from below murmured hollow and fell ; 
 And the crowd, as it shuddered, lamented aloud, 
 
 " Gallant youth, noble heart, fare thee well, fare thee 
 
 well ! " 
 
 And still ever deepening, that wail, as of woe, 
 More hollow the gulf sent its howl from below. 
 
 If thou shouldst in those waters thy diadem fling, 
 And cry, "Who may find it shall win it and wear," 
 
 God's not ; though the prize were the crown of a king, 
 A crown at such hazard were valued too dear ; 
 
 For never did life of the living reveal 
 
 What the deeps that howl yonder in terror conceal. 
 
 Oh, many a ship, to that breast grappled fast, 
 
 Has gone down to the fearful and fathomless grave ! 
 
 Again, crashed together, the keel and the mast, 
 To be seen tossed aloft in the glee of the wave. 
 
 Like the growth of a storm, ever louder and clearer, 
 
 Grows the roar of the gulf, rising nearer and nearer. 
 
THE DIVER. 33 
 
 And it bubbles and seethes, and it hisses and roars, 
 As when fire is with water commixed and contending ; 
 
 And the spray of its wrath to the welkin upsoars, 
 And flood upon flood hurries on, never ending, 
 
 As with the swell of the far thunder-boom, 
 
 Rushes soaringly forth from the heart of the gloom. 
 
 And, lo ! from the heart of the far-floating gloom, 
 
 What gleams on the darkness so swan-like and white? 
 
 Lo ! an arm and a neck glancing up from the tomb : 
 They battle, the man's with the element's might. 
 
 It is he ! it is he ! In his left hand behold, 
 
 As a sign, as a joy, shines the goblet of gold ! 
 
 And he breathed deep, and he breathed long, 
 And he greeted the heavenly delight of the day : 
 
 They gaze on each other ; they shout, as they throng, 
 " He lives lo, the ocean has rendered its prey ! 
 
 And out of the grave where the hell began 
 
 His valor has rescued the living man ! " 
 
 And he comes with the crowd in their clamor and glee, 
 And the goblet his daring has won from the water 
 
 He lifts to the king as he sinks on his knee ; 
 
 And the king from her maidens has beckoned his 
 daughter ; 
 
 And he bade her the wine to his cup-bearer bring, 
 
 And thus spake the diver, " Long life to the king ! 
 
 " Happy they whom the rose-hues of daylight rejoice, 
 The air and the sky that to mortals are given ! 
 
 May the horror below nevermore find a voice, 
 
 Nor man stretch too far the wide mercy of Heaven ! 
 
34 THE DIVER. 
 
 Nevermore, nevermore may he lift from the mirror 
 The veil which is woven with NIGHT and with TERROR ! 
 
 " Quick, brightening like lightning, it tore me along, 
 
 Down, down, till the gush of a torrent at play 
 In the rocks of its wilderness caught me, and, strong 
 
 As the wings of an eagle, it whirled me away. 
 Vain, vain, were my struggles: the circle had won 
 
 me; 
 
 Round and round in its dance the wild element spun 
 me. 
 
 "And I called on my God, and my God heard my 
 prayer 
 
 In the strength of my need, in the gasp of my breath, 
 And showed me a crag that rose up from the lair ; 
 
 And I clung to it, trembling, and baffled the death ! 
 And, safe in the perils around me, behold, 
 On the spikes of the coral the goblet of gold ! 
 
 " Below, at the foot of that precipice drear, 
 
 Spread the gloomy and purple and pathless obscure ; 
 
 A silence of horror that slept on the ear, 
 
 That the eye more appalled might the horror endure. 
 
 Salamander, snake, dragon, vast reptiles that dwell 
 
 In the deep, coiled about the grim jaws of their hell. 
 
 " Dark crawled, glided dark, the unspeakable swarms, 
 Like masses unshapen, made life hideously 
 
 Here clung and here bristled the fashionless forms ; 
 Here the hammer-fish darkened the dark of the sea ; 
 
 And with teeth grinning white, and a menacing motion, 
 
 Went the terrible shark, the hyena of ocean. 
 
THE DIVER. 35 
 
 " There I hung, and the awe gathered icily o'er me ; 
 
 So far from the earth, where man's help there was none ! 
 The one human thing, with the goblins before me 
 
 Alone in a loneliness so ghastly ALONE ! 
 Fathom-deep from man's eye in the speechless profound, 
 With the death of the main, and the monsters around. 
 
 " Methought, as I gazed through the darkness, that now 
 A hundred-limbed creature caught sight of its prey, 
 
 And darted O God ! from the far-flaming bough 
 Of the coral I swept on the horrible way ; 
 
 And it seized me the wave with its wrath and its roar, 
 
 It seized me to save. King, the danger is o'er ! " 
 
 On the youth gazed the monarch, and marvelled : quoth 
 he, 
 
 " Bold diver, the goblet I promised is thine ; 
 And this ring will I give, a fresh guerdon to thee, 
 
 Never jewels more precious shone up from the mine, 
 If thou'lt bring me fresh tiding, and venture again, 
 To say what lies hid in the innermost main." 
 
 Then outspake the daughter in tender emotion : 
 "Ah, father, my father ! what more can there rest? 
 
 Enough of this sport with the pitiless ocean : 
 
 He has served thee as none would, thyself has confest. 
 
 If nothing can slack thy wild thirst of desire, 
 
 Be your knights not, at least, put to shame by the squire ! " 
 
 The king seized the goblet : he swung it on high, 
 And, whirling, it fell in the roar of the tide : 
 
 " But bring back that goblet again to my eye, 
 
 And I'll hold thee the dearest that rides by my side, 
 
36 THE ENCHANTED ISLAND. 
 
 And thy arms shall embrace as thy bride, I decree, 
 The maiden whose pity now pleadeth for thee." 
 
 In his heart as he listened there leapt a wild joy, 
 
 And the hope and the love through his eyes spoke in fire. 
 
 On that bloom, on that blush, gazed delighted the boy. 
 The maiden she faints at the feet of her sire. 
 
 Here the guerdon divine, there the danger beneath : 
 
 He resolves. To the strife with the life and the death. 
 
 They hear the loud surges sweep back in their swell ; 
 
 Their coming the thunder-sound heralds along. 
 Fond eyes yet are tracking the spot where he fell. 
 
 They come, the wild waters in tumult and throng, 
 Rearing up to the cliff, roaring back as before ; 
 But no wave ever brought the lost youth to the shore. 
 
 JOHANN CHRISTOPH FRIEDRICH VON SCHILLER, 
 
 THE ENCHANTED ISLAND. 
 
 TO Rathlin's Isle I chanced to sail 
 When summer breezes softly blew, 
 And there I heard so sweet a tale 
 That oft I wished it could be true. 
 They said, at eve, when rude winds sleep, 
 And hushed is every turbid swell, 
 A mermaid rises from the deep, 
 And sweetly tunes her magic shell. 
 
 And, while she plays, rock, dell, and cave 
 
 In dying falls the sound retain, 
 
 As if some choral spirits gave 
 
 Their aid to swell her witching strain. 
 
THE INCHCAPE ROCK. 37 
 
 Then, summoned by that dulcet note, 
 
 Uprising to the admiring view, 
 
 A fairy island seems to float 
 
 With tints of many a gorgeous hue. 
 
 They also say, if earth and stone 
 From verdant Erin's hallowed land 
 Were on this magic island thrown, 
 Forever fixed it then would stand. 
 But when for this some little boat 
 In silence ventures from the shore, 
 The mermaid sinks, hushed is the note, 
 The fairy isle is seen no more. 
 
 ANONYMOUS. 
 
 THE INCHCAPE ROCK. 
 
 NO stir in the air, no stir in the sea : 
 The ship was still as she might be ; 
 Her sails from heaven received no motion ; 
 Her keel was steady in the ocean. 
 
 Without either sign or sound of their shock, 
 The waves flowed over the Inchcape Rock : 
 So little they rose, so little they fell, 
 They did not move the Inchcape bell. 
 
 The holy abbot of Aberbrothok 
 Had floated that bell on the Inchcape Rock : 
 On the waves of the storm it floated and swung, 
 And louder and louder its warning rung. 
 
 When the rock was hid by the tempest's swell, 
 The mariners heard the warning bell ; 
 
38 THE INCHCAPE ROCK. 
 
 And then they knew the perilous rock, 
 And blessed the priest of Aberbrothok. 
 
 The sun in heaven shone so gay, 
 
 All things were joyful on that day ; 
 
 The sea-birds screamed as they sported round, 
 
 And there was pleasure in their sound. 
 
 The float of the Inchcape bell was seen, 
 A darker speck on the ocean green : 
 Sir Ralph the Rover walked his deck, 
 And he fixed his eye on the darker speck. 
 
 He felt the cheering power of spring, 
 It made him whistle, it made him sing ; 
 His heart was mirthful to excess 
 But the Rover's mirth was wickedness. 
 
 His eye was on the bell and float : 
 Quoth he, " My men, pull out the boat, 
 And row me to the Inchcape Rock, 
 And I'll plague the priest of Aberbrothok." 
 
 The boat is lowered, the boatmen row, 
 And to the Inchcape Rock they go : 
 Sir Ralph bent over from the boat, 
 And cut the warning bell from the float. 
 
 Down sank the bell with a gurgling sound : 
 
 The bubbles rose and burst around. 
 
 Quoth Sir Ralph, " The next who comes to the rock 
 
 Will not bless the priest of Aberbrothok." 
 
 Sir Ralph the Rover sailed away, 
 He scoured the seas for many a day ; 
 
THE INCHCAPE ROCK. 39 
 
 And now, grown rich with plundered store, 
 He steers his course to Scotland's shore. 
 
 So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky, 
 They could not see the sun on high ; 
 The wind had blown a gale all day, 
 At evening it hath died away. 
 
 On the deck the Rover takes his stand : 
 So dark it is, they see no land. 
 Quoth Sir Ralph, " It will be lighter soon, 
 For then is the dawn of the rising moon." 
 
 "Canst hear," said one, "the breakers roar? 
 For yonder, methinks, should be the shore. 
 Now where we are I cannot tell ; 
 But I wish we could hear the Inchcape bell ! " 
 
 They hear no sound ; the swell is strong ; 
 Though the wind hath fallen, they drift along, 
 Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock 
 O Christ ! it is the Inchcape Rock ! 
 
 Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair, 
 He cursed himself in his despair : 
 The waves rush in on every side, 
 The ship is sinking beneath the tide. 
 
 But even in his dying fear 
 One dreadful sound could the Rover hear, 
 A sound as if, with the Inchcape bell, 
 The Devil below was ringing his knell. 
 
 ROBERT SOUTHEY. 
 
40 THE LADY RIBERTA'S HARVEST. 
 
 THE LAD^ RIBBRTA'S HARVEST. 
 
 JN the days of eld there was wont to be 
 On the jagged coast of the Zuyder Zee 
 A city from whence broad galleons went 
 To distant island and continent, 
 To lands that under the tropics lay, 
 Ind, and the fabled far Cathay, 
 To gather from earth and sea and air 
 All that was beautiful, rich, and rare ; 
 And back they voyaged so laden full 
 With fairy fabrics from old Stamboul, 
 With pungent woods that breathed out balms, 
 With broidered stuffs from the realm of palms, 
 With shawls from the marts of Ispahan, 
 With marvellous lacquers from strange Japan, 
 That through this traffic on many a sea 
 So grand did its merchants grow to be, 
 That even Venetian lords became 
 Half covetous of the city's fame. 
 
 n. 
 
 The Lady Riberta's fleet was great, 
 And year by year had brought such store 
 Of treasures, until in her queenly state 
 There scarcely sufficed her room for more. 
 Her feasts no prince in the realms around 
 Had service so rich, or food so fine, 
 As daily her carven tables crowned ; 
 And proud she was of her luscious cates, 
 And her rare conserves, and her priceless wine, 
 And her golden salvers and golden plates ; 
 
THE LADY RIBERTA'S HARVEST. 41 
 
 For all that the sea or the shore could bring 
 Was hers for the fairest furnishing. 
 
 in. 
 
 It fell, one day, that a stranger came, 
 In garb of an Eastern sage arrayed, 
 Commended by one of noble name. 
 He had traversed many a clime, he said, 
 And, whithersoever he went, had heard 
 Of the Lady Riberta's state, that so 
 In his heart a secret yearning stirred 
 To find if the tale were true, or no. 
 At once the Lady Riberta's pride' 
 Upsprang ; and into her lordly hall 
 She led the stranger, and at her side 
 She bade him be seated in sight of all. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Silver and gold around him gleamed ; 
 
 The daintiest dishes before him steamed ; 
 
 The rarest of fish and flesh and bird, 
 
 Fruits all flushed with the tropic sun, 
 
 Nuts whose name he had never heard, 
 
 Were offered. The stranger would have none ; 
 
 Nor spake he in praise a single word. 
 
 " Doth any thing lack," with chafe, at last, 
 
 The hostess queried, "from the repast? " 
 
 Gravely the guest then gave reply : 
 
 " Lady, since thou dost question, I, 
 
 Daring to speak the truth alway, 
 
 Even in such a presence, say 
 
 Something is wanting. I have sate 
 
 Oft at the tables of rich and great, 
 
4 2 THE LADY RIBERTA'S HAR VES T. 
 
 Nor seen such viands as these : but yet 
 I marvel me much them shouldst forget 
 The world's one best thing ; for 'tis clear, 
 Whatever beside, // is not here." 
 
 v. 
 
 "Name it," the lady flashed, "and nought 
 
 Will I grudge of search till the best is brought." 
 
 But never another word the guest 
 
 Uttered, as soothly he waived aside 
 
 Her question, that in the heat of pride, 
 
 Mindless of courtesy, still she pressed. 
 
 And when, from her grand refection-hall, 
 
 They fared from their feasting, one and all, 
 
 Again, with a heightened tone and air, 
 
 To the guest she turned ; but no guest was there. 
 
 " I'll have it," she stamped, " whatever it be : 
 
 I'll scour the land, and I'll sweep the sea, 
 
 Nor ever the tireless quest resign 
 
 Till I know the world's one best thing mine." 
 
 VI. 
 
 Once more were the white-sailed galleons sent 
 To far-off island and continent 
 In search of the most delicious things 
 That ever had whetted the greed of kings ; 
 But none of the luxuries that they had brought 
 Seemed quite the marvel the lady sought. 
 
 VII. 
 
 At length, from his latest voyage back 
 Sailed one of her captains : he told her how 
 Wild weather had driven him from his track, 
 And his vessel had sprung a leak, till bow 
 
THE LADY RIBERTA^S HARVEST. 43 
 
 And stern had merged, and a rim of mould 
 Had mossed the flour within the hold, 
 And nothing was left but wine and meat, 
 Through weary weeks, for the crew to eat. 
 "Then the words of the stranger rose," he said ; 
 " And I felt that the one best thing was bread, 
 And so for a cargo I was fain 
 Thereafter to load my ships with grain." 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The Lady Riberta's wrath outsprang 
 
 Like a sword from its sheath, and her keen voice rang 
 
 Sharp as a lance-thrust : " Get thee back 
 
 To the vessels, and have forth every sack, 
 
 And spill in the sea thy cursed store, 
 
 Nor ever sail with my galleons more ! " 
 
 IX. 
 
 The people who hungered for daily bread 
 Prayed that to them in their need, instead, 
 The grain might be dealt ; but she heeded none, 
 Nor rested until the deed was done. 
 
 x. 
 
 The months passed on ; and the harvest sown 
 In the furrows of deep-sea fields had grown 
 To a forest of slender stalks, a wide 
 Strong net to trap whatever the tide 
 Drew on in its wake, the drift and wreck 
 Of many a shattered mast and deck, 
 And all the tangle of weeds there be 
 Afloat in the trough of the plunging sea ; 
 Until, as the years went by, a shoal 
 Of sand had tided a sunken mole 
 
44 JUBILATE. 
 
 Across the mouth of the port, that so 
 The galleys were foundered, and to and fro 
 No longer went forth ; and merchants sought 
 Harbors elsewhere for the stores they brought. 
 The Lady Riberta's ships went down 
 In the offing ; the city's old renown 
 Faded and fled with its commerce dead ; 
 And the Lady Riberta begged for bread. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The hungry billows with rage and roar 
 Have broken the ancient barriers o'er, 
 And bitten their way to the shore ; 
 And, where such traffic was wont to be, 
 The voyager now can only see 
 The spume and fret of the Zuyder Zee. 
 
 MARGARET J PRESTON. 
 JUBILATE. 
 
 GRAY distance hid each shining sail, 
 By ruthless breezes borne from me ; 
 And lessening, fading, faint, and pale, 
 My ships went forth to sea. 
 
 Where misty breakers rose and fell, 
 I stood, and sorrowed hopelessly ; 
 
 For every wave had tales to tell 
 Of wrecks far out at sea. 
 
 To-day a song is on my lips : 
 Earth seems a paradise to me ; 
 
 For God is good, and, lo, my ships 
 Are coming home from sea ! 
 
 GEORGE ARNOLD. 
 
r 
 
 THE LITTLE SEAMAN. 45 
 
 THE LITTLE SEAMAN. 
 
 N her lofty bower a virgin sat 
 On skins, embroidering gold, 
 When there came a little seaman by, 
 
 And would the maid behold. 
 But with golden dice they played, they played away ! 
 
 " And hear now, little seaman, 
 
 Hear what I say to thee ; 
 An' hast thou any mind this hour 
 
 To play gold dice with me ? " 
 But with golden dice they played, they played away ! 
 
 " But how and can I play now 
 The golden dice with thee ? 
 For no red shining gold I have 
 
 That I can stake 'gainst thee." 
 But with golden dice they played, they played away ! 
 
 " And surely thou canst stake thy jacket, 
 
 Canst stake thy jacket gray ; 
 While then against myself will stake 
 
 My own fair gold rings twa." 
 But with golden dice they played, they played away ! 
 
 So, then, the first gold die, I wot, 
 
 On table-board did run ; 
 And the little seaman lost his stake, 
 
 And the pretty maiden won. 
 But with golden dice they played, they played away ! 
 
 " And hear now, little seaman, 
 Hear what I say to thee ; 
 
46 THE LITTLE SEAMAN. 
 
 And hast them any mind this hour 
 
 To play gold dice with me ? " 
 But with golden dice they played, they played away ! 
 
 " But how and can I play now 
 
 The golden dice with thee? 
 For no red shining gold I have 
 
 That I can stake 'gainst thee." ' 
 But with golden dice they played, they played away ! 
 
 " Thou surely this old hat canst stake, 
 
 Canst stake thy hat so gray ; 
 And I will stake my bright gold crown : 
 
 Come, take it, if ye may." 
 But with golden dice they played, they played away ! 
 
 And so the second die of gold 
 
 On table-board did run ; 
 And the little seaman lost his stake, 
 
 While the pretty maiden won. 
 But with golden dice they played, they played away ! 
 
 " And hear now, little seaman, 
 
 Hear what I say to thee ; 
 An' hast thou any mind this hour 
 
 To play gold dice with me ? " 
 But with golden dice they played, they played away ! 
 
 " Then stake each of thy stockings, 
 And each silver-buckled shoe ; 
 
 And I will stake mine honor, 
 And eke my troth thereto." 
 But with golden dice they played, they played away ! 
 
THE LITTLE SEAMAN. 47 
 
 And so the third gold die, I wot, 
 
 On table-board did run ; 
 And the pretty maiden lost her stake, 
 
 While the little seaman won. 
 But with golden dice they played, they played away ! 
 
 " Come, hear now, little seaman, 
 
 Haste far away from me ; 
 And a ship that stems the briny flood 
 
 I that will give to thee." 
 But with golden dice they played, they played away ! 
 
 " A ship that stems the briny flood 
 
 I'll get, if 't can be done ; 
 But that young virgin have I will 
 Whom with gold dice I won." 
 But with golden dice they played, they played away ! 
 
 " Come, hear now, little seaman, 
 
 Haste far away from me ; 
 And a shirt so fine, with seams of silk, 
 
 I that will give to thee." 
 But with golden dice they played, they played away ! 
 
 " Nay, hear now, little seaman, 
 
 Haste far away from me ; 
 And the half of this my kingdom 
 
 I that will give to thee." 
 But with golden dice they played, they played away ! 
 
 " The half of this thy kingdom 
 
 I'll get, if 't can be done ; 
 But that young virgin have I will 
 
 Whom with gold dice I won." 
 But with golden dice they played, they played away ! 
 
48 SONG. 
 
 And the virgin in her chamber goes, 
 
 And parts her flowing hair ; 
 " Ah, me ! poor maid, I soon, alas ! 
 The marriage-crown must bear." 
 But with golden dice they played, they played away ! 
 
 The seaman treads the floor along, 
 
 And with his sword he played : 
 "As good a match as ere thou'rt worth 
 
 Thou gettest, little maid ! " 
 But with golden dice they played, they played away ! 
 
 For I, God wot, no seaman am, 
 
 Although ye thinken so : 
 The best king's son I am, instead, 
 
 That in Engelande can go." 
 But with golden dice they played, they played away ! 
 
 FROM THE SWEDISH. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 IT was Earl Haldan's daughter, 
 She looked across the sea, 
 She looked across the water, 
 
 And long and loud laughed she : 
 " The locks of six princesses 
 Must be my marriage-fee, 
 So hey, bonny boat, and ho, honny boat ! 
 Who comes a-wooing me?" 
 
 It was Earl Haldan's daughter, 
 
 She walked along the sand, 
 When she was aware of a knight so fair 
 
 Came sailing to the land. 
 
THE LEAK IN THE DIKE. 49 
 
 His sails were all of velvet, 
 
 His mast of beaten gold, 
 And " Hey, bonny boat, and ho, bonny boat ! 
 
 Who saileth here so bold?" 
 
 "The locks of five princesses 
 
 I won beyond the sea ; 
 I dipt their golden tresses 
 
 To fringe a cloak for thee. 
 One handful yet is wanting, 
 
 But one of all the tale : 
 So hey, bonny boat, and ho, bonny boat ! 
 
 Furl up thy velvet sail ! " 
 
 He leapt into the water, 
 
 That rover young and bold ; 
 He gript Earl Haldan's daughter ; 
 
 He dipt her locks of gold. 
 " Go weep, go weep, proud maiden, 
 
 The tale is full to-day. 
 Now hey, bonny boat, and ho, bonny boat ! 
 
 Sail westward ho away ! " 
 
 CHARLES KINGSLEY. 
 
 THE LEAK IN THE DIKE. 
 
 THE good dame looked from her cottage 
 At the close of the pleasant day, 
 And cheerily called to her little son, 
 
 Outside the door at play : 
 " Come, Peter, come ! I want you to go, 
 
 While there is light to see, 
 To the hut of the blind old man who lives 
 Across the dike, for me ; 
 
50 THE LEAK IN THE DIKE. 
 
 And take these cakes I made for him 
 They are hot and smoking yet : 
 
 You have time enough to go and come 
 Before the sun is set." 
 
 Then the goodwife turned to her labor, 
 
 Humming a simple song, 
 And thought of her husband working hard 
 
 At the sluices all day long, 
 And set the turf a-blazing, 
 
 And brought the coarse black bread, 
 That he might find a fire at night, 
 
 And find the table spread. 
 
 And now with face all glowing, 
 
 And eyes as bright as the day 
 With the thoughts of his pleasant errand, 
 
 He trudged along the way ; 
 And soon his joyous prattle 
 
 Made glad a lonesome place. 
 Alas ! if only the blind old man 
 
 Could have seen that happy face ! 
 Yet he somehow caught the brightness 
 
 Which his voice and presence lent, 
 And he felt the sunshine come and go 
 
 As Peter came and went. 
 
 And now as the day was sinking, 
 And the wind began to rise, 
 
 The mother looked from her door again, 
 Shading her anxious eyes, 
 
 And saw the shadows deepen, 
 
 And birds to their homes come back, 
 
THE LEAK IN THE DIKE. 51 
 
 But never a sign of Peter 
 
 Along the level track. 
 But she said, " He will come at morning : 
 
 So I need not fret or grieve 
 Though it isn't like my boy at all 
 
 To stay without my leave." 
 
 But where was the child delaying? 
 
 On the homeward way was he, 
 And across the dike, while the sun was up 
 
 An hour above the sea. 
 He was stooping now to gather flowers, 
 
 Now listening to the sound 
 Of the wrathful waters dashing 
 
 Against their narrow bound. 
 " Ah, well for us ! " said Peter, 
 
 " That the gates are good and strong ; 
 And my father tends them carefully, 
 
 Or they would not hold you long. 
 You're a wicked sea ! " said Peter. 
 
 " I know why you fret and chafe : 
 You would like to spoil our lands and homes ; 
 
 But our sluices keep you safe." 
 
 But hark ! through the noise of waters 
 
 Comes a low, clear, trickling sound ; 
 And the child's face pales with terror 
 
 As his blossoms drop to the ground. 
 He is up the bank in a moment ; 
 
 And, stealing through the sand, 
 He sees a stream not yet so large 
 
 As his slender, childish hand. 
 " ' Tis a leak in the dike ! He is but a boy, 
 
52 THE LEAK IN THE DIKE. 
 
 Unused to fearful scenes ; 
 But, young as he is, he has learned to know 
 
 The dreadful thing that means. 
 A leak in the dike ! The stoutest heart 
 
 Grows faint that cry to hear, 
 And the bravest man in all the land 
 
 Turns white with mortal fear : 
 For he knows the smallest leak may grow 
 
 To a flood in a single night ; 
 And he knows the strength of the cruel sea 
 
 When loosed in its angry might. 
 
 And the boy he has seen the danger ; 
 
 And, shouting a wild alarm, 
 He forces back the weight of the sea 
 
 With the strength of his single arm. 
 He listens for the joyful sound of a footstep 
 passing nigh, 
 
 And lays his ear to the ground to catch 
 The answer to his cry ; 
 
 .And he hears the rough winds blowing, 
 And the waters rise and fall : 
 
 But never an answer comes to him, 
 Save the echo of his call. 
 
 He sees no hope, no succor ; 
 
 His feeble voice is lost : 
 Yet what shall he do but watch and wait, 
 
 Though he perish at his post ! 
 So, faintly calling and crying 
 
 Till the sun is under the sea, 
 Crying and moaning, till the stars 
 
 Come out for company, 
 
THE LEAK IN THE DIKE. 53 
 
 He thinks of his brother and sister 
 
 Asleep in their safe warm bed ; 
 He thinks of his father and mother ; 
 
 Of himself, as dying and dead ; 
 And of how, when the night is over, 
 
 They must come and find him at last : 
 But he never thinks he can leave the place 
 
 Where duty holds him fast. 
 
 The good dame in the cottage 
 
 Is up and astir with the light, 
 For thought of her little Peter 
 
 Has been with her all night ; 
 And now she watched the pathway, 
 
 As yester-eve she had done 
 But what does she see so strange and black 
 
 Against the rising sun ? 
 Her neighbors are bearing between them 
 
 Something straight to her door ; 
 Her child is coming home but not 
 
 As he ever came before. 
 
 " He is dead ! " she cries " my darling ! " 
 
 And the startled father hears, 
 And comes, and looks the way she looks, 
 
 And fears the thing she fears, 
 Till a glad shout from the bearers 
 
 Thrills the stricken man and wife : 
 " Give thanks, for your son has saved our land, 
 
 And God has saved his life ! " 
 So there, in the morning sunshine, 
 
 They knelt about the boy ; 
 And every head was bared, and bent 
 
 In tearful, reverent joy. 
 
 ANONYMOUS. 
 
54 MY SHIP. 
 
 MY SHIP. 
 
 "T^WAS a gallant craft as ever sailed, 
 
 JL And a marvellous merry crew she bore, 
 When with canvas set, and colors nailed, 
 
 I sent her out to a distant shore. 
 I sent her out with a broad command 
 
 To cruise at will through the Golden Isles, 
 And bring me the product of every land 
 
 That the soul delights, or the sense beguiles. 
 
 Tough are the timbers that compass her sides, 
 
 And the lines are graceful that curve to her keel ; 
 And she leaves a foamy wake as she rides 
 
 Secure, with her steadiest man at the wheel. 
 And that foamy wake in my dreams I see 
 
 Where whitens the wave for a thousand miles ; 
 And the man at the wheel, unmindful of me, 
 
 Is looking ahead for the Golden Isles. 
 
 If waking I walk on the lonely shore, 
 
 The foam of her furrow has melted away ; 
 And I know that her sailors are merry no more, 
 
 And her pilot I know must be withered and gray : 
 But I still believe that her ensign burns, 
 
 And on her brown canvas the sunlight smiles, 
 As heavily laden she homeward turns, 
 
 Or cruises yet mid the Golden Isles. 
 
 And I never doubt she will surely come, 
 
 Riding in on some happy tide, . 
 Strained and battered, but bearing home 
 
 All that she sought o'er the ocean wide. 
 
THE HOLY LIGHT. 55 
 
 And if Father Charon should pluck my sleeve, 
 And point to his skiff, with a laughing lip 
 
 I'd do his bidding, and still believe 
 I am only going to meet my ship. 
 
 ROSSITER JOHNSON. 
 
 THE HOLY LIGHT. 
 
 HILDEBRAND the hermit sits 
 Gazing out beyond the bay : 
 Round and round the curlew flits, 
 
 Dashed with flecks of snowy spray. 
 Suddenly an angry roar 
 
 Comes across the darkening foam : 
 Women gather on the shore, 
 
 Watching vessels far from home ; 
 Sullen murmurs fill the air, 
 
 Preludes of an awful night ; 
 And the hermit breathes a prayer 
 
 As he trims the holy light. 
 
 Weary toilers on the deep, 
 
 In whose heart their bread is cast, 
 Men for whom the women weep, 
 
 Will be welcomed home at last ; 
 Guided by that silver spark, 
 
 Hope will fill their honest breasts ; 
 Safe they'll steer their bonny bark 
 
 To the haven where she rests. 
 Noble vessels outward bound, 
 
 As they travel out of sight, 
 Cheer and blessings fling around, 
 
 Farewells to the holy light. 
 
5 6 THE HOLY LIGHT. 
 
 Now the boats are safely home, 
 
 And the village is asleep : 
 Who are these that darkly roam, 
 
 Laughing at the angry deep ? 
 Wreckers, waiting for the prey 
 
 Flung them by the faithless waves, 
 Haunt by night the lonely bay, 
 
 Hide by day in hollow caves ; 
 And these robbers of the dead 
 
 View the beacon burning bright, 
 Watch the breakers far ahead, 
 
 And they curse the holy light. 
 
 Hildebrand the hermit sees 
 
 Shadows tremble on the sand ; 
 And he sinks him on his knees, 
 
 For he fears the wrecker's hand. 
 Hildebrand unbars the door, 
 
 Wanders from his lonely cell : 
 All is silent on the shore, 
 
 And he fancies all is well. 
 Silently the village sleeps 
 
 Through the fury of the night ; 
 Stealthily a woman creeps 
 
 Underneath the holy light. 
 
 Fiercely howls the baffled storm ; 
 
 Sulkily the waves retreat, 
 Washing up one lifeless form 
 
 To a lonely woman's feet. 
 Round the neck and features stiff 
 
 Greedily her fingers play : 
 All is darkness on the cliff, 
 
 All is darkness round the bay. 
 
THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER. 57 
 
 Now the stars faint one by one, 
 
 Morning breaks ah, God ! the sight, 
 
 When the woman finds her son 
 Dead, beneath the holy light. 
 
 CLEMENT W. SCOTT. 
 
 THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER. 
 
 IT is an ancient mariner, 
 And he stoppeth one of three : 
 " By thy long gray beard and glittering eye, 
 Now, wherefore stopp'st thou me ? 
 
 " The bridegroom's doors are opened wide, 
 And I am next of kin ; 
 The guests are met, the feast is set ; 
 Mayst hear the merry din." 
 
 He holds him with his skinny hand : 
 "There was a ship," quoth he. 
 " Hold off ! unhand me, graybeard loon ! " 
 Eftsoons his hand dropt he. 
 
 He holds him with his glittering eye 
 The wedding-guest stood still, 
 And listens like a three-years' child : 
 The mariner hath his will. 
 
 With sloping masts and dripping prow, 
 
 As who pursued with yell and blow 
 
 Still treads the shadow of his foe, 
 
 And forward bends his head, 
 
 The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast, 
 
 And southward aye we fled. 
 
58 THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER. 
 
 At length did cross an albatross, 
 Thorough the fog it came : 
 As if it had been a Christian soul, 
 We hailed it in God's name. 
 
 In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud, 
 
 It perched for vespers nine ; 
 
 Whiles all the night, through fog smoke-white, 
 
 Glimmered the white moonshine. 
 
 " God save thee, ancient mariner, 
 From the fiends that plague thee thus ! 
 Why look'st thou so?" With my cross-bow 
 I shot the albatross. 
 
 And the good south wind still blew behind ; 
 But no sweet bird did follow, 
 Nor any day for food or play 
 Came to the mariner's hollo ! 
 
 Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down, 
 'Twas sad as sad could be ; 
 And we did speak only to break 
 The silence of the sea. 
 
 All in a hot and copper sky 
 The bloody sun, at noon, 
 Right up above the mast did stand, 
 No bigger than the moon. 
 
 Day after day, day after day, 
 We stuck, nor breath nor motion ; 
 As idle as a painted ship 
 Upon a painted ocean. 
 
THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER. 59 
 
 Water, water, everywhere, 
 And all the boards did shrink ; 
 Water, water, everywhere, 
 Nor any drop to drink* 
 
 About, about, in reel and rout, 
 The death-fires danced at night ; 
 The water, like a witch's oils, 
 Burnt green and blue and white. 
 
 Ah, well-a-day ! what evil looks 
 Had I from old and young ! 
 Instead of the cross, the albatross 
 About my neck was hung. 
 
 One after one, by the star-dogged moon, 
 Too quick for groan or sigh, 
 Each turned his face with a ghastly pang, 
 And cursed me with his eye. 
 
 Four times fifty living men, 
 (And I heard nor sigh nor groan,) 
 With heavy thump, a lifeless lump, 
 They dropped down one by one. 
 
 The souls did from their bodies fly, 
 They fled to bliss or woe ! 
 And every soul it passed me by 
 Like the whiz of my cross-bow. 
 
 Alone, alone, all, all alone, 
 Alone on a wide, wide sea ! 
 And never a saint took pity on 
 My soul in agony. 
 
60 THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER. 
 
 I looked to heaven, and tried to pray ; 
 But, or ever a prayer had gushed, 
 A wicked whisper came, and made 
 My heart as dry as dust. 
 
 An orphan's curse would drag to hell 
 
 A spirit from on high ; 
 
 But, oh ! more horrible than that 
 
 Is a curse in a dead man's eye. 
 
 Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse, 
 
 And yet I could not die. 
 
 The moving moon went up the sky, 
 And nowhere did abide ; 
 Softly she was going up, 
 And a star or two beside. 
 
 Beyond the shadow of the ship 
 
 I watched the water-snakes : 
 
 They moved in tracks of shining white, 
 
 And, when they reared, the elfish light 
 
 Fell off in hoary flakes. 
 
 Within the shadow of the ship 
 
 I watched their rich attire : 
 
 Blue, glossy green, and velvet black, 
 
 They coiled and swam ; and every track 
 
 Was a flash of golden fire. 
 
 Oh, happy, living things ! no tongue 
 Their beauty might declare : 
 A spring of love gushed from my heart, 
 And I blessed them unaware : 
 
THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER. 6 1 
 
 Sure my kind saint took pity on me, 
 And I blessed them unaware. 
 
 The selfsame moment I could pray ; 
 And from my neck so free 
 The albatross fell off, and sank 
 Like lead into the sea. 
 
 I pass, like night, from land to land ; 
 I have strange power of speech ; 
 That moment that his face I see, 
 I know the man that must hear me ; 
 To him my tale I teach. 
 
 O wedding-guest ! this soul hath been 
 Alone on a wide, wide sea : 
 So lonely 'twas, that God himself 
 Scarce seemed there to be. 
 
 Oh ! sweeter than the marriage-feast, 
 Tis sweeter far to me, 
 To walk together to the kirk 
 With a goodly company, 
 
 To walk together to the kirk, 
 
 And all together pray, 
 
 While each to his great Father bends, 
 
 Old men, and babes, and loving friends, 
 
 And youths and maidens gay. 
 
 Farewell, farewell ! but this I tell 
 To thee, thou wedding-guest : 
 He prayeth well who loveth well 
 Both man and bird and beast. 
 
62 THE SANDS <9' DEE. 
 
 He prayeth best who loveth best 
 All things, both great and small ; 
 For the dear God who loveth us, 
 He made and loveth all. 
 
 SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. 
 
 THE SANDS O' DEB. 
 
 and cal1 the cattle home 
 And call the cattle home, 
 
 And call the cattle home, 
 Across the sands o' Dee ! " 
 The western wind was wild, and dank wi' foam ; 
 And all alone went she. 
 
 The creeping tide came up along the sand, 
 And o'er and o'er the sand, 
 And round and round the sand, 
 As far as eye could see ; 
 
 The blinding mist came down, and hid the land : 
 And never home came she. 
 
 " Oh, is it weed, or fish, or floating hair, 
 A tress o' golden hair, 
 O' drowned maiden's hair, 
 Above the nets at sea ? 
 Was never salmon yet that shone so fair, 
 Among the stakes on Dee." 
 
 They rowed her in across the rolling foam, 
 The cruel, crawling foam, 
 The cruel, hungry foam, 
 
A DREAM OF DEATH. 63 
 
 To her grave beside the sea ; 
 But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home 
 Across the sands o' Dee. 
 
 CHARLES KINGSLEY. 
 
 A DREAM OF DEATH. 
 
 "TT THERE shall we sail to-day?" thus said, me- 
 
 VV thought, 
 
 A voice that only could be heard in dreams ; 
 And on we glided without mast or oar, 
 A wondrojus boat upon a wondrous sea. 
 
 Sudden the shore curved inward to a bay, 
 Broad, calm, with gorgeous seaweeds waving slow 
 Beneath the water, like rich thoughts that stir 
 In the mysterious deep of poet's hearts. 
 
 So still, so fair, so rosy in the dawn, 
 
 Lay that bright bay ; yet something seemed to breathe, 
 
 Or in the air, or from the whispering waves, 
 
 Or from that voice, as near as one's own soul, 
 
 "There was a wreck last night" A wreck? Then 
 
 where 
 
 The ship, the crew? The all-entombing sea, 
 On which is writ no name nor chronicle, 
 Laid itself o'er them with smooth crystal smile. 
 
 " Yet was the wreck last night" And gazing down, 
 Deep down below the surface, we were 'ware 
 Of ghastly faces, with their open eyes 
 Uplooking to the dawn they could not see. 
 
64 WINSTANLEY. 
 
 One moved with moving seaweeds ; one lay prone, 
 The tinted fishes gliding o'er his breast ; 
 One, caught by floating hair, rocked quietly 
 Upon his reedy cradle, like a child. 
 
 " The wreck has been," said the melodious voice ; 
 " Yet all is peace. The dead, that, while we slept, 
 Struggled for life, now sleep, and fear no storms : 
 O'er them let us not weep when Heaven smiles." 
 
 So we sailed on above the diamond sands, 
 Bright sea- flowers, and white faces stony calm, 
 Till the waves bore us to the open main, 
 And the great sun arose upon the world. 
 
 DINAH MARIA MULOCK. 
 
 WINSTANLEY. 
 
 WINSTANLEY'S deed, you kindly folk, 
 With it I fill my lay ; 
 
 And a nobler man ne'er walked the world, 
 Let his name be what it may. 
 
 The good ship " Snowdrop " tarried long, 
 
 Up at the vane looked he : 
 " Belike," he said, for the wind had dropped, 
 
 " She lieth becalmed at sea." 
 
 The lovely ladies flocked within ; 
 
 And still would each one say, 
 " Good mercer, be the ships come up ? " 
 
 But still he answered, " Nay." 
 
WINSTANLEY. 65 
 
 Then stepped two mariners down the street, 
 
 With looks of grief and fear : 
 " Now if Winstanley be your name, 
 
 We bring you evil cheer ; 
 
 " For the good ship ' Snowdrop ' struck she struck 
 
 On the rock, the Eddystone ; 
 And down she went with threescore men, 
 
 We two being left alone. 
 
 " Down in the deep with freight and crew, 
 
 Past any help, she lies ; 
 And never a bale has come to shore 
 
 Of all thy merchandise." 
 
 The " Snowdrop " sank at Lammas-tide, . 
 
 All under the yeasty spray : 
 On Christmas Eve the brig " Content " - 
 
 Was also cast away. 
 
 He little thought o' New- Year's night, 
 
 So jolly as he sat then, 
 While drank the toast, and praised the roast, 
 
 The round-faced aldermen ; 
 
 While serving-lads ran to and fro, 
 
 Pouring the ruby wine, 
 And jellies trembled on the board, 
 
 And towering pasties fine, 
 
 He little thought on Plymouth Hoe, 
 
 With every rising tide, 
 How the wave washed in his sailor-lads, 
 
 And laid them side by side. 
 
66 WINSTANLEY. 
 
 There stepped a stranger to the board. 
 
 " Now, stranger, who be ye ? " 
 He looked to right, he looked to left, 
 
 And " Rest you merry," quoth he ; 
 
 " For you did not see the brig go down, 
 
 Or ever a storm had blown ; 
 For you did not see the white wave rear 
 
 At the rock, the Eddystone. 
 
 " She drave at the rock with sternsails set ; 
 
 Crash went the masts in twain ; 
 She staggered back with her mortal blow, 
 
 Then leaped at it again. 
 
 "There rose a great cry, bitter and strong 
 
 The misty moon looked out ; 
 And the water swarmed with seamen's heads, 
 
 And the wreck was strewed about. 
 
 " I saw her mainsail lash the sea 
 
 As I clung to the rock alone ; 
 Then she heeled over, and down she went, 
 
 And sank like any stone. 
 
 " She was a fair ship but all's one ! 
 
 For nought could bide the shock." 
 " I will take horse," Winstanley said, 
 
 " And see this deadly rock ; 
 
 " For never again shall bark of mine 
 
 Sail over the windy sea, 
 Unless, by the blessing of God, for this 
 
 Be found a remedy." 
 
WINSTANLEY. 67 
 
 Winstanley rode to Plymouth town 
 
 All in the sleet and the snow ; 
 And he looked around on shore and sound 
 
 As he stood on Plymouth Hoe, 
 
 Till a pillar of spray rose far away, 
 
 And shot up its stately head, 
 Reared and fell over, and reared again : 
 
 " Tis the rock ! the rock ! " he said. 
 
 Straight to the mayor he took his way : 
 
 " Good master mayor," quoth he, 
 " I am a mercer of London town, 
 
 And owner of vessels three. 
 
 " But for your rock of dark renown, 
 
 I had five to track the main." 
 "You are one of many," the old mayor said, 
 
 "That on the rock complain." 
 
 " Lend me a lighter, good master mayor, 
 
 And a score of shipwrights free ; 
 For I think to raise a lantern-tower 
 
 On this rock of destiny." 
 
 The old mayor laughed, but sighed also. 
 
 " Ah ! youth," quoth he, " is rash : 
 Sooner, young man, thou'lt root it out 
 
 From the sea that doth it lash. 
 
 " Hast gold in hand ? Then light the land, 
 
 It 'longs to thee and me ; 
 But let alone the deadly rock 
 
 In God Almighty's sea." 
 
68 WINSTANLEY. 
 
 Yet said he, " Nay : I must away, 
 
 On the rock to set my feet : 
 My debts are paid ; my will I made 
 
 Or ever I did thee greet. 
 
 " If I must die, then let me die 
 By the rock, and not elsewhere : 
 
 If I may live, oh, let me live 
 To mount my lighthouse-stair ! " 
 
 The old mayor looked him in the face, 
 And answered, " Have thy way : 
 
 Thy heart is stout, as if round about 
 It was braced with an iron stay. 
 
 " Have thy will, mercer ! Choose thy men 
 Put off from the storm-rid shore : 
 
 God with thee be, or I shall see 
 Thy face and theirs no more." 
 
 Winstanley chose him men and gear : 
 He said, " My time I waste ; " 
 
 For the seas ran seething up the shore, 
 And the wrack drave on in haste. 
 
 But twenty days he waited, and more, 
 
 Pacing the strand alone, 
 Or ever he set his manly foot 
 
 On the rock, the Eddystone. 
 
 Then he and the sea began their strife, 
 And worked with power and might : 
 
 Whatever the man reared up by day, 
 The sea broke down by night. 
 
WINSTANLEY. 69 
 
 In fine weather and foul weather 
 
 The rock his arts did flout, 
 Through the long days and the short days, 
 
 Till all that year ran out. 
 
 Now March was gone, came April in, 
 
 And a sea-fog settled down ; 
 And forth sailed he on a glassy sea, 
 
 He sailed from Plymouth town. 
 
 With men and stores he put to sea, 
 
 As he was wont to do : 
 They showed in the fog like ghosts full faint, 
 
 A ghostly craft and crew. 
 
 And the sea-fog lay and waxed alway, 
 
 For a long eight days, and more : 
 " God help our men ! " quoth the women then; 
 
 u For they bide long from shore." 
 
 A Scottish schooner made the port, 
 
 The thirteenth day, at e'en : 
 "As I am a man," the captain cried, 
 
 " A strange sight I have seen. 
 
 " And a strange sound heard, my masters all, 
 
 At sea, in the fog and the rain, 
 Like shipwrights' hammers tapping low, 
 
 Then loud, then low again. 
 
 "And a stately house one instant showed 
 
 Through a rift on the vessel's lea : 
 What manner of creatures may be those 
 
 That build upon the sea?" 
 
70 WINS TA NL E Y. 
 
 Then sighed the folk, "The Lord be praised ! " 
 And they flocked to the shore amain : 
 
 All over the Hoe, that livelong night, 
 Many stood out in the rain. 
 
 It ceased ; and the red sun reared his head, 
 
 And the rolling fog did flee ; 
 And, lo ! in the offing faint and far 
 
 Winstanley's house at sea. 
 
 In fair weather with mirth and cheer 
 
 The stately tower uprose : 
 In foul weather, with hunger and cold 
 
 They were content to close, 
 
 Till up the stair Win Stanley went 
 
 To fire the wick afar ; 
 And Plymouth in the silent night 
 
 Looked out, and saw her star. 
 
 Winstanley set his foot ashore : 
 
 Said he, " My work is done ; 
 I hold it strong to last as long 
 
 As aught beneath the sun. 
 
 " But if it fell, then this were well, 
 
 That I should with it fall ; 
 Since, for my part, I have built my heart 
 
 In the courses of its wall. 
 
 " Ay ! I were fain long to remain, 
 
 Watch in my tower to keep, 
 And tend my light in the stormiest night 
 
 That ever did move the deep." 
 
FROM "PARACELSUS." 71 
 
 With that Winstanley went his way, 
 
 And left the rock renowned ; 
 And summer and winter his pilot star 
 
 Hung bright o'er Plymouth Sound. 
 
 But it fell out, fell out at last, 
 
 That he would put to sea 
 To scan once more his lighthouse-tower 
 
 On the rock o' destiny. 
 
 And the winds broke, and the storm broke, 
 
 And wrecks came plunging in : 
 None in the town that night lay down 
 
 Or sleep or rest to win. 
 
 And when the dawn, the dull gray dawn, 
 
 Broke on the trembling town, 
 And men looked south to the harbor-mouth, 
 
 The lighthouse-tower was down, 
 
 
 
 Down in the deep, where he doth sleep 
 
 Who made it shine afar, 
 And then, in the night that drowned its light, 
 
 Set, with his pilot star. 
 
 JEAN INGELOW. 
 
 FROM "PARACELSUS." 
 
 (SONG.) 
 
 OVER the sea our galleys went, 
 "With cleaving prows, in order brave, 
 To a speeding wind and a bounding wave, 
 A gallant armament : 
 
72 FROM "PARACELSUS." 
 
 Each bark built out of a forest-tree, 
 
 Left leafy and rough as first it grew, 
 And nailed all over the gaping sides, 
 Within and without, with black-bull hides, 
 Seethed in fat, and supplied in flame, 
 To bear the playful billows' game : 
 So each good ship was rude to see, 
 Rude and bare to the outward view ; 
 
 But each upbore a stately tent, 
 Where cedar- pales in scented row 
 Kept out the flakes of the dancing brine ; 
 And an awning drooped the mast below, 
 In fold on fold of the purple fine, 
 That neither noontide, nor star-shine, 
 Nor moonlight cold, which maketh mad, 
 
 Might pierce the regal tenement. 
 When the sun dawned, oh ! gay and glad 
 We set the sail, and plied the oar ; 
 But, when the night- wind blew like breath, 
 For joy of one day's voyage more 
 We sang together on the wide sea, 
 Like men at peace on a peaceful shore. 
 Each sail was loosed to the wind so free, 
 Each helm made sure by the twilight star ; 
 And, in a sleep as calm as death, 
 We, the strangers from afar, 
 
 Lay stretched along, each weary crew 
 In a circle round its wondrous tent, 
 Whence gleamed soft light, and curled rich scent, 
 
 And, with light and perfume, music too : 
 So the stars wheeled round, and the darkness past ; 
 And at morn we started beside the mast ; 
 And still each ship was sailing fast. 
 
FROM "PARACELSUS." 73 
 
 One morn the land appeared a speck 
 Dim trembling betwixt sea and sky : 
 "Avoid it," cried our pilot, "check 
 
 The shout, restrain the longing eye ! " 
 But the heaving sea was black behind 
 For many a night and many a day, 
 And land, though but a rock, drew nigh : 
 So we broke the cedar-pales away, 
 Let the purple awning flap in the wind, 
 
 And a statue bright was on every deck. 
 We shouted, every man of us, 
 And steered right into the harbor thus, 
 With pomp and paean glorious. 
 
 An hundred shapes of lucid stone ! 
 
 All day we built a shrine for each, 
 A shrine of rock for every one ; 
 Nor paused we, till in the westering sun 
 
 We sate together on the beach 
 To sing, because our task was done ; 
 When, lo ! what shouts and merry songs ! 
 What laughter all the distance stirs ! 
 What raft comes loaded with its throngs 
 Of gentle islanders? 
 " The isles are just at hand," they cried : 
 
 " Like cloudlets, faint at even sleeping, 
 Our temple-gates are opened wide, 
 
 Our olive-groves thick shade are keeping 
 For the lucid shapes you bring," they cried. 
 Oh ! then we awoke with sudden start 
 From our deep dream : we knew, too late, 
 How bare the rock, how desolate, 
 To which we had flung our precious freight : 
 
74 LARS' SONG. 
 
 Yet we called out, " Depart ! 
 Our gifts, once given, must here abide ; 
 
 Our work is done : we .have no heart 
 To mar our work, though vain," we cried. 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 LARS' SONG. 
 
 (FROM " ERIC ; OR, THE FALL OF A CROWN.") 
 
 
 
 ON the white sea-sand, 
 By the side of the land, 
 I wandered and sang, 
 With my harp in my hand. 
 
 I sang of the sea 
 With its mystery ; 
 
 Of the ships which pass 
 Unmindful of me. 
 
 But a bird drew near, 
 A bird so dear, 
 
 White-winged and fearless, 
 And sang in my ear. 
 
 " O singer ! wait 
 For thy coming fate, 
 
 Which riseth to meet thee 
 With sails elate. 
 
 " From hope's eclipse, 
 From voiceless lips, 
 
 There is sent thee one 
 Of love's sweet ships. 
 
LARS' SONG. Page 74. 
 
FROM "BROTHERS AND A SERMON." 75 
 
 " Already the light 
 Of a morning bright, 
 
 At the rim of the world, 
 Shows a sail so white ! " 
 
 And now will I stand 
 With my harp in my hand, 
 
 And sing to my ship 
 Till she comes to land. 
 
 SAMUEL WILLOUGHBY DOFFIELD. 
 
 FROM "BROTHERS AND A SERMON." 
 
 " TTE'S a rare man, 
 
 XI Our parson ; half a head above us all." 
 "That's a rare gift, and notable," said I. 
 
 " Ay, sir ; and when he was a younger man 
 
 He went out in the lifeboat very oft, 
 
 Before ' The Grace of Sunderland ' was wrecked. 
 
 He's never been his own man since that hour ; 
 
 For there were thirty men aboard of her, 
 
 A-nigh as close as you are now to me, 
 
 And ne'er a one was saved. 
 
 They're lying now, 
 
 With two small children, in a row. The church 
 And yard are full of seamen's graves, and few 
 Have any names. 
 
 " She bumped upon the reef : 
 Our parson, my young son, and several more, 
 Were lashed together with a two-inch rope, 
 
76 FROM "BROTHERS AND A SERMON." 
 
 And crept along to her, their mates ashore 
 Ready to haul them in. The gale was high ; 
 The sea \vas all a boiling, seething froth ; 
 And God Almighty's guns were going off, 
 And the land trembled. 
 
 " When she took the ground, 
 She went to pieces like a lock of hay 
 Tossed from a pitchfork. Ere it came to that, 
 The captain reeled on deck with two small things, 
 One in each arm, his little lad and lass. 
 Their hair was long, and blew before his face, 
 Or else we thought he had been saved : he fell, 
 But held them fast. The crew, poor luckless souls ! 
 The breakers licked them off; and some were crushed, 
 Some swallowed in the yeast, some flung up dead, 
 The dear breath beaten out of them : not one 
 Jumped from the wreck upon the reef to catch 
 The hands that strained to reach, but tumbled back 
 With eyes wide open. But the captain lay 
 And clung the only man alive. They prayed, 
 ' For God's sake, captain, throw the children here ! ' 
 1 Throw them ! ' our parson cried ; and then she struck. 
 And he threw one, a pretty two-years' child ; 
 But the gale dashed him on the slippery verge, 
 And down he went. They say they heard him cry. 
 
 " Then he rose up and took the other one ; 
 
 And all our men reached out their hungry arms, 
 
 And cried out, ' Throw her, throw her ! ' And he did. 
 
 He threw her right against the parson's breast ; 
 
 An4 all at once a sea broke over them ; 
 
 And they that saw it from the shore have said 
 
TO A SEA-BIRD. 77 
 
 It struck the wreck, and piecemeal scattered it, 
 Just as a woman might the lump of salt 
 That 'twixt her hands into the kneading-pan 
 She breaks, and crumbles on her rising bread. 
 
 " We hauled our men in. Two of them were dead 
 The sea had beaten them, their heads hung down. 
 Our parson's arms were empty, for the wave 
 Had torn away the pretty, pretty lamb : 
 We often see him stand beside her grave ; 
 But 'twas no fault of his, no fault of his." 
 
 JEAN INGELOW. 
 
 TO A SEA-BIRD. 
 
 QAUNTERING hither on listless wings, 
 O Careless vagabond of the sea, 
 Little thou heedest the surf that sings, 
 The bar that thunders, the shale that rings 
 Give me to keep thy company. 
 
 Little thou hast, old friend, that's new ; 
 
 Storms and wrecks are old things to thee : 
 Sick am I of these changes too ; 
 Little to care for, little to rue, 
 
 I on the shore, and thou on the sea. 
 
 All of thy wanderings, far and near, 
 
 Bring thee at last to shore and me ; 
 All of my journeyings end them here : 
 This our tether must be our cheer, 
 I on the shore, and thou on the sea. 
 
78 THE " THREE BELLS." 
 
 Lazily rocking on ocean's breast, 
 
 Something in common, old friend, have we : 
 Thou on the shingle seekest thy nest, 
 I to the waters look for rest, 
 
 I on the shore, and thou on the sea. 
 
 FRANCIS BRET HARTE. 
 
 THE "THREE BELLS." 
 
 TJENEATH the low-hung night-cloud 
 J3 That raked her splintering mast 
 The good ship settled slowly, 
 The cruel leak gained fast. 
 
 Over the awful ocean 
 
 Her signal-guns pealed out. 
 
 Dear God ! was that thy answer 
 From the horror round about? 
 
 A voice came down the wild wind, 
 " Ho ! ship ahoy ! " its cry : 
 
 " Our stout ' Three Bells ' of Glasgow 
 Shall lay till daylight by." 
 
 Hour after hour crept slowly ; 
 
 Yet on the heaving swells 
 Tossed up and down the ship-lights, 
 
 The lights of the " Three Bells." 
 
 And ship to ship made signals ; 
 
 Man answered back to man ; 
 While oft, to cheer and hearten, 
 
 The "Three Bells " nearer ran. 
 
THE THREE FISHERS. 79 
 
 And the captain from her taffrail 
 
 Sent down his hopeful cry. 
 "Take heart ! Hold on ! " he shouted : 
 
 "The 'Three Bells ' shall lay by." 
 
 All night across the waters 
 
 The tossing lights shone clear ; 
 All night from reeling taffrail 
 
 The "Three Bells " sent her cheer. 
 
 And when the dreary watches 
 
 Of storm and darkness passed, 
 Just as the wreck lurched under, 
 
 All souls were saved at last. 
 
 Sail on, " Three Bells," forever, 
 
 In grateful memory sail ! 
 Ring on, " Three Bells " of rescue, 
 
 Above the wave and gale ! 
 
 Type of the love eternal, 
 
 Repeat the Master's cry, 
 As tossing through our darkness 
 
 The lights of God draw nigh. 
 
 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 THE THREE FISHERS. 
 
 THREE fishers went sailing down to the west, 
 Away to the west as the sun went down : 
 Each thought of the woman who loved him the best ; 
 And the children stood watching them out of the town : 
 
80 WIND AND SEA. 
 
 For men must work, and women must weep, 
 And there's little to earn, and many to keep, 
 Though the harbor-bar be moaning. 
 
 Three wives sat up in the lighthouse-tower, 
 
 And they trimmed the lamps as the sun went down ; 
 And they looked at the squall, and they looked at the 
 
 shower, 
 
 While the night-rack came rolling up ragged and brown : 
 But men must work, and women must weep, 
 Though storms be sudden, and waters deep, 
 And the harbor-bar be moaning. 
 
 Three corpses lie out on the shining sands, 
 
 In the morning gleam as the tide went down ; 
 And the women are weeping, and wringing their hands, 
 For those who will never come home to the town : 
 For men must work, and women must weep, 
 And the sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep, 
 And good-by to the bar and its moaning. 
 
 CHARLES KINGSLEY. 
 
 WIND AND SEA. 
 
 r I A HE sea is a jovial comrade ; 
 _1 He laughs wherever he goes ; 
 His merriment shines in the dimpling lines 
 That wrinkle his hale repose ; 
 He lays himself down at the feet of the sun, 
 And shakes all over with glee ; 
 And the broad-backed billows fall faint on the shore 
 In the mirth of the mighty sea. 
 
OH, HAD WE SOME BRIGHT LITTLE ISLE! Si 
 
 But the wind is sad and restless, 
 
 And cursed with an inward pain : 
 
 You may hark as you will, by valley or hill, 
 
 But you hear him still complain. 
 
 He wails on the barren mountains, 
 
 And shrieks on the watery sea ; 
 
 He sobs in the cedar, and moans in the pine, 
 
 And shudders all over the aspen-tree. 
 
 Welcome are both their voices ; 
 
 And I know not which is best, 
 
 The laughter that slips from the ocean's lips, 
 
 Or the comfortless wind's unrest. 
 
 There's a pang in all rejoicing, 
 
 A joy in the heart of pain ; 
 
 And the wind that saddens, the sea that gladdens, 
 
 Are singing the selfsame strain. 
 
 BAYARD TAYLOR. 
 
 OH, HAD WE SOME BRIGHT LITTLE ISLE OF OUR 
 
 OWN! 
 
 OH, had we some bright little isle of our own, 
 In a blue summer ocean far off and alone, 
 Where a leaf never dies in the still blooming bowers, 
 And the bee banquets on through a whole year of flowers ; 
 Where the sun loves to pause 
 
 With so fond a delay 
 That the night only draws 
 A thin veil o'er the day ; 
 
 Where simply to feel that we breathe, that we live, 
 Is worth the best joy that life elsewhere can give ! 
 
82 OUT OF SIGHT OF LAND. 
 
 There, with souls ever ardent and pure as the clime, 
 We should love as they loved in the first golden time : 
 The glow of the sunshine, the balm of the air, 
 Would steal to our hearts, and make all summer there. 
 
 With affection as free 
 
 From decline as the bowers, 
 
 And with hope, like the bee, 
 Living always on flowers, 
 Our life should resemble a long day of light, 
 And our death come on holy and calm as the night. 
 
 THOMAS MOORE. 
 
 w 
 
 OUT OP SIGHT OF LAND. 
 
 E are at sea, at sea, at sea, 
 Still floating onward dreamily. 
 
 The isles and capes fall far behind, 
 Blown backward by the salty wind. 
 
 The sky her sapphire chalice turns 
 Upon the deep, which gleams and burns 
 
 With sunlight : in the midst we ride, 
 A fleck upon the sheeny tide. 
 
 Millions of sparkles leap and dance 
 Above the blinding, blue expanse ; 
 
 And on the round horizon-rim 
 
 The ghosts of vessels dawn and dim. 
 
OUT OF SIGHT OF LAND. 83 
 
 Beneath our bended glances break 
 The splendors of the restless wake. 
 
 We watch the iris-shedding wheel ; 
 We hear the swift melodious keel, 
 
 And wonder, when with placid eye 
 Some strange sea- monarch plunges by 
 
 Between his marshalled waves, that smile, 
 And doff their white-plumed caps the while. 
 
 ii. 
 
 We are at sea, at sea, at sea, 
 Still floating onward dreamily. 
 
 What is this marvel that is wrought 
 Within our silent haunts of thought? 
 
 We hail no ships of roseate shells ; 
 We catch no mermaid's bridal bells ; 
 
 No siren's song with yearning stirs 
 The souls of drifting mariners. 
 
 The world, alas ! hath waxed too wise 
 To trust her cradle lullabies, 
 
 And nevermore her feet may stand 
 In moonlight glades of fairyland. 
 
 Yet on the main whose gray heart beat 
 Beneath the westward-sailing fleet 
 
84 THE JUMBLIES. 
 
 That bore Columbus, 'neath the sun 
 That shone on builded Babylon, 
 
 Ourselves unto ourselves grow strange, 
 Made conscious of our mortal change. 
 
 We are the dream, and only we, 
 'Twixt the enduring sky and sea. 
 
 KATHARINE LEE BATES. 
 
 THE JUMBLIES. 
 I. 
 
 THEY went to sea in a sieve, they did ; 
 In a sieve they went to sea : 
 In spite of all their friends could say* 
 On a winter's morn, on a stormy day, 
 
 In a sieve they went to sea. 
 And when the sieve turned round and round, 
 And every one cried, " You'll all be drowned ! " 
 They called aloud, " Our sieve ain't big : 
 But we don't care a button ; we don't care a fig ; 
 In a sieve we'll go to sea ! " 
 Far and few, far and few, 
 
 Are the lands where the Jumblies live : 
 Their heads are green, and their hands are blue 
 And they went to sea in a sieve. 
 
 ii. 
 They sailed away in a sieve, they did ; 
 
 In a sieve they sailed so fast, 
 With only a beautiful pea-green veil, 
 Tied with a ribbon, by way of a sail, 
 
 To a small tobacco-pipe mast. 
 
THE JUMBLIES. 8, 
 
 And every one said, who saw them go : 
 " Oh ! won't they be soon upset, you know : 
 For the sky is dark, and the voyage is long ; 
 And, happen what may, it's extremely wrong 
 In a sieve to sail so fast." 
 Far and few, far and few, 
 
 Are the lands where the Jumblies live : 
 Their heads are green, and their hands are blue ; 
 And they went to sea in a sieve. 
 
 in. 
 
 The water it soon came in, it did ; 
 
 The water it soon came in : 
 So, to keep them dry, they wrapped their feet 
 In a pinky paper, all folded neat ; 
 
 And they fastened it down with a pin. 
 And they passed the night in a crockery-jar, 
 And each of them said, " How wise we are ! 
 Though the sky be dark, and the voyage be long, 
 Yet we never can think we were rash or wrong, 
 While round in our sieve we spin." 
 Far and few, far and few, 
 
 Are the lands where the Jumblies live : 
 Their heads are green, and their hands are blue ; 
 And they went to sea in a sieve. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And all night long they sailed away ; 
 
 And, when the sun went down, 
 They whistled and warbled a moony song 
 To the echoing sound of a coppery gong, 
 
 In the shade of the mountains brown. 
 
86 THE JU MB LIES. 
 
 " O Timballoo ! How happy we are, 
 When we live in a sieve and crockery-jar ! 
 And all night long, in the moonlight pale, 
 We sail away, with a pea-green sail, 
 
 In the shade of the mountains brown." 
 Far and few, far and few, 
 
 Are the lands where the Jumblies live : 
 Their heads are green, and their hands are blue ; 
 And they went to sea in a sieve. 
 
 v. 
 
 They sailed to the Western Sea, they did, 
 
 To a land all covered with trees : 
 And they bought an owl, and a useful cart, 
 And a pound of rice, and a cranberry-tart, 
 
 And a hive of silvery bees ; 
 
 And they bought a pig, and some green jackdaws, 
 And a lovely monkey with lollipop paws, 
 And forty bottles of ring-bo-ree, 
 And no end of Stilton cheese. 
 Far and few, far and few, 
 
 Are the lands where the Jumblies live : 
 Their heads are green, and their hands are blue ; 
 And they went to sea in a sieve. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And in twenty years they all came back, 
 
 In twenty years or more ; 
 And every one said, " How tall they've grown ! 
 For they've been to the Lakes and the Terrible Zone, 
 
 And the hills of the Chankly Bore." 
 
THE CHILD AND THE SEA. 87 
 
 And they drank their health, and gave them a feast 
 Of. dumplings made of beautiful yeast; 
 And every one said, " If we only live, 
 We, too, will go to sea in a sieve, 
 
 To the hills of the Chankly Bore." 
 Far and few, far and few, 
 
 Are the lands where the Jumblies live : 
 Their heads are green, and their hands are blue ; 
 And they went to sea in a sieve. 
 
 EDWARD LEAR, from " Nonsense Songs'' 
 
 THE CHILD AND THE SEA. 
 
 ONE summer day, when birds flew high, 
 I saw a child step into the sea : 
 It glowed and sparkled at her touch, 
 And softly plashed about her knee. 
 
 It held her lightly with its strength ; 
 
 It kissed and kissed her silken hair ; 
 It heaved with tenderness to know 
 
 A little child was in its care. 
 
 She, gleeful, dipped her pretty arms, 
 And caught the sparkles in her hands : 
 
 I heard her laughter as she soon 
 Came skipping up the sunny sands. 
 
 "Is this the cruel sea?" I thought, 
 " The merciless, the awful sea ? " 
 
 Now hear the answer, soft and true, 
 That rippled over the beach to me. 
 
88 RE VERY. 
 
 "Shall not the sea in the sun be glad 
 When a child doth come to play? 
 
 Had it been in storm-time, what could I, 
 The sea, but bear her away, 
 
 Bear her away on my foaming crest, 
 
 Toss her, and hurry her to her rest. 
 
 " Be it life or death, God ruleth me ; 
 
 And he loveth every soul : 
 I've an earthly shore and a heavenly shore, 
 
 And toward them both I roll ; 
 Shining and beautiful both are they, 
 And a little child will go God's way." 
 
 MARY MAPES DODGE. 
 REVERT. 
 
 THE white reflection of the sloop's great sail 
 Sleeps trembling on the tide : 
 In scarlet trim her crew lean o'er the rail, 
 Lounging on either side. 
 
 Pale blue, and streaked with pearl, the waters lie, 
 
 And glitter in the heat : 
 The distance gathers purple bloom where sky 
 
 And glimmering coast-line meet. 
 
 From the cove's curving rim of sandy gray 
 
 The ebbing tide has drained, 
 Where, mournful, in the dusk of yesterday, 
 
 The curlew's voice complained. 
 
 Half lost in hot mirage, the sails afar 
 Lie dreaming, still and white ; 
 
The whits reflection of the sloop's great sail 
 Sleeps trembling on the tide." Page 88. 
 
RE VERY. 89 
 
 No wave breaks, no wind breathes, the peace to mar : 
 Summer is at its height. 
 
 How many thousand summers thus have shone 
 
 Across the ocean waste, 
 Passing in swift succession, one by one, 
 
 By the fierce winter chased ! 
 
 The gray rocks, blushing soft at dawn and eve, 
 
 The green leaves at their feet, 
 The dreaming sails, the crying birds that grieve, 
 
 Ever themselves repeat. 
 
 And yet how dear, and how forever fair, 
 
 Is Nature's friendly face ! 
 And how forever new and sweet and rare 
 
 Each old familiar grace ! 
 
 What matters it that she will sing and smile 
 
 When we are dead and still ? 
 Let us be happy in her beauty while 
 
 Our hearts have power to thrill. 
 
 Let us rejoice in every moment bright, 
 
 Grateful that it is ours ; 
 Bask in her smiles with ever fresh delight, 
 
 And gather all her flowers ; 
 
 For presently we part : what will avail 
 
 Her rosy fires of dawn, 
 Her noontide pomps, to us who fade and fail, 
 
 Our hands from hers withdrawn ? 
 
 CELIA THAXTER. 
 
90 HEAVING THE LEAD. 
 
 HEAVING THE LEAD. 
 
 England, when with favoring gale 
 Our gallant ship up channel steered, 
 And, scudding under easy sail, 
 
 The high, blue western land appeared, " 
 To heave the lead the seaman sprung, 
 And to the pilot cheerly sung, 
 
 " By the deep, nine ! " 
 
 But, bearing up to gain the port, 
 
 Some well-known object kept in view, 
 
 An abbey, tower, an harbor, fort, 
 Or beacon to the vessel true ; 
 
 While oft the lead the seaman flung, 
 
 And to the pilot cheerly sung, 
 
 " By the mark, seven ! " 
 
 And, as the much-loved shore we near, 
 With transport we behold the roof 
 
 Where dwells a friend or partner dear, 
 Of faith and love a matchless proof. 
 
 Once more the lead the seaman flung, 
 
 And to the watchful pilot sung, 
 " Quarter less five ! " 
 
 Now to her berth the ship draws nigh ; 
 
 We take in sail she feels the tide : 
 " Stand clear the cable ! " is the cry ; 
 
 The anchor's gone ! we safely ride. 
 The watch is set, and through the night 
 We hear the seaman with delight 
 
 Proclaim, "All's well!" 
 
 WILLIAM PEARCE. 
 
THE MASTER OF WE EM VS. 
 
 MY SHIP COMES IN. 
 
 MY ship comes sailing in from sea, 
 And I am glad as glad can be. 
 Oh ! I have kissed my love to-night, 
 And all life seems one calm delight. 
 
 My ship comes in, my ship comes in ; 
 My ship comes sailing up the sea, 
 And life is like a dream to me. 
 
 The stars look larger than before ; 
 
 The moon is silver now. The door 
 
 Of paradise seems open wide 
 
 As yon church-door for my fair bride. 
 
 My ship comes in, my ship comes in ; 
 My ship comes climbing up the sea, 
 And land and sea are fair to me. 
 
 I know full well in my ship's hold 
 
 Lie neither gorgeous silks nor gold ; 
 
 But oh ! I know my love loves me, 
 
 And ask no more of land or sea. 
 
 My ship comes in, my ship comes in ; 
 My ship has crossed the lonesome sea, 
 And I am glad as glad can be. 
 
 JOAQUIN MILLER. 
 
 THE MASTER OF WEEMYS. 
 
 THE master of Weemys has biggit a ship 
 To saile upon the sea ; 
 And four and twenty bauld marineres 
 Doe beare him companie. 
 
92 THE MASTER OF WEEMYS. 
 
 They have hoistit sayle and left the land ; 
 
 They have saylit mylis three ; 
 When up there lap the bonnie mermayd, 
 
 All in the Norland Sea. 
 
 " Oh, whare saile ye," quo' the bonnie mermayd, 
 
 " Upon the saut sea faem ? " 
 " It's we are bound until Norroway : 
 
 God send us skaithless hame ! " 
 
 " Oh, Norroway is a gay, gay strande, 
 
 And a merrie lande, I trowe ; 
 But never nane shall see Norroway 
 
 Gin the mermayd keeps her vowe ! " 
 
 Down doukit then the mermayden 
 
 Deep intil the middle sea ; 
 And merrie leuch that master bauld, 
 
 With his jollie companie. 
 
 They saylit awa', an' they saylit awa', 
 
 They have saylit leagues ten ; 
 When, lo ! uplap by the gude ship's side 
 
 The selfsame mermayden. 
 
 Shee held a glass intil her richt hande, 
 
 In the uthir shee held a kame ; 
 And shee kembit her haire, and aye she sang, 
 
 As she flotterit on the faem. 
 
 And she gliskit round and round about 
 
 Upon the waters wan ; 
 Oh ! nevir againe upon land or sea 
 
 Shall be seen sic a faire woman. 
 
THE MASTER OF WEEMYS. 93 
 
 And shee shed her haire att her milk-white bree 
 
 Wi' her fingers sae sma' and lang ; 
 And fast as saylit that gude ship on, 
 
 Sae louder was aye her sang. 
 
 And aye shee sang, and aye shee sang, 
 
 As she rade upon the sea : 
 " If ye bee men of Christian moulde, 
 
 Throwe the master out to mee. 
 
 " Throwe out to mee the master, 
 
 If ye bee Christian men ; 
 But an ye faile, though fast ye sayle, 
 
 Ye '11 nevjr see land agen ! 
 
 " Sayle on, sayle on, sayle on," said shee, 
 
 " Sayle on, and nevir blinne : 
 The winde at will your saylis may fill ; 
 
 But the land ye shall nevir win ! " 
 
 It's nevir word spak' that master bauld, 
 
 But a loud laugh leuch the crewe ; 
 And in the deep then the mermayden 
 
 Down drappit frae their viewe. 
 
 But ilk ane hythit her bonnie face, 
 
 How dark, dark grew its lire ; 
 And ilk ane saw her bricht, bricht eyne 
 
 Leming r like coals of fire. 
 
 And ilk ane saw her lang bricht haire 
 
 Gae flashing through the tide, 
 And the sparkles o' the glass she brake 
 
 Upon that gude ship's side. 
 
 1 Saw, discovered. 
 
94 THE MASTER OF IVEEMYS. 
 
 " Steer on, steer on, thou master bauld ; 
 
 The wind blaws unco' hie." 
 " Oh, there's not a sterne in a' the lift 
 
 To guide us through the sea ! " 
 
 " Steer on, steer on, thou master bauld ; 
 
 The storm is coming fast." 
 " Then up, then up, my bonnie boy, 
 
 Unto the topmost mast. 
 
 " Creep up into the tallest mast ; 
 
 Gae up, my ae best man ; 
 Climb up until the tall topmast, 
 
 And spy gin ye see land." 
 
 " Oh, all is mirk towards the eist, 
 
 And all is mirk be west : 
 Alas ! there is not a spot of light 
 
 Where any eye can rest." 
 
 " Looke oute, looke oute, my bauldest man, 
 
 Looke out unto the storme ; 
 And, if ye cannot get sicht o' land, 
 
 Do ye see the dawin o' morn ? " 
 
 " Oh, alace, alace ! my master deare," 
 
 Spak' then that ae best man, 
 " Nor light, nor land, nor living thing, 
 
 Do I spy on any hand." 
 
 " Looke yet againe, my ae best man, 
 And tell me what do ye see." 
 
 " O Lord ! I spy the fause mermayden 
 Fast say ling out owre the sea." 
 
THE BOY AT THE NO RE. 95 
 
 " How can ye spy the fause mermayden 
 
 Fast sayling on the mirk sea ? 
 For there's neither mime, nor mornin' licht 
 
 In troth it can nevir bee." 
 
 " Oh, there is neither mime nor mornin' licht, 
 
 Nor ae star's blink on the sea ; 
 But, as I am a Christian man, 
 
 That witch-woman I see ! 
 
 " Good Lord ! there is a scaud o' fire 
 
 Fast coming out ovvre the sea ; 
 And fast therein the grim mermayden 
 
 Is sayling on to thee. 
 
 " She hailes our ship wi' a shrill, shrill cry 
 Shee is coming, alace ! more near." 
 
 " Ah, wae is me now ! " said the master bauld, 
 " For I both do see and hear. 
 
 " Come down, come down, my ae best man, 
 
 For an ill weird I maun drie ; 
 Yet I reck not for my sinful self, 
 But thou my trew companie ! " 
 
 WILLIAM MOTHERWELL. 
 
 THE BOY AT THE NOBE. 
 
 I SAY, little boy at the Nore, 
 Do you come from the small Isle of Man? 
 Why, your history a mystery must be : 
 Come, tell us as much as you can, 
 Little boy at the Nore. 
 
96 THE BOY AT THE NO RE. 
 
 You live, it seems, wholly on water, 
 Which your Gambier calls living in clover; 
 But how comes it, if that is the case, 
 You're eternally half-seas over, 
 
 Little boy at the Nore? 
 
 While you ride, while you dance, while you float 
 Never mind your imperfect orthography, 
 But give us as well as you can 
 Your watery autobiography, 
 
 Little boy at the Nore. 
 
 BOY AT THE NORE LOQUITUR. 
 
 I'm the tight little boy at the Nore ; 
 In a sort of sea-negus I dwells ; 
 Half and half 'twixt salt water and Port, 
 I'm reckoned the first of the swells 
 I'm the boy at the Nore ! 
 
 I lives with my toes to the flounders, 
 And watches through long days and nights ; 
 Yet, cruelly eager, men look 
 To catch the first glimpse of my lights 
 I'm the boy at the Nore ! 
 
 I never gets cold in my head, 
 So my life on salt water is sweet : 
 I think I owes much of my health 
 To being well used to wet feet 
 
 As the boy at the Nore ! 
 
 There's one thing : I'm never in debt ; 
 Nay ! I liquidates more than I oughter : 
 
THE BOY AT THE NORE. 97 
 
 So the man to beat cits as goes by, 
 In keeping the head above water, 
 
 Is the boy at the Nore ! 
 
 I've seen a good deal of distress, 
 Lots of breakers in Ocean's Gazette : 
 They should do as I do, rise o'er all ; 
 Ay, a good, floating capital get, 
 
 Like the boy at the Nore ! 
 
 I'm a'ter the sailor's own heart, 
 And cheers him, in deep water rolling ; 
 And the friend of all friends to Jack Junk, 
 Ben Backstay, Tom Pipes, and Tom Bowling, 
 Is the boy at the Nore ! 
 
 Could I e'er but grow up, I'd be off 
 For a week to make love with my wheedles : 
 If the tight little boy at the Nore 
 Could but catch a nice girl at the Needles, 
 We'd have two at the Nore ! 
 
 They thinks little of sizes on water, 
 On big waves the tiny one skulks : 
 While the river has men-of-war on it, 
 Yes the Thames is oppressed with great hulks, 
 And the boy's at the Nore ! 
 
 But I've done, for the water is heaving 
 Round my body, as though it would sink it ; 
 And I've been so long pitching and tossing, 
 That sea-sick -7- you'd hardly now think it 
 Is the boy at the Nore ! 
 
 THOMAS HOOD. 
 
98 LISTENING TO MUSIC. 
 
 LISTENING TO MUSIC. 
 
 WHEN on that joyful sea 
 Where billow on billow breaks ; where swift waves 
 follow 
 
 Waves, and hollow calls to hollow ; 
 Where sea-birds swirl and swing, 
 And winds through the rigging shrill and sing ; 
 Where night is night without a shade ; 
 Where thy soul, not afraid, 
 Though all alone unlonely, 
 Wanders and wavers, wavers wandering, 
 On that accursed sea, 
 One moment only, 
 
 Forget one moment, Love, thy fierce content ; 
 Back let thy soul be bent 
 Think back, dear Love, O Love think back to me ! 
 
 RICHARD WATSON GILDER. 
 
 BECALMED AT SEA. 
 
 AS ships becalmed at eve, that lay, 
 With canvas drooping, side by side, 
 Two towers of sail, at dawn of day 
 
 Are scarce, long leagues apart, descried ; 
 
 When fell the night, up sprung the breeze, 
 And all the darkling hours they plied ; 
 
 Nor dreamt but each the selfsame seas 
 By each was cleaving, side by side. 
 
 E'en so but why the tale reveal 
 
 Of those whom, year by year unchanged, 
 
LITTLE BILLEE. 99 
 
 Brief absence joined anew, to feel, 
 Astounded, soul from soul estranged. 
 
 At dead of night their sails were filled, 
 And onward each rejoicing steered : 
 
 Ah ! neither blame, for neither willed 
 Or wist what first with dawn appeared. 
 
 To veer, how vain ! On, onward strain, 
 Brave barks ! in light, in darkness too ! 
 
 Through winds and tides one compass guides : 
 To that and your own selves be true. 
 
 But O blithe breeze ! and O great seas ! 
 
 Though ne'er, that earliest parting past, 
 On your wide plain they join again, 
 
 Together lead them home at last. 
 
 One port, methought, alike they sought, 
 One purpose hold where'er they fare ; 
 
 O bounding breeze ! O rushing seas ! 
 At last, at last, unite them there ! 
 
 ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH. 
 
 LITTLE BILLEE. 
 
 THERE were three sailors of Bristol City, 
 Who took a boat and went to sea ; 
 But first with beef, and captain's biscuits, 
 And pickled pork, they loade*d she. 
 
 There was gorging Jack, and guzzling Jimmy, 
 
 And the youngest he was little Billee : 
 Now, when they got as far as the equator, 
 
 They'd nothing left but one split pea. 
 
100 LITTLE BILLEE. 
 
 Says gorging Jack to guzzling Jimmy, 
 
 " I am extremely hungaree." 
 To gorging Jack says guzzling Jimmy, 
 
 " We've nothing left : us must eat we." 
 
 Says gorging Jack to guzzling Jimmy, 
 
 ' With one another we shouldn't agree : 
 There's little Bill, he's young and tender, 
 We're old and tough : so let's eat he. 
 
 " O Billy ! we're going to kill and eat you, 
 So undo the button of your chemie." 
 
 When Bill received this information, 
 He used his pocket-handkerchie. 
 
 " First let me say my catechism 
 
 Which my poor mammy taught to me." 
 
 " Make haste, make haste ! " says guzzling Jimmy, 
 While Jack pulled out his snickersnee. 
 
 So Billy went up to the main-topgallant mast, 
 And down he fell on his bended knee : 
 
 He scarce had come to the Twelfth Commandment, 
 When up he jumps, "There's land I see ! 
 
 "Jerusalem and Madagascar, 
 
 And North and South Amerikee ;. 
 There's the British flag a-riding at anchor, 
 
 With the Admiral Napier, K. C. B." 
 
 
 
 So when they got aboard of the admiral's, 
 He hanged fat Jack, and flogged Jimmee ; 
 
 But as for little Bill he made him 
 The captain of a seventy-three. 
 
 WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. 
 
FROM " CLYTEMtfpSTZA;" . JOi 
 
 FROM "CLYTEMNESTRA." 
 
 THE winds were lulled in Aulis ; and the day, 
 Down-sloped, was loitering to the lazy west. 
 There was no motion of the glassy bay, 
 But all things by a heavy light opprest. 
 Windless, cut off from the destined way ; 
 Dark shrouds, distinct against the lurid lull ; 
 Dark ropes hung useless, loose, from mast to hull, 
 The black ships lay abreast. 
 Not any cloud would cross the brooding skies. 
 The distant sea boomed faintly, nothing more. 
 They walked about upon the yellow shore ; 
 Or, lying listless, huddled groups supine, 
 With faces turned toward the flat sea-spine, 
 They planned the Phrygian battle o'er and o'er, 
 Till each grew sullen, and would talk no more, 
 But sat dumb-dreaming. Then would some one rise, 
 And look toward the hollow hulls, with haggard, hopeless 
 
 eyes 
 
 Wild eyes and, crowding round, yet wilder eyes 
 And gaping, languid lips. 
 And everywhere that men could see, 
 About the black, black ships, 
 Was nothing but the deep-red sea ; 
 The deep-red shore ; 
 The deep-red skies ; 
 
 The deep-red silence, thick with thirsty sighs ; 
 And daylight, dying slowly. Nothing more. 
 The tall masts stood upright ; 
 And not a sail above the burnished prores : 
 The languid sea, like one outwearied quite, 
 Shrank, dying inward into hollow shores 
 
;02 . - TO . 
 
 And breathless harbors, under sandy bars ; 
 
 And one by one, down tracks of quivering blue, 
 
 The singed and sultry stars 
 
 Looked from the inmost heaven, far, faint, and few ; 
 
 While all below the sick and steaming brine 
 
 The spilled-out sunset did incarnadine. 
 
 OWEN MEREDITH. 
 
 TO 
 
 AS in lone fairy-lands, up some rich shelf 
 Of golden sand the wild wave meaningly 
 Heaps its unvalued sea-wealth, weed and gem, 
 Then creeps back slow into the salt, sad sea, 
 So from my life's new searched deeps to thee, 
 Beloved, I cast these weed-flowers. Smile on them. 
 More than they mean I know not to express. 
 So I shrink back into my old sad self, 
 Far from all words, where love lies fathomless. 
 
 OWEN MEREDITH. 
 
 THE TAR FOR ALL. WEATHERS. 
 
 I SAILED from the Downs in "The Nancy : " 
 My jib, how she smacked through the breeze ! 
 She's a vessel as light as my fancy, 
 
 As ever sailed on the salt seas : 
 So adieu to the white cliffs of Britain, 
 
 Our girls, and our dear native shore ; 
 For, if some hard rock we should split on, 
 We shall never see them any more. 
 
THE TAR FOR ALL WEATHERS. 103 
 
 But sailors are born for all weathers, 
 Great guns let it blow high or low : 
 
 Our duty keeps us to our tethers, 
 
 And when the gale drives we must go. 
 
 When we entered the Gut of Gibraltar, 
 
 I verily thought she'd have sunk ; 
 For the wind began so for to alter, 
 
 She yawed just as though she was drunk. 
 The squall tore the mainsail to shivers : 
 
 " Helm a-weather ! " the hoarse boatswain cries ; 
 " Brace the foresail athwart ! " See, she quivers, 
 
 As through the rough tempest she flies. 
 But sailors, etc. 
 
 The storm came on thicker and faster ; 
 
 As black just as pitch was the sky ; 
 When truly a doleful disaster 
 
 Befell three poor sailors and I. 
 Ben Buntline, Sam Shroud, and Dick Handsail, 
 
 By a blast that came furious and hard, 
 Just while we were furling the mainsail, 
 
 Were every soul swept from the yard. 
 But sailors, etc. 
 
 Poor Ben, Sam, and Dick cried, " Peccavi / " 
 
 As for I, at the risk of my neck, 
 While they sank down in peace to old Davy, 
 
 Caught a rope, and so landed on deck. 
 Well, what would you have ? We were stranded ; 
 
 And out of a fine jolly crew 
 Of three hundred that sailed, never landed 
 
 But I, and I think twenty-two. 
 But sailors, etc. 
 
104 THE BEACON. 
 
 After thus we at sea had miscarried, 
 
 Another guess way set the wind ; 
 For to England I came, and got married 
 
 To a lass that was comely and kind. 
 But, whether for joy or vexation, 
 
 We know not for what we were born : 
 Perhaps I may find a kind station, 
 
 Perhaps I may touch at Cape Horn. 
 For sailors, etc. 
 
 CHARLES DIBDIN. 
 
 THE BEACON. 
 
 HOW broad and bright athwart the wave 
 Its steadfast light the beacon gave, 
 Far beetling from the headland shore, 
 The rock behind, the surge before ! 
 How lone and stern and tempest- seared, 
 Its brow to heaven the turret reared ! 
 Type of the glorious souls that are 
 
 The lamps our wandering barks to light, 
 With storm and cloud round every star, 
 The fire-guides of the night ! 
 
 ii. 
 
 How dreary was that solitude ! 
 
 Around it screamed the sea-fowl's brood, 
 
 The only sound, amidst the strife 
 
 Of wind and wave, that spoke of life, 
 
 Except, when heaven's ghost-stars were pale, 
 
 The distant cry from hurrying sail. 
 
THE BEACON. 105 
 
 From year to year the weeds had grown 
 O'er walls slow-rotting with the damp ; 
 
 And with the weeds decayed, alone, 
 The warder of the lamp. 
 
 in. 
 
 But twice in every week from shore 
 Fuel and food the boatmen bore ; 
 And then so dreary was the scene, 
 So wild and grim the warder's mien, 
 So many a darksome legend gave 
 Awe to that Tadmor of the wave, 
 
 That^ scarce the boat the rock could gain, 
 Scarce heaved the pannier on the stone, 
 Than from the rock and from the main 
 The unwilling life was gone. 
 
 IV. 
 
 A man he was whom man had driven 
 
 To loathe the earth, and doubt the heaven : 
 
 A tyrant foe (beloved in youth) 
 
 Had called the law to crush the truth, 
 
 Stripped hearth and home, and left to shame 
 
 The broken heart, the blackened name. 
 
 Dark exile from his kindred then, 
 He hailed the rock, the lonely wild : 
 
 Upon the man at war with men 
 The frown of Nature smiled. 
 
 v. 
 
 But suns on suns had rolled away : 
 
 The frame was bowed, the locks were gray ; 
 
 And the eternal sea and sky 
 
 Seemed one still death to that dead eye. 
 
106 THE BEACON. 
 
 And Terror, like a spectre, rose 
 From the dull tomb of that repose. 
 No sight, no sound, of human-kind : 
 
 The hours, like drops upon the stone 
 What countless phantoms man may find 
 In that dark word, " ALONE " ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 Dreams of blue heaven and hope can dwell 
 With thraldom in its narrowest cell : 
 The airy mind may pierce the bars, 
 Elude the chain, and hail the stars : 
 Canst thou no drearier dungeon guess 
 In space , when space is loneliness ? 
 
 The body's freedom profits none ; 
 The heart desires an equal scope : 
 
 All Nature is a gaol to one 
 
 Who knows nor love nor hope. 
 
 VII. 
 
 One day, all summer in the sky, 
 
 A happy crew came gliding by, 
 
 With songs of mirth, and looks of glee, 
 
 A human sunbeam o'er the sea. 
 
 " O warder of the beacon ! " cried 
 
 A noble youth the helm beside, 
 
 " This summer-day how canst thou bear 
 To guard thy smileless rock alone, 
 
 And through the hum of Nature hear 
 No heart-beat save thine own? " 
 
 VIII. 
 
 " I cannot bear to live alone, 
 
 To hear no heart-beat save my own. 
 
THE BEACON. 107 
 
 Each moment on this crowded earth 
 The joy-bells ring some new-born birth : 
 Can ye not spare one form, but one, 
 The lowest, least, beneath the sun, 
 To make the morning musical 
 
 With welcome from a human sound?" 
 " Nay," spake the youth ; " and is that all? 
 Thy comrade shall be found." 
 
 IX. 
 
 The boat sailed on, and o'er the main 
 The awe of silence closed again ; 
 But in the wassail hours of night, 
 When goblets go their rounds of light, 
 And in the dance, and by the side 
 Of her yon moon shall mark his bride, 
 
 Before that child of pleasure rose 
 The lonely rock, the lonelier one 
 
 A haunting spectre till he knows 
 The human wish is won. 
 
 x. 
 
 Low-murmuring round the turret's base 
 Wave glides on wave its gentle chase : 
 Lone on the rock, the warder hears 
 The oars' faint music. Hark ! it nears 
 It gains the rock : the rower's hand 
 Aids a gray, time-worn form to land. 
 " Behold the comrade sent to thee ! " 
 
 He said, then went. And in that place 
 The twain were left ; and misery 
 
 And guilt stood face to face. 
 
108 THE BEACON. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Yes, face to face once in.-) re arrayed 
 Stood the betrayer the betrayed. 
 Oh ! how through all those gloomy years, 
 When guilt revolves what conscience fears, 
 Had that wronged victim breathed the vow 
 That if, but face to face And now, 
 There, face to face with him he stood 
 
 By the great sea, on that wild steep : 
 Around, the voiceless solitude ; 
 Below, the funeral deep. 
 
 They gazed : the injurer's face grew pale ; 
 Pale writhe the lips, the murmurs fail, 
 And thrice he strives to speak in vain ! 
 The sun looks blood-red on the main, 
 The boat glides, waning less and less. 
 No law lives in the wilderness, 
 
 Except revenge man's first and last. 
 
 Those wrongs, that wretch could they forgive ? 
 
 All that could sweeten life was past ; 
 Yet, oh, how sweet to live ! 
 
 xm. 
 
 He gazed before, he glanced behind : 
 There o'er the steep rock seems to wind 
 The devious, scarce-seen path a snake 
 In slime and sloth might, laboring, make. 
 With a wild cry he springs, he crawls ; 
 Crag upon crag he clears, and falls 
 
 Breathless and mute ; and o'er him stands, 
 Pale as himself, the chasing foe, 
 
THR BEACON-. 109 
 
 Mercy ! what mean those clasped hands, 
 Those lips that tremble so ? 
 
 " Thou hast cursed my life, my wealth despoiled ; 
 
 My hearth is cold, my name is soiled ; 
 
 The wreck of what was man, I stand 
 
 Mid the lone sea and desert land 
 
 Well, I forgive thee all, but be 
 
 A human voice and face to me. 
 
 Oh, stay ! oh, stay ! and let me yet 
 
 One thing that speaks man's language know ! 
 
 The waste hath taught me to forget 
 That earth once held a foe." 
 
 xv. 
 
 O heaven ! methinks, from thy soft skies 
 Looked tearful down the angel-eyes, 
 Back to those walls to mark them go, 
 Hand clasped in hand, the foe and foe. 
 And when the sun sunk slowly there, 
 Low knelt the prayerless man in prayer. 
 
 He knelt no more the lonely one ; 
 Within, secure, a comrade sleeps ; 
 
 That sun shall not go down upon 
 A desert in the deeps. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 He knelt, the man who half till then 
 Forgot his God in loathing men, 
 He knelt, and prayed that God to spare 
 The foe to grow the brother there ; 
 
HO A DAY BY THE SEA. 
 
 And, reconciled by love to Heaven, 
 Forgiving, was he not forgiven ? 
 
 " Yes, man for man thou didst create ; 
 
 Man's wrongs, man's blessings can atone. 
 To learn how love can spring from hate, 
 Go, hate, and live alone ! " 
 
 LORD LYTION. 
 
 A DAY BY THE SEA. 
 
 I REMEMBER a day, out of summer 
 Dropped down, like a pearl from a string, 
 In the middle of dreary November. 
 
 Skies blue, zephyrs soft, not the wing 
 Of the lightest fleece-cloud overspreading 
 
 The still, solemn peace of the noon ; 
 While we, in life's lonely November, 
 Were blithe with the brightness of June. 
 
 The friend of my heart was beside me : 
 
 Like children, we walked by the sea ; 
 Like children, we hushed 'neath the voices 
 
 Its wild waves had for us. Ah, me ! 
 It was but a day, quickly over. 
 
 From the splendor, the rose-light, the bliss 
 Of the wide tranquil ocean, returning 
 
 To our work and our wages, we miss, 
 
 Day by day, the grand sweep of the billows, 
 Day by day, the deep calm of the shore : 
 
 There are passionate longings within us ; 
 There are famishing needs, which implore 
 
THE EARL O> QUARTERDECK. Ill 
 
 For knowledge, for wisdom, for power, 
 
 For the grace of all loveliest things. 
 Shall the spirit be satisfied ever? 
 
 Will it rise as triumphant on wings ? 
 
 Yes, if we but wait, these will crown us, 
 
 The day of an infinite rest 
 When the tired and the sad will be gathered 
 
 To the arms of the Father, and blest, 
 Beyond uttermost prayer, out of sorrow, 
 
 Beyond uttermost yearning of life, 
 Past all that is vexing and grieving, 
 
 Past all that is darkened by strife. 
 
 And the peace of that hour will be fuller 
 
 Than the peace of the beautiful day 
 When the long breakers rolled from the distance, 
 
 And the surf was all rainbowed with spray ; 
 When the sunshine was golden ; when glory 
 
 Was heaped on the radiant noon, 
 Which, midway in dreary November, 
 
 Had captured the sweetness of June. 
 
 MARGARET E SANGSTER. 
 
 THE EARL O' QUARTERDECK. 
 
 (A NEW OLD BALLAD.) 
 
 THE wind it blew, and the ship it flew ; 
 And it was " Hey for hame ! 
 And ho for hame ! " But the skipper cried, 
 " Haud her oot o'er the saut sea-faem ! " 
 
112 THE EARL O' QUARTERDECK. 
 
 Then up and spoke the king himseP, 
 
 " Haud on for Dumferline ! " 
 Quo the skipper, " Ye're king upo' the land : 
 
 I'm king upo' the brine." 
 
 And he took the helm intil his hand, 
 
 And he steered the ship sae free : 
 Wi' the wind astarn, he crowded sail, 
 
 And stood right out to sea. 
 
 Quo the king, " There's treason in this, I vow : 
 
 There is something underhand ! 
 'Bout the ship ! " Quo the skipper, " Yer grace forgets 
 
 Ye are king but o' the land." 
 
 And still he held to the open sea ; 
 
 And the east wind sank behind ; 
 And the wast had a bitter word to say, 
 
 Wi' a white-sea-roarin' wincL 
 
 And he turned her head into the north. 
 
 Said the king, " Gar fling him o'er." 
 Quo the fearless skipper, " It's a' ye're worth : 
 
 Ye'll ne'er see Scotland more." 
 
 The king crept down the cabin-stair 
 
 To drink the gude French wine ; 
 And up she came, his daughter fair, 
 
 And luiket ower the brine. 
 
 She turned her face to the drivin' hail, 
 
 To the hailbut and the weet : 
 Her snood it brak, and, as lang's hersel', 
 
 Her hair drave out i' the sleet. 
 
THE EARL <9' QUARTERDECK. 113 
 
 She turned her face frae the drivin' wind 
 
 "What's that ahead?" quo she. 
 The skipper he threw himseF frae the wind, 
 
 And he drove the helm a-lee. 
 
 " Put to yer hand, my lady fair ! 
 
 Put to yer hand ! " quoth he : 
 " Gin she dinna face the win' the mair, 
 
 It's the waur for you and me." 
 
 For the skipper kenned that strength is strength, 
 
 Whether woman's or man's, at last. 
 To the tiller the lady she laid her han', 
 
 And the ship laid her cheek to the blast. 
 
 For that slender body was full o' soul ; 
 
 And the will is mair than shape, 
 As the skipper saw when they cleared the berg, 
 
 And he heard her quarter scrape. 
 
 Quo the skipper, " Ye are a lady fair, 
 
 And a princess grand to see ; 
 But ye are a woman, and a man wad sail 
 
 To hell in yer company." 
 
 She liftit a pale and a queenly face ; 
 
 Her een flashed, and syne they swam. 
 "And what for no to heaven?" she says, 
 
 And she turned awa' frae him. 
 
 But she took na her han' frae the good ship's helm 
 
 Until the day did daw ; 
 And the skipper he spak, but what he said 
 
 It was said at ween them twa. 
 
114 THE EARL O' QUARTERDECK. 
 
 And then the good ship she lay to, 
 
 With the land far on the lea ; 
 And up came the king upo' the deck 
 
 Wi' wan face and bluidshot ee. 
 
 The skipper he louted to the king : 
 " Gae wa', gae vva' ! " said the king. 
 
 Said the king, like a prince, " I was a' wrang : 
 Put on this ruby ring." 
 
 And the wind blew lowne, and the stars cam out, 
 And the ship turned to the shore ; 
 
 And, afore the sun was up again, 
 They saw Scotland ance more. 
 
 That day the ship hung at the pier-heid, 
 And the king he stept on the land. 
 
 " Skipper, kneel down ! " the king he said : 
 " Hoo daur ye afore me stand? " 
 
 The skipper he louted on his knee ; 
 
 The king his blade he drew. 
 Said the king, " How daured ye centre me ? 
 
 I'm aboard my ain ship noo. 
 
 " I canna mak ye a king," said he, 
 " For the Lord alone can do that ; 
 
 And, forby, ye took it intil yer ain han', 
 And crooned yerseP sae pat ! 
 
 "But wi' what ye will I redeem my ring : 
 
 For ance I am at your beck ; 
 And first, as ye loutit Skipper o' Doon : 
 
 Rise up Yerl o' Quarterdeck." 
 
THE EARL O' QUARTERDECK. 115 
 
 The skipper he rose, and looked at the king, 
 
 In his een for all his croon. 
 Said the skipper, " Here is yer grace's ring, 
 
 And yer daughter is my boon." 
 
 And the reid blude sprang into the king's face, 
 
 A wrathful man to see : 
 " The rascal loon abuses our grace ; 
 
 Gae hang him upon yon tree." 
 
 The skipper he sprang aboard his ship, 
 
 And he drew his biting blade ; 
 And he struck the chain that held her fast, 
 
 But the iron was ower weel made. 
 
 And the king he blew a whistle loud ; 
 
 And tramp, tramp, down the pier 
 Cam twenty riders on twenty steeds, 
 
 Clankin' wi' spur and spear. 
 
 " He saved your life ! " cried the lady fair : 
 
 " His life ye daurna spill ! " 
 " Will ye come atween me and my hate ? " 
 
 Quo the lady, "And that I will." 
 
 And on cam the knights wi' spur and spear, 
 
 For they heard the iron ring. 
 " Gin ye care na for yer father's grace, 
 
 Mind ye that I am the king." 
 
 " I kneel to my father for his grace, 
 
 Right lowly on my knee ; 
 But I stand and look the king in the face, 
 
 For the skipper is king o' me." 
 
Il6 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 She turned, and she sprang upo' the deck, 
 And the cable splashed i' the sea : 
 
 The good ship spread her wings sae white, 
 And awa' wi' the skipper goes she. 
 
 Now, was not this a king's daughter, 
 
 And a brave lady beside ? 
 And a woman with whom a man might sail 
 
 Into the heaven wi' pride ? 
 
 GEORGE MACDONALD. 
 
 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 THE rocky ledge runs far into the sea ; 
 And on its outer point, some miles away, 
 The lighthouse lifts its massive masonry, 
 A pillar of fire by night, of cloud by day. 
 
 Even at this distance I can see the tides, 
 Upheaving, break unheard along its base, 
 
 A speechless wrath, that rises and subsides 
 In the white lip, and tremor of the face. 
 
 And as the evening darkens, lo ! how bright, 
 Through the deep purple of the twilight air, 
 
 Beams forth the sudden radiance of its light, 
 With strange, unearthly splendor in the glare ! 
 
 Not one alone : from each projecting cape 
 And perilous reef along the ocean's verge, 
 
 Starts into life a dim gigantic shape, 
 
 Holding its lantern o'er the restless surge. 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 117 
 
 Like the great giant Christopher, it stands 
 Upon the brink of the tempestuous wave, 
 
 Waciing far out among the rocks and sands, 
 The night-o'ertaken mariner to save. 
 
 And the great ships sail outward, and return, 
 Bending and bowing o'er the billowy swells ; 
 
 And ever joyful, as they see it burn, 
 
 They wave their silent welcomes and farewells. 
 
 They come forth from the darkness, and their sails 
 Gleam for a moment only in the blaze ; 
 
 And eager faces, as the light unveils, 
 
 Gaze at the tower, and vanish while they gaze. 
 
 The mariner remembers when a child, 
 
 On his first voyage, he saw it fade and sink, 
 
 And when, returning from adventures wild, 
 He saw it rise again o'er ocean's brink. 
 
 Steadfast, serene, immovable, the same 
 Year after year, through all the silent night 
 
 Burns on forevermore that quenchless flame, 
 Shines on that inextinguishable light. 
 
 It sees the ocean to its bosom clasp 
 
 The rocks and sea-sand with the kiss of peace ; 
 It sees the wild winds lift it in their grasp, 
 
 And hold it up, and shake it like a fleece. 
 
 The startled waves leap over it ; the storm 
 Smites it with all the scourges of the rain ; 
 
 And steadily against its solid form 
 
 Press the great shoulders of the hurricane. 
 
Il8 SOMVETS. 
 
 The sea-bird wheeling round it, with the din 
 Of wings and winds, and solitary cries, 
 
 Blinded and maddened by the light within, 
 Dashes himself against the glare, and dies. 
 
 A new Prometheus, chained upon the rock, 
 Still grasping in his hand the fire of Jove, 
 
 It does not hear the cry, nor heed the shock, 
 But hails the mariner with words of love. 
 
 " Sail on ! " it says, " sail on, ye stately ships, 
 And with your floating bridge the ocean span 
 
 Be mine to guard this light from all eclipse ; 
 Be yours to bring man nearer unto man ! " 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 TO C. AND J. W. H. OF DRIFTWOOD LODGE, SACO, ME. 
 I. 
 
 TyVELLERSat Driftwood Lodge, dear friends and kind, 
 
 \J Whose sweetest hospitalities I know, 
 
 As eager bird swift-flying to and fro 
 
 Will leave her own familiar tree behind 
 
 Some far-off branches scarce less dear to find, 
 
 So flies Desire to you, with wings aglow 
 
 With ardor that doth make the bird-flight slow, 
 
 And mock the fleetness of the mountain wind. 
 
 So flies Desire ; your pleasant seaside cot 
 
 Her second home my bower of fresh delights 
 
 This hour to roam your silver-curving shores, 
 
 Those fragrant groves which you can claim as yours, 
 
 And there to dream away the days and nights ; 
 
 Yet half their charm were gone if you were not. 
 
SONNETS. 119 
 
 II. 
 
 Shut in by clustering roofs and clustering trees, 
 
 Though not far off our blue bright river pours 
 
 Its full swift volume 'twixt the gracious shores, 
 
 How do I long in golden days like these 
 
 For the wide vision of the crested seas 
 
 Where the fleet swallow circles, dips, and soars ; 
 
 Where flash the gull's white wings, the fisher's oars, 
 
 And sails that shift and darken in the breeze ; 
 
 Where the white surf along the glistening beach, 
 
 And on the black rocks streaming from the spray, 
 
 Tosses incessant far as eye can reach ; 
 
 And ceaseless murmurs most melodious^ pour, 
 
 Swelling anon, anon to die away, 
 
 While the sweet pines make answer evermore ! 
 
 in. 
 
 There stands your cottage peeping from the wood, 
 
 And facing all the splendors of the sea, 
 
 On that dear spot where I to-day would be ; 
 
 Above, below, azure of sky and flood ; 
 
 Boundless seclusion, boundless solitude ; 
 
 And in the midst what social feast for me, 
 
 To choice of speech or silence bidden free, 
 
 While winds and waves rock every varying mood ! 
 
 Through doors and windows wide, through all the house, 
 
 What breeze-blown odors sweep of spice and balm, 
 
 Hemlock and pine, cedar and wilding-rose, 
 
 And, miles away, the scent of meadow-mows. 
 
 Exhaustless sweetness, inexpressible calm ; 
 
 The lapsing water murmuring, Repose f 
 
 HARRIET McEwEN KIMBALL. 
 
120 ANNABEL LEE. 
 
 ANNABEL LEE. 
 
 IT was many and many a year ago, 
 In a kingdom by the sea, 
 That a maiden there lived, whom you may know 
 
 By the name of Annabel Lee ; 
 And this maiden she lived with no other thought 
 Than to love and be loved by me. 
 
 / was a child, and she was a child, 
 
 In this kingdom by the sea ; 
 But we loved with a love that was more than love, 
 
 I and my Annabel Lee, 
 With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven 
 
 Coveted her and me. 
 
 And this was the reason, that, long ago, 
 
 In this kingdom by the sea, 
 A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling 
 
 My beautiful Annabel Lee ; 
 So that her high-born kinsman came 
 
 And bore her away from me, 
 To shut her up in a sepulchre 
 
 In this kingdom by the sea. 
 
 The angels, not half so happy in heaven, 
 
 Went envying her and me : 
 Yes, that was the reason (as all men know, 
 
 In this kingdom by the sea) 
 That the wind came out of the cloud by night, 
 
 Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. 
 
 But our love it was stronger by far than the love 
 Of those who were older than we, 
 
WHITE-CAPPED WAVES. 121 
 
 Of many far wiser than we ; 
 And neither the angels in heaven above, 
 
 Nor the demons down under the sea, 
 Can dissever my soul from the soul 
 
 Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. 
 For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams 
 
 Of the beautiful Annabel Lee ; 
 And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes 
 
 Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. 
 And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side 
 Of my darling, my darling, my life, and my bride, 
 
 In the sepulchre there by the sea, 
 
 In her tomb by the sounding sea. 
 
 EDGAR ALLAN POE. 
 
 WHITE-CAPPED WAVES. 
 
 WHITE-CAPPED waves far round the ocean, 
 Leaping in thanks, or leaping in play, 
 All your bright faces in happy commotion 
 Make glad matins this summer day. 
 
 The rosy light through the morning's portals 
 Tinges your crest with an August hue, 
 
 Calling on us thought-prisoned mortals 
 Thus to live in the moment too. 
 
 For, graceful creatures, you live by dying, 
 Save your life when you fling it away, 
 
 Flow through all forms, all forms defying, 
 And in wildest freedom strict rule obey. 
 
122 THE FISHERS GO DOWN TO SEA. 
 
 Show us your art, O genial daughters 
 Of solemn ocean ! thus to combine 
 
 Freedom and force of rolling waters 
 With sharp observance of law divine. 
 
 JAMES FREEMAN CLARKE. 
 
 THE FISHERS GO DOWN TO SEA. 
 
 OH ! when the fishers go down to sea, down to sea, 
 down to sea, 
 Oh ! when the fishers go down to sea, and out of the 
 
 arms of their wives, 
 Over the night the wind blows free, bitter and free, cruel 
 
 and free, 
 
 Over the night the winds blow free, with the terrible 
 strength that rives. 
 
 While the fishers go down to sea, down to sea, down to 
 
 sea, 
 While the fishers go down to sea, and out of the arms 
 
 of their wives, 
 But though, as they go, the wild waves flee, tremble and 
 
 flee, scatter and flee, 
 
 But though, as they go, the wild waves flee, and the 
 white foam shoreward drives, 
 
 Yet, oh ! the fishers that go to sea, down to sea, out to 
 
 sea, 
 Yet, oh ! the fishers that go to sea, and out of the arms 
 
 of their wives, 
 
 They are happier far than we, richer than we, safer than we, 
 They are happier far than we who are leading loveless 
 lives. 
 
 " HOWARD GLYNDON." 
 
SAILOR'S SONG. 123 
 
 SAILOR'S SONG. 
 
 THE sea goes up, the sky comes down. 
 Oh ! can you spy the ancient town, 
 The granite hills so hard and gray, 
 That rib the land behind the bay? 
 O ye ho, boys ! Spread her wings ! 
 Fair winds, boys : send her home ! 
 O ye ho ! 
 
 Three years ? Is it so long that we 
 
 Have lived upon the lonely sea? 
 
 Oh ! often I thought we'd see the town, 
 
 When the sea went up, and the sky came down. 
 
 O ye ho, boys ! Spread her wings ! 
 
 Fair winds, boys : send her home ! 
 O ye ho ! 
 
 Even the winter winds would rouse 
 A memory of my father's house ; 
 For round his windows and his door 
 They made the same deep, mouthless roar. 
 
 O ye ho, boys ! Spread her wings ! 
 
 Fair winds, boys : send her home ! 
 O ye ho ! 
 
 And, when the summer's breezes beat, 
 Methought I saw the sunny street 
 Where stood my Kate. Beneath her hand 
 She gazed far out, far out from land. 
 
 O ye ho, boys ! Spread her wings ! 
 
 Fair winds, boys : send her home ! 
 O ye ho ! 
 
124 SAILORS SONG. 
 
 Farthest away, I oftenest dreamed 
 That I was with her. Then it seemed 
 A single stride the ocean wide 
 Had bridged, and brought me to her side. 
 
 O ye ho, boys ! Spread her wings ! 
 
 Fair winds, boys : send her home ! 
 O ye ho ! 
 
 But though so near we're drawing, now, 
 Tis farther off I know not how. 
 We sail and sail : we see no home. 
 Would we into the port were come ! 
 
 O ye ho, boys ! Spread her wings ! 
 
 Fair winds, boys : send her home ! 
 O ye ho ! 
 
 At night the same stars o'er the mast : 
 The mast sways round, however fast 
 We fly, stilj sways, and swings around 
 One scanty circle's starry bound. 
 
 O ye ho, boys ! Spread her wings ! 
 
 Fair winds, boys : send her home ! 
 O ye ho ! 
 
 Ah, many a month those stars have shone, 
 And many a golden morn has flown, 
 Since that so solemn happy morn, 
 When, I away, my babe was born. 
 
 O ye ho, boys ! Spread her wings ! 
 
 Fair winds, boys : send her home ! 
 O ye ho ! 
 
 And, though so near we're drawing now, 
 'Tis farther off I know not how : 
 
THE HELMSMAN. 125 
 
 I would not aught amiss had come 
 To babe or mother there at home ! 
 
 O ye ho, boys ! Spread her wings ! 
 
 Fair winds, boys : send her home ! 
 O ye ho ! 
 
 'Tis but a seeming ; swiftly rush 
 The seas beneath. I hear the crush 
 Of foamy ridges 'gainst the prow. 
 Longing outspeeds the breeze, I know. 
 
 O ye ho, boys ! Spread her wings ! 
 
 Fair winds, boys : send her home ! 
 O ye ho ! 
 
 Patience, my mates ! Though not this eve 
 We cast our anchor, yet believe, 
 If but the wind holds, short the run : 
 We'll sail in with to-morrow's sun. 
 
 O ye ho, boys ! Spread her wings ! 
 
 Fair winds, boys : send her home ! 
 O ye ho ! 
 
 GEORGE PARSONS LATHROP. 
 
 THE HELMSMAN. 
 
 OVER the sweeps of wintry sea 
 ., The wild north-easter raves, 
 Its loud song rising high and free 
 Above the tossing waves. 
 
 Along the rock-bound, gloomy shore 
 
 It hurries far and fast ; 
 And with fierce rush and savage roar 
 
 Bends straining sail and mast. 
 
126 THE HELMSMAN. 
 
 Down from the north the brave ship speeds, 
 
 O'er surges foaming white, 
 Following where the tempest leads 
 
 Through trackless glooms of night. 
 
 Grasping the wheels with freezing hands, 
 
 No light his path to show, 
 The weather-beaten helmsman stands, 
 
 His gray hair full of snow. 
 
 The mighty breakers smite the sand 
 
 Beyond the harbor-bar, 
 And fling against the frowning land 
 
 Rent plank and shattered spar. 
 
 And dim the beacon's warning streams 
 
 Amid the flying spray ; 
 Or through the driving snow-squall gleams 
 
 A ghostly spark of gray. 
 
 Oh ! dark and low the murky cloud 
 That hides the beacon's light, 
 
 And fierce and high the winds that loud 
 Exult in stormy might. 
 
 The waves are full of phosphor fire ; 
 
 The good ship's foamy path 
 Glows like a serpent, flaming, dire, 
 
 And lurid in its wrath. 
 
 Swift where the yawning caverns wait, 
 And rocks with sea-lights shine, 
 
 The good ship rushes to her fate 
 And dies, and makes no sign. 
 
NANCY LEE. 
 
 But on the sands, when radiant morn 
 
 Illumes the eastern skies, 
 'Mong tangled rope, and canvas torn, 
 
 The bluff old helmsman lies. 
 
 His rough hands grasp with fingers cold 
 
 The wheel that was his care ; 
 While tenderly the sunlight's gold 
 
 Burns in his matted hair. 
 
 The long, long years will come and go, 
 
 And loving eyes grow dim, 
 As, by some Old World river's flow, 
 
 They wait and watch for him. 
 
 THOMAS S. COLLIER. 
 
 NANCY LEE. 
 
 OF all the wives as e'er you know, 
 Yeo ho, lads ! ho ! yeo ho ! yeo ho ! 
 There's none like Nancy Lee, I trow, 
 
 Yeo ho, lads ! ho ! yeo ho ! 
 See, there she stands, an' waves her hands upon the 
 
 quay ; 
 
 An' every day, when I'm away, she'll watch for me, 
 An' whisper low, when tempests blow, for Jack at sea, 
 
 Yeo ho, lads ! ho ! yeo ho ! 
 The sailor's wife the sailor's star shall be, 
 
 Yeo ho ! we go across the sea. 
 The sailor's wife the sailor's star shall be, 
 The sailor's wife his star shall be. 
 
128 POLLY. 
 
 The harbor's past, the breezes blow, 
 
 Yeo ho, lads ! ho ! yeo ho ! yeo ho ! 
 *Tis long ere we come back, I know, 
 
 Yeo ho, lads ! ho ! yeo ho ! 
 
 But true an' bright from morn till night my home will be, 
 An' all so neat an' snug an' sweet for Jack at sea, 
 
 An' Nancy's face to bless the place, 
 An* welcome me. 
 
 Yeo ho, lads ! ho ! yeo ho ! 
 
 etc., etc. 
 
 The boa's'n pipes the watch below, 
 
 Yeo ho, lads ! ho ! yeo ho ! yeo ho ! 
 Then here's a health afore we go, 
 
 Yeo ho, lads ! ho ! yeo ho ! 
 
 A long, long life to my sweet wife and mates at sea, 
 An' keep our bones from Davy Jones where'er we be, 
 An' may you meet a mate as sweet as Nancy Lee ! 
 
 Yeo ho, lads ! ho ! yeo ho ! 
 
 etc., etc. 
 
 FREDERICK E. WEATHERLY. 
 
 POLLY. 
 
 DO you want to know the smartest craft as ever put 
 from port? 
 Well, that's my " Polly," the lively " Polly ; " and she's a 
 
 rare, good sort : 
 Ope the window, and look, my lads : she's lyin' agen the 
 
 quay, 
 
 The smartest craft, afore and abaft, as ever went to sea. 
 Afloat, afloat, in my pilot-boat, the winds and waves for me ; 
 " Polly," and " Polly," she's so jolly, 
 
 The jolliest craft on sea ! 
 
NIGHT SONG, 129 
 
 Do you want to know the sweetest wife as lives in this 
 
 here place ? 
 Well, that's my Polly, my little Polly, and bless her heart 
 
 and face ! 
 Come, you'll always find her there in her bit of a house 
 
 by the quay, 
 Her hands full of work, and her heart of love and all 
 
 for the sake of me. 
 Afloat, afloat, in my pilot-boat, when the sail is set and 
 
 furled ; 
 Polly, and Polly, she's so jolly, 
 
 The sweetest wife in the world ! 
 
 Do you want a toast to-night, my lads, afore we say good- 
 
 by? 
 Well, that's my wife and the lively " Polly ; " and bless 
 
 'em both, say I : 
 Fill your glasses high, my lads, an' drink it three times 
 
 three ; 
 Here's to my wife, the pride of my life, and the boat I 
 
 steers to sea. 
 Afloat, afloat, I sing in my boat, when the sail is set and 
 
 furled ; 
 Polly, and Polly, they're so jolly, 
 
 The sweetest pair in the world ! 
 
 FREDERICK E. WEATHERLY. 
 
 NIGHT SONG. 
 
 "OLLOW and vast, starred skies are o'er us, 
 
 Bare to their blue profoundest height : 
 Waves and moonlight melt before us 
 Into the heart of the lonely night. 
 
 H 
 
130 HOMEWARD. 
 
 " Row, young oarsman ! row, young oarsman ! 
 
 See how the diamonds drip from the oar : 
 What of the shore and friends? young oarsman, 
 
 Never row us again to shore. 
 
 " See how shadow and silver mingle 
 Here on the wonderful wide bare sea ! 
 
 And shall we sigh for the blinking ingle, 
 Sigh for the old known chamber, we ? 
 
 " Row, young oarsman ! far out yonder, 
 Into the crypt of the night, we float : 
 
 Fair faint moonflower, wash and wander, 
 Wash and wander about our boat. 
 
 " Not a fetter is here to bind us ; 
 
 Love and memory lose their spell : 
 Friends of the home we have left behind us 
 
 Prisoners of content, farewell ! 
 
 " Row, young oarsman, far out yonder, 
 Over the moonlight's breathing breast ! 
 
 Rest not, give us no pause to ponder : 
 All things we can endure but rest." 
 
 W. H. MALLOCH'S " ROMANCE OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 HOMEWARD. 
 
 FAR bells ring on together 
 From quiet deeps below. 
 I know not whence they gather 
 And grasp me, know not whether 
 They bring me joy or woe. 
 
THE SEA-MAIDEN. 131 
 
 Lost voices glad or weeping? 
 
 Call from yon shore so far : 
 
 The wind, the waves, lie sleeping ; 
 
 And through heaven's blue depths sweeping, 
 
 Shoots forth a wandering star. 
 
 A span the moon's bright gaze is 
 
 O'er the wide flood. Maybe, 
 
 On that bridge the moonbeam raises, 
 
 A soul, redeemed, retraces 
 
 Soft ways to eternity. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF KALBECK. 
 
 TRANSLATION OF WILLIAM P. ANDREWS. 
 
 THE SEA-MAIDEN. 
 
 THERE was a lily and rose sea-maiden 
 In marvellous depths of far-away seas, 
 Whose eyes were blue, and whose head was laden 
 With luminous curls like the honey of bees. 
 
 Half-hidden by corals, and swaying rushes, 
 And vines of the ocean, she sat arrayed 
 
 In a tremulous veil of delicate blushes, 
 And robes of quivering light and shade. 
 
 The sun-fish came to worship her graces ; 
 
 The dog-fish lingered, and marvelled beside ; 
 And she gayly smiled in their whimsical faces, 
 
 And sang them songs till they laughed or cried. 
 
 A poet of earth looked down upon her, 
 
 And loved and beckoned, and told his love ; 
 
 But her soul was coy with a sea-maiden's honor, 
 And she would not go to the world above. 
 
132 
 
 THE SEA-MAIDEN. 
 
 So there he staid by the crystalline water ; 
 
 He leaned and gazed, with his heart on fire, 
 And died at last for the ocean's daughter, 
 
 Died of sorrow and long desire. 
 
 And still she sits in the peace of ocean, 
 
 The peace of the mouth of the ocean-caves, 
 
 A damsel without an earthly emotion, 
 
 Who cares not for men, their loves, or their graves. 
 
 Thus, deep in calms of woman's life, covers 
 Herself some maiden on aureate sands 
 
 Of duty and innocence, far from lovers, 
 
 From beatings of hearts, and Teachings of hands. 
 
 J. W. DEFOREST. 
 
AVES OF THE DEEP. 
 
 CHILDREN are we 
 
 Of the restless sea, 
 Swelling in anger, or sparkling in glee ; 
 
 We follow and race, 
 
 In shifting chase, 
 Over the boundless ocean-space ! 
 Who hath beheld where the race begun ? 
 
 Who shall behold it run ? 
 
 BAYARD TAYLOR: The Waves. 
 
WAVES. 
 
 WITH never-ending steps along the beach, 
 Evermore washed by the s*ad, swelling sea, 
 I wandered. Ocean-waves, what would ye reach? 
 Waves of my soul, what do ye seek for me ? 
 
 On the surface, by the waves thou shalt be tossed from 
 
 side to side : 
 Go down into the depths, and with the current calmly 
 
 glide. 
 
 FROM " THE DIAL" (Boston, Mass.), OCTOBER, 1840. 
 
 M 
 
 DEEP-SEA SOUNDINGS. 
 ARINER, what of the deep? 
 
 This of the deep : 
 Twilight is there, and solemn, changeless calm ; 
 Beauty is there, and tender, healing balm, 
 Balm with no root in earth, or air, or sea : 
 Poised by the finger of God, it floateth free ; 
 And, as it treadeth the waves, the sound doth rise, 
 Hither shall come no further sacrifice ; 
 
 135 
 
136 DEEP-SEA SOUXDIXGS. 
 
 Never again the anguished clutch at life, 
 Never again great Love and Death in strife : 
 He who hath suffered all need fear no more, 
 Quiet his portion now forevermore. 
 
 Mariner, what of the deep ? 
 
 This of the deep : 
 
 Solitude dwells not there, though silence reign ; 
 Mighty the brotherhood of loss and pain ; 
 There is communion past the need of speech, 
 There is a love no words of love can reach. 
 Heavy the waves that superincumbent press ; 
 But, as we labor here with constant stress, 
 Hand doth hold out to hand not help alone, 
 But the deep bliss of being fully known. 
 There are no kindred like the kin of sorrow, 
 There is no hope like theirs who fear no morrow. 
 
 Mariner, what of tlue deep? 
 
 This of the deep : 
 
 Though we have travelled past the line of day, 
 Glory of night doth light us on our way, 
 Radiance that comes, we know not how nor whence, 
 Rainbows without the rain, past duller sense, 
 Music of hidden reefs, and waves long past, 
 Thunderous organ-tones from far-off blast, 
 Harmony, victrix, throned in state sublime, 
 Couched on the wrecks begemmed with pearls of time ; 
 Never a wreck but brings some beauty here : 
 Down where the waves are stilled, the sea shines clear. 
 Deeper than life the plan of life doth lie, 
 He who knows all fears nought. Great Death shall die. 
 
 ANONYMOUS. 
 
AT SEA. 137 
 
 AT SEA. 
 
 THE night is made for cooling shade, 
 For silence, and for sleep ; 
 And, when I was a child, I laid 
 My hands upon my breast, and prayed, 
 
 And sank to slumbers deep : 
 Childlike, as then, I lie to-night, 
 And watch my lonely cabin-light. 
 
 Each movement of the swaying lamp 
 
 Shows how the vessel reels ; 
 And o'er the deck the billows tramp : 
 And all her timbers strain and cramp, 
 
 With every shock she feels : 
 It starts and shudders, while it burns, 
 And in its hinged socket turns. 
 
 Now swinging slow, and slanting low, 
 
 It almost level lies ; 
 And yet I know, while to and fro 
 I watch the seeming pendule go 
 
 With restless fall and rise, 
 The steady shaft is still upright, 
 Poising its little globe of light. 
 
 Oh, hand of God ! Oh, lamp of peace ! 
 
 Oh, promise of my soul ! 
 Though weak, and tossed, and ill at ease, 
 Amid the roar of smiting seas, 
 
 The ship's convulsive roll, 
 I own, with love and tender awe, 
 Yon perfect type of faith and law. 
 
138 THE FIRE BY THE SEA. 
 
 A heavenly trust my spirit calms ; 
 
 My soul is filled with light ; 
 The ocean sings his solemn psalms, 
 The wild winds chant : I cross my palms, 
 
 Happy as if to-night, 
 Under the cottage-roof again, 
 I heard the sobbing summer rain. 
 
 JOHN TOWNSEND TROWBKIDGE. 
 
 THE FIRE BY THE SEA. 
 
 r I \HERE were seven fishers with nets in their hands, 
 JL And they walked and talked by the seaside sands ; 
 Yet sweet as the sweet dew-fall 
 
 The words they spake, though they spake so low, 
 
 Across the long, dim centuries flow, 
 
 And we know them one and all 
 Ay ! know them, and love them all. 
 
 Seven sad men in the days of old ; 
 
 And one was gentle, and one was bold, 
 
 And they walked with downward eyes : 
 
 The bold was Peter, the gentle was John ; 
 
 And they all were sad, for the Lord was gone, 
 
 And they knew not if he would rise, 
 Knew not if the dead would rise. 
 
 The livelong night, till the moon went out, 
 
 In the drowning waters they beat about, 
 
 Beat slow through the fog their way ; 
 
 And the sails drooped down with the wringing wet, 
 
 And no man drew but an empty net ; 
 
 And now 'twas the break of the day, 
 The great, glad break of the day. 
 
THE FIRE BY THE SEA. 139 
 
 " Cast in your nets on the other side ! " 
 ('Twas Jesus speaking across the tide ;) 
 
 And they cast, and were dragging hard. 
 But that disciple whom Jesus loved 
 Cried straightway out, for his heart was moved : 
 
 " It is our risen Lord, 
 
 Our Master and our Lord." 
 
 Then Simon, girding his fisher's coat, 
 
 Went over the nets, and out of the boat, 
 Ay ! first of them all was he : 
 
 Repenting sore of the denial past, 
 
 He feared no longer his heart to cast 
 
 Like an anchor into the sea, 
 Down deep in the hungry sea. 
 
 And the others, through the mists so dim, 
 In a little ship came after him, 
 
 Dragging their net through the tide ; 
 And, when they had gotten close to the land, 
 They saw a fire of coals on the sand, 
 
 And with arms of love so wide, 
 
 Jesus, the crucified ! 
 
 'Tis long, and long, and long ago 
 
 Since the rosy lights began to flow 
 
 O'er the hills of Galilee, 
 
 And with eager eyes and lifted hands 
 
 The seven fishers saw on the sands 
 
 The fire of coals by the sea, 
 On the wet, wild sands by the sea. 
 
 Tis long ago ; yet faith in our souls 
 Is kindled just by that fire of coals 
 
140 SONG. 
 
 That streamed o'er the mists of the sea, 
 
 Where Peter, girding his fisher's coat, 
 
 Went over the nets, and out of the boat, 
 
 To answer, " Lov'st thou me ? " 
 Thrice over, " Lov'st thou me ? " 
 
 ALICE GARY. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 THE roaring waves are dashing 
 High on the strand : 
 They're swelling and they're crashing 
 Over the sand. 
 
 They come in noisy fashion 
 
 Unceasingly, 
 At length burst into passion : 
 
 But what care we ? 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF HEINRICH HEINE. 
 
 TRANSLATION OF E. A. BOWRING. 
 
 NO MORE SEA. 
 (REV. xxi. i.) 
 
 SUMMER ocean, idly washing 
 This gray rock on which I lean ; 
 Summer ocean, broadly flashing 
 
 With thy hues of gold and green, 
 Gently swelling, wildly dashing 
 
 O'er yon island-studded scene ; 
 Summer ocean, how I'll miss thee ! 
 
 Miss the thunder of thy roar, 
 Miss the music of thy ripple, 
 
 Miss thy sorrow-soothing shore. 
 
NO MORE SEA. 141 
 
 Summer ocean, how I'll miss thee 
 
 When "the sea shall be no more " ! 
 Summer ocean, how I'll miss thee, 
 
 As along thy strand I range, 
 Or as here I sit and watch thee 
 
 In thy moods of endless change ! 
 Mirthful moods of morning gladness, 
 Musing moods of sunset sadness, 
 When the dying winds caress thee, 
 And the sinking sunbeams kiss thee, 
 And the crimson cloudlets press thee, 
 And all nature seems to bless thee. 
 Summer ocean, how I'll miss thee, 
 
 Miss the wonders of thy shore, 
 Miss the magic of thy grandeur, 
 When " the sea shall be no more " ! 
 
 And yet sometimes in my musings, 
 
 When I think of what shall be 
 In the day of earth's new glory, 
 
 Still I seem to roam by thee, 
 As if all had not departed, 
 
 But the glory lingered still, 
 As if that which made thee lovely 
 
 Had remained unchangeable. 
 Only that which marred thy beauty, 
 
 Only that had passed away, 
 Sullen wilds of ocean-moorland, 
 
 Bloated features of decay. 
 Only that dark waste of waters 
 
 Line ne'er fathomed, eye ne'er scanned, 
 Only that shall shrink and vanish, 
 
 Yielding back the imprisoned land. 
 
142 WILD WEATHER OUTSIDE. 
 
 Yielding back earth's fertile hollows, 
 
 Long submerged and hidden plains ; 
 Giving up a thousand valleys 
 
 Of the ancient world's domains ; 
 Leaving still bright azure ranges 
 Winding round this rocky tower ; 
 Leaving still yon gem-bright island 
 
 Sparkling like an ocean-flower ; 
 Leaving still some placid stretches 
 
 Where the sunbeams bathe at noon ; 
 Leaving still some lake-like reaches, 
 
 Mirrors for the silver moon. 
 Only all of gloom and horror, 
 
 Idle wastes of endless brine, 
 Haunts of darkness, storm, and danger, 
 
 These shall be no longer thine. 
 Backward ebbing, wave and ripple 
 
 Wondrous scenes shall then disclose ; 
 And, like earth's, the wastes of ocean 
 
 Then shall blossom as the rose. 
 
 HORATIUS BONAK. 
 
 WILD WEATHER OUTSIDE. 
 
 WILD weather outside, where the brave ships go, 
 And fierce from all quarters the four winds blow, 
 Wild weather and cold ; and the great waves swell, 
 With chasms beneath them as black as hell. 
 The waters frolic in Titan play, 
 They dash the decks with an icy spray ; 
 The spent sails shiver, the lithe masts reel, 
 And the sheeted ropes are as smooth as steel. 
 
WILD WEATHER OUTSIDE. 143 
 
 And oh that the sailor were safe once more 
 Where the sweet wife smiles in the cottage-door ! 
 
 The little cottage, it shines afar 
 
 O'er the lurid seas, like the polar star. 
 
 The mariner, tossed in the jaws of death, 
 
 Hurls at the storm a defiant breath, 
 
 Shouts to his mates through the writhing foam, 
 
 " Courage ! please God, we shall yet win home ! " 
 
 Frozen and haggard and wan and gray, 
 
 But resolute still, 'tis the sailor's way ; 
 
 And perhaps at the fancy the stern eyes dim 
 
 Somebody's praying to-night for him. 
 
 Ah, me ! through the drench of the bitter rain 
 How bright the picture that rises plain ! 
 Sure he can see, with her merry look, 
 His little maid crooning her spelling-book ; 
 The baby crows from the cradle fair ; 
 The grandam nods in her easy-chair ; 
 While hither and yon, with a quiet grace, 
 A woman flits, with an earnest face. 
 The kitten purs, and the kettle sings ; 
 And a nameless comfort the picture brings. 
 
 Rough weather outside ; but the winds of balm 
 
 Forever float o'er that isle of calm. 
 
 O friends, who read over tea and toast 
 
 Of the wild night's work on the storm-swept coast, 
 
 Think, when the vessels are overdue, 
 
 Of the perilous voyage, the baffled crew, 
 
 Of stout hearts battling for love and home 
 
 Mid the cruel blasts and the curdling foam, 
 
144 THE DEEP. 
 
 And breathe a prayer from your happy lips 
 For those who must go " to the sea in ships : " 
 Ask that the sailor may stand once more 
 Where the sweet wife smiles in the cottage-door. 
 
 MARGARET E. SANGSTER. 
 
 THE DEEP. 
 
 npHERE'S beauty in the deep : 
 1 The wave is bluer than the sky ; 
 And, though the light shine bright on high, 
 More softly do the sea-gems glow 
 That sparkle in the depths below : 
 The rainbow's tints are only made 
 When on the waters they are laid, 
 And sun and moon most sweetly shine 
 Upon the ocean's level brine. 
 There's beauty in the deep. 
 
 There's music in the deep : 
 It is not in the surfs rough roar, 
 Nor in the whispering, shelly shore ; 
 They are but earthly sounds, that tell 
 How little of the sea-nymph's shell, 
 That sends its loud, clear note abroad, 
 Or winds its softness through the flood, 
 Echoes through groves with coral gay, 
 And dies, on spongy banks, away. 
 
 There's music in the deep. 
 
 There's quiet in the deep : 
 Above let tides and tempests rave, 
 And earth-born whirlwinds wake the wave ; 
 
A QUEST. 145 
 
 Above let care and fear contend 
 With sin and sorrow to the end : 
 Here, far beneath the tainted foam 
 That frets above our peaceful home, 
 We dream in joy, and wake in love, 
 Nor know the rage that yells above. 
 There's quiet in the deep. 
 
 JOHN GARDINER CAULKINS BRAINARD. 
 
 A QUEST. 
 
 ALL in the summer even, 
 When sea and sky were bright, 
 As royally the sunset 
 
 Went forth to meet the night, 
 
 My love and I were sailing 
 
 Into the shining west, 
 To find some happy island, 
 
 Some paradise of rest. 
 
 We steered where sunset splendor 
 Turned into gold the shore : 
 
 The rocks behind its brightness 
 Were cruel as before. 
 
 Within the caves sang sirens ; 
 
 But there the whirlpools be : 
 Not there the happy islands, 
 
 Not there the peaceful sea. 
 
 Toward the deep mid-ocean 
 
 Tides ran, and swift winds blew : 
 
 It must be there those islands 
 Await the longing view. 
 
146 THE TIDES. 
 
 Their shores are soft with verdure, 
 Their skies forever fair, 
 
 And always is the fragrance 
 Of blossoms on the air. 
 
 I set my sail to seek them ; 
 
 But she, my love, drew back : 
 " Not yet the night is chilly ; 
 
 I fear that unknown track." 
 
 So home we sailed, at twilight, 
 To the familiar shore ; 
 
 Turned from the golden glory, 
 To live the old life o'er. 
 
 % 
 We'll make no further ventures, 
 
 For timid is my love, 
 Until fresh sailing-orders 
 Are sent us from above. 
 
 Then to the deep mid-ocean, 
 Though we reluctant sail, 
 
 We'll find our happy islands, 
 And joys that cannot fail. 
 
 LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON. 
 
 THE TIDES. 
 
 THE moon is at her full, and, riding high, 
 Floods the calm field with light : 
 The airs that hover in the summer-sky 
 Are all asleep to-night. 
 
THE TIDES. 147 
 
 There comes no voice from the great woodlands round 
 
 That murmured all the day : 
 Beneath the shadow of their boughs the ground 
 
 Is not more still than they. 
 
 But ever heaves and moans the restless deep : 
 
 His rising tides I hear ; 
 Afar I see the glimmering billows leap, 
 
 I see them breaking near. 
 
 Each wave springs upward, climbing towaid the fair 
 
 Pure light that sits on high ; 
 Springs eagerly, and faintly sinks to where 
 
 The mother-waters lie. 
 
 Upward again -it swells; 'the moonbeams show 
 
 Again its glimmering crest : 
 Again it feels the fatal weight below, 
 
 And sinks, but not to rest. 
 
 Again and yet again, until the deep 
 
 Recalls his brood of waves ; 
 And with a sullen moan, abashed, they creep 
 
 Back to his inner caves. 
 
 Brief respite ! they shall rush from that recess 
 
 With noise and tumult soon, 
 And fling themselves, with unavailing stress, 
 
 Up toward the placid moon. 
 
 O restless Sea ! that in thy prison here 
 
 Dost struggle and complain, 
 Through the slow centuries yearning to be near 
 
 To that fair orb in vain ; 
 
148 THE DROWNED MARINER. 
 
 The glorious source of light and heat must warm 
 
 Thy billows from on high, 
 And change them to the cloudy trains that form 
 
 The curtain of the sky. 
 
 Then only may they leave the waste of brine 
 
 In which they welter here, 
 And rise above the hills of earth, and shine 
 
 In a serener sphere. 
 
 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 
 
 THE DEOWNED MARINER. 
 
 A MARINER sat in the shrouds one night ; 
 The wind was piping free ; 
 
 Now bright, now dimmed, was the moonlight pale ; 
 And the phosphor gleamed in the wake of the whale 
 
 As it floundered in the sea ; 
 The scud was flying athwart the sky ; 
 The gathering winds went whistling by ; 
 And the wave, as it then fell in spray, 
 Looked an emerald wall in the moonlight ray. 
 
 ii. 
 
 The mariner swayed and rocked on the mast ; 
 
 But the tumult pleased him well ; 
 Down the yawning wave his eye he cast, 
 And the monsters watched, as they hurried past, 
 
 Or lightly rose and fell ; 
 
THE DROWNED MARINER. 149 
 
 For their broad, damp fins were under the tide, 
 And they lashed, as they passed, the vessel's side ; 
 And their filmy eyes, all huge and grim, 
 Glared fiercely up, and they glared at him. 
 
 m. 
 
 Now freshens the gale, and the brave ship goes 
 
 Like an uncurbed steed along ; 
 A sheet of flame is the spray she throws, 
 As her gallant prow the water ploughs ; 
 
 But the ship is fleet and strong. 
 The topsails are reefed, and the sails are furled ; 
 And onward she sweeps o'er the watery world, 
 And dippeth her spars in the surging flood ; 
 But there cometh no chill to the mariner's blood. 
 
 Wildly she rocks ; but he swingeth at ease, 
 
 And holds him by the shroud ; 
 And, as she careens to the crowding breeze, 
 The gaping deep the mariner sees, 
 
 And the surging heareth loud. 
 Was that a face looking up at him 
 With its pallid cheek, and its cold eyes dim ? 
 Did it beckon him down ? Did it call his name ? 
 Now rolleth the ship the way whence it came. 
 
 v. 
 The mariner looked, and he saw with dread 
 
 A face he knew too well ; 
 
 And the cold eyes glared, the eyes of the dead, 
 And its long hair out on the waves was spread : 
 
 Was there a tale to tell ? 
 
150 THE DROWNED MARINER. 
 
 The stout ship rocked with a reeling speed, 
 And the mariner groaned, as well he need ; 
 For ever down, as she plunged on her side, 
 The dead face gleamed from the briny tide. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Bethink thee, mariner, well of the past ; 
 
 A voice calls loud for thee ; 
 There's a stifled prayer, the first, the last ; 
 The plunging ship on her beam is cast : 
 
 Oh ! where shall thy burial be ? 
 Bethink thee of oaths that were lightly spoken ; 
 Bethink thee of vows that were lightly broken ; 
 Bethink thee of all that is dear to thee ; 
 For thou art alone on the raging sea. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Alone in the dark, alone on the wave, 
 
 To buffet the storm alone ; 
 To struggle aghast at thy watery grave, 
 To struggle, and feel there is none to save : 
 
 God shield thee, helpless one ! 
 The stout limbs yield, for their strength is past ; 
 The trembling hands on the deep are cast ; 
 The white brow gleams a moment more, 
 Then slowly sinks the struggle's o'er. 
 
 vm. 
 Down, down, where the storm is hushed to sleep, 
 
 Where the sea its dirge shall swell, 
 Where the amber- drops for thee shall weep, 
 And the rose-lipped shell its music keep, 
 
 There shalt thou slumber well. 
 
"And when I stand upon the shore 
 And look out on its dreamy blue." Page 151. 
 
THE SEA. 151 
 
 The coral and pearl lie heaped at thy side : 
 They fell from the neck of the beautiful bride, 
 From the strong man's hand, from the maiden's brow, 
 As they slowly sunk to the wave below. 
 
 ELIZABETH OAKES SMITH. 
 
 THE SEA. 
 
 I LOVE the sea ; I fear the sea ; 
 It has an untold charm for me ; 
 And when I stand upon the shore, 
 And look out on its dreamy blue, 
 
 It says to me, " I was before 
 The hills arose, God spake to you." 
 
 I love the sea ; I fear the sea ; 
 Its terrors rise, and silence me ; 
 
 For in its voice of thunder-tones 
 That shake the earth, and fill the sky, 
 
 I hear the myriad martyr-groans 
 Of those who dared it but to die. 
 
 Yet man will seize it by the mane, 
 And dare his God and it again : 
 
 His spirit mounts eternal snows, 
 Would put the curb on ocean-waves, 
 
 And bind the fiercest wind that blows ; 
 Would bind the elements as slaves. 
 
 I stood to-day down by the sea : 
 These are the words it spake to me 
 
 From tongues that whispered from its blue : 
 
152 THE SEA. 
 
 " My pulses beat with sun and sun ; 
 
 My bounds are set, not so with you : 
 Your pulses beat with God as one. 
 
 " My bounds are set on every land, 
 From frozen zone to tropic strand ; 
 
 And when my waves shall beat no more, 
 Nor thunder on the brazen rocks, 
 
 Nor whisper softly on the shore, 
 Nor shake your ships with earthquake-shocks ; 
 
 " And when my pulses droop and die, 
 Lulled in a calm eternity, 
 
 A being of light you will arise, 
 And spread your sails on shoreless seas, 
 
 Beneath the blue of boundless skies, 
 God's will and yours alone to please. 
 
 " You will arise, and songs will trill, 
 When my gigantic voice is still ; 
 
 You will proclaim to God on high, 
 * My spirit conquers land and sea ; 
 
 I am your child, and cannot die : 
 My home is in eternity.' " 
 
 Thus spake to-day the talking sea 
 In clear and dulcet tones to me ; 
 
 And on its waters fell a calm 
 As soft and sweet as shadows fall, 
 
 Inviting slumber and its balm, 
 With peaceful rest, to cover all. 
 
 IRA D. VAN DUZEE. 
 
THE FISHERMEN OF WE X FORD. 153 
 
 VOICES OF THE SEA. 
 
 AGAIN I linger by the Langland shore, 
 And listen to the music of the sea, 
 For some familiar voice to speak to me 
 Out of the deep, sweet, sad, harmonious roar, 
 Whose murmuring cadences sound like a store 9 
 Of loving words, treasures of memory, 
 Once breathed into the ambient air, to be 
 Vibrated through the ages evermore. 
 
 The infinite tides environ us : no strain 
 That e'er awakened human smiles or tears 
 Is lost ; nor shall we call it back in vain. 
 
 Beside the shore, amid the eternal spheres, 
 
 Hark ! the beloved voices once again 
 
 Rise from the waves and winds to soothe mine ears. 
 
 HERBERT NEW. 
 
 THE FISHERMEN OF WEXFORD. 
 
 THERE is an old tradition sacred held in Wexford 
 town, 
 That says, " Upon St. Martin's Eve no net shall be let 
 
 down, 
 
 No fishermen of Wexford shall upon that holy day 
 Set sail, or cast a line, within the scope of Wexford Bay." 
 The tongue that framed the order, or the time, no one 
 
 could tell, 
 
 And no one ever questioned ; but the people kept it well. 
 And never in man's memory was fisher known to leave 
 The little town of Wexford on the good St. Martin's Eve. 
 
154 THE FISHERMEN OF WE X FORD. 
 
 Alas, alas for Wexford ! Once upon that holy day 
 Came a wondrous shoal of herring to the waters of the 
 
 bay. 
 
 The fishers and their families stood out upon the beach, 
 And all day watched with wistful eyes the wealth they 
 
 might not reach. 
 Such sjioal was never seen before, and keen regrets went 
 
 round, 
 Alas, alas for Wexford ! Hark ! what is that grating 
 
 sound? 
 The boats' keels on the shingle ! Mothers, wives, ye well 
 
 may grieve ! 
 The fishermen of Wexford mean to sail on Martin's Eve ! 
 
 " Oh, stay ye ! " cried the women wild. " Stay ! " cried 
 
 the men white-haired ; 
 "And dare ye not to do this thing your fathers never 
 
 dared. 
 No man can thrive who tempts the Lord ! " "Away !" 
 
 they cried : " the Lord 
 
 Ne'er sent a shoal of fish but as a fisherman's reward." 
 And scoffingly they said, " To-night our nets shall sweep 
 
 the bay, 
 And take the saint who guards it, should he come across 
 
 our way." 
 The keels have touched the water, and the crews are in 
 
 each boat ; 
 And on St. Martin's Eve the Wexford fishers are afloat. 
 
 The moon is shining coldly on the sea and on the land, 
 On dark faces in the fishing-fleet, and pale ones on the 
 strand, 
 
THE FISHERMEN OF W EX FORD. 155 
 
 As seaward go the daring boats, and heavenward the 
 cries 
 
 Of kneeling wives and mothers, with uplifted hands and 
 eyes. 
 
 " O Holy Virgin, be their guard ! " the weeping women 
 cried : 
 
 The old men, sad and silent, watched the boats cleave 
 through the tide, 
 
 As past the farthest headland, past the lighthouse, in a 
 line 
 
 The fishing-fleet went seaward through the phosphor- 
 lighted brine. 
 
 Oh, pray, ye wives and mothers ! All your prayers they 
 sorely need 
 
 To save them from the wrath they've roused by their 
 rebellious deed. 
 
 O white-haired men, and little babes, and weeping sweet- 
 hearts ! pray 
 
 To God to spare the fishermen to-night in Wexford Bay. 
 
 The boats have reached good offing ; and, as out the nets 
 are thrown, 
 
 The hearts ashore are chilled to hear the soughing sea- 
 wind's moan : 
 
 Like to a human heart that loved, and hoped for some 
 return, 
 
 To find at last but hatred, so the sea-wind seemed to 
 mourn. 
 
 But ah, the Wexford fishermen ! their nets did scarcely 
 sink 
 
 One inch below the foam, when, lo ! the daring boatmen 
 shrink 
 
156 THE FISHERMEN OF WEXFORD. 
 
 With sudden awe, and whitened lips, and glaring eyes 
 agape, 
 
 For breast-high, threatening, from the sea, uprose a hu- 
 man shape. 
 
 Beyond them, in the moonlight, hand upraised, and awful 
 
 .mien, 
 Waving back, and pointing landwards, breast-high in the 
 
 sea 'twas seen. 
 Thrice it waved, and thrice it pointed, then, with clinched 
 
 hand upraised, 
 The awful shape went down before the fishers as they 
 
 gazed. 
 Gleaming whitely through the water, fathoms deep they 
 
 saw its frown ; 
 They saw the white hand clinched above it, sinking 
 
 slowly down. 
 And then there was a rushing 'neath the boats, and every 
 
 soul 
 
 Was thrilled with greed : they knew it was the seaward- 
 going shoal. 
 
 Defying the dread warning, every face was sternly set ; 
 And wildly did they ply the oar, and wildly haul the 
 
 net. 
 But two boats' crews obeyed the sign, God-fearing 
 
 men were they : 
 They cut their lines, and left their nets, and homewards 
 
 sped away. 
 But darkly rising sternwards did God's wrath in tempest 
 
 sweep ; 
 And they, of all the fishermen, that night escaped the 
 
 deep. 
 
THE BEACON-LIGHT. 157 
 
 O wives and mothers, sweethearts, sires ! well might ye 
 
 mourn next day ; 
 For seventy fishers' corpses strewed the shores of 
 
 VVexford Bay. 
 
 JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY. 
 
 TWILIGHT AT SEA: A FEAGMENT. 
 
 THE twilight hours like birds flew by, 
 As lightly and as free : 
 Ten thousand stars were in the sky, 
 Ten thousand on the sea* 
 
 For every wave, with dimpled face, 
 
 That leaped upon the air, 
 Had caught a star in its embrace, 
 
 And held it trembling there. 
 
 AMELIA B. WELBY. 
 
 THE BEACON-LIGHT. 
 
 DARKNESS was deepening o'er the seas, 
 And still the hulk drove on, 
 No sail to answer to the breeze, 
 Her masts and cordage gone : 
 Gloomy and drear her course of fear, 
 
 Each looked for but a grave, 
 When full in sight the beacon-light 
 Came streaming o'er the wave. 
 
 Then wildly rose the gladdening shout 
 
 Of all that hardy crew : 
 Boldly they put the helm about, 
 
 And through the surf they flew. 
 
158 THE MIGHT OF LO^E. 
 
 Storm was forgot, toil heeded not, 
 
 And loud the cheer they gave, 
 As full in sight the beacon-light 
 
 Came streaming o'er the wave. 
 
 And gayly of the tale they told 
 
 When they were safe on shore ; 
 How hearts had sunk, and hopes grown cold, 
 
 Amid the billows' roar ; 
 When not a star had shone from far, 
 
 By its pale beam to save, 
 Then full in sight the beacon-light 
 
 Came streaming -o'er the wave. 
 
 JULIA PARDOE. 
 
 THE MIGHT OF LOVE. 
 
 is work, good man, for you, to-day ! " 
 So the wife of Jamie cried ; 
 " For a ship at Garl'ston, on Solway, 
 Is beached, and her coal's to be got away 
 At the ebbing-time of tide." 
 
 " And, lassie, would you have me start, 
 
 And make for Solway sands? 
 You know that I, for my poor part, 
 To help me have nor horse nor cart : 
 
 I have only just my hands." 
 
 " But, Jamie, be not, till ye try, 
 
 Of honest chances balked ; 
 For mind ye, man, I'll prophesy, 
 That, while the old ship's high and dry, 
 
 Her master'll have her calked." 
 
THE MIGHT OF LOVE. 159 
 
 And far and near the men were pressed, 
 
 As the wife saw in her dreams. 
 " Ay," Jamie said, " she knew the best," 
 As he went under, with the rest, 
 
 To calk the open seams. 
 
 And while the outward-flowing tide 
 
 Moaned like a dirge of woe, 
 The ship's mate from the beach-belt cried : 
 " Her hull is heeling toward the side, 
 
 Where the men are at work below ! " 
 
 And the cartmen, wild and open-eyed, 
 
 Made for the Solway sands, 
 Men heaving men like coals aside ; 
 For now it was the master cried : 
 
 " Run for your lives, all hands ! " 
 
 Like dead leaves in the sudden swell 
 
 Of the storm, upon that shout 
 Brown hands went fluttering up, and fell, 
 As, grazed by the sinking planks, pell-mell 
 
 The men came hurtling out. 
 
 Thank God, thank God, the peril's past ! 
 
 " No, no ! " with blanching lip, 
 The master cries. " One man, the last, 
 Is caught, drawn in, and grappled fast 
 
 Betwixt the sands and the ship ! 
 
 " Back, back, all hands ! Get what you can, 
 
 Or pick, or oar, or stave." 
 This way and that they breathless ran, 
 And came and fell to, every man, 
 
 To dig him out of his grave. 
 
160 THE MIGHT OF LOVE. 
 
 " Too slow ! too slow ! The weight will kill ! 
 
 Up ! make your hawsers fast ! " 
 Then every man took hold with a will 
 A long pull and a strong pull still 
 
 With never a stir of the mast ! 
 
 "Out with the cargo ! " Then they go 
 
 At it with might and main. 
 " Back to the sands ! Too slow ! too slow ! 
 He's dying, dying ! yet, heave ho ! 
 
 Heave ho there, once again ! " 
 
 And now on the beach at Garl'ston stood 
 
 A woman, whose pale brow wore 
 Its love like a queenly crown ; and the blood 
 Ran curdled and cold as she watched the flood 
 That was racing in to the shore. 
 
 On, on, it trampled, stride by stride : 
 
 It was death to stand and wait ; 
 And all that were free threw picks aside, 
 And came up dripping out o' the tide, 
 And left the doomed to his fate. 
 
 But, lo ! the great sea trembling stands ; 
 
 Then, crawling under the ship, 
 As if for the sake of the two white hands 
 Reaching over the wild wet sands, 
 
 Slackened that terrible grip. 
 
 " Come to me, Jamie ! God grants the way," 
 
 She cries, "for lovers to meet." 
 And the sea, so cruel, grew kind, they say, 
 And, wrapping him tenderly round with spray, 
 Laid him dead at her feet. 
 
 ALICE GARY. 
 
BREAK, BREAK, BREAK. 161 
 
 BY THE SEASIDE. 
 
 RUN in, glad waves, scooped in transparent she" 
 Which catch soft lights of emerald ere they br 
 Let the small ripple fret the sand, and make 
 The faintest chime of music, such as dwells 
 Far down within the sea-conch's murmuring cells ; 
 While hovering o'er the spray the white birds wet 
 Their wings, and shouting fishers draw the net 
 To land, and far sails glitter on the swells. 
 'Tis bliss to rest the while these soft blue skies 
 Breathe over earth their benison of peace, 
 To feel these lowly forms enchant the eyes, 
 And grow into the mind by slow degrees, 
 Till, breathless as a woodland pool, it lies, 
 And sleeps above its sleeping images. 
 
 JAMES DRUMMOND BURNS. 
 
 BREAK, BREAK, BREAK. 
 
 BREAK, break, break, 
 On thy cold gray stones, O Sea ! 
 And I would that my tongue could utter 
 The thoughts that arise in me. 
 
 Oh, well for the fisherman's boy, 
 
 That he shouts with his sister at play ! 
 
 Oh, well for the sailor-lad, 
 
 That he sings in his boat on the bay ! 
 
 And the stately ships go on 
 
 To their haven under the hill ; 
 But oh for the touch of a vanished hand, 
 
 And the sound of a voice that is still ! 
 
1 6 2 MEE TING A T NIGHT. 
 
 Break, break, break, 
 
 At the foot of thy crags, O Sea ! 
 But the tender grace of a day that is dead 
 
 Will never come back to me. 
 
 ALFRED TENNYSON. 
 
 MEETING AT NIGHT. 
 
 THE gray sea and the long black land, 
 And the yellow half-moon large and low, 
 And the startled little waves that leap 
 In fiery ringlets from their sleep, 
 As I gain the cove with pushing prow, 
 And quench its speed in the slushy sand. 
 
 Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach, 
 
 Three fields to cross till a farm appears, 
 
 A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch 
 
 And blue spurt of a lighted match, 
 
 And a voice less loud, through its joys and fears. 
 
 Than the two hearts beating each to each. 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 A BALLAD OF NANTUCKET. 
 
 " T T THERE go you, pretty Maggie, 
 VV Where go you in the rain? " 
 
 " I go to ask the sailors 
 
 Who sailed the Spanish Main 
 
 " If they have seen my Willie, 
 
 If he'll come back to me : 
 It is so sad to have him 
 
 A-sailing on the sea ! " 
 
A BALLAD OF NANTUCKET. 163 
 
 " O Maggie, pretty Maggie ! 
 
 Turn back to yonder town : 
 Your Willie's in the ocean, 
 
 A hundred fathoms down. 
 
 " His hair is turned to sea-kelp, 
 His eyes are changed to stones ; 
 
 And twice two years have knitted 
 The coral round his bones. 
 
 " The blossoms and the clover 
 
 Shall bloom and bloom again, 
 But never shall your lover 
 
 Come o'er the Spanish Main.-" 
 
 But Maggie never heeded ; 
 
 For mournfully said she, 
 " It is so sad to have him 
 
 A-sailing on the sea ! " 
 
 She left me in the darkness ; 
 
 I heard the sea-gull's screech ; 
 And burly winds were growling 
 
 With breakers on the beach. 
 
 The bells of old Nantucket 
 
 What touching things they said 
 When Maggie lay a-sleeping 
 
 With lilies round her head. 
 
 The parson preached a sermon, 
 And prayed and preached again ; 
 
 But she had gone to Willie 
 Across the Spanish Main. 
 
1 64 CALM AT SEA. 
 
 CALM AT SEA. 
 
 SILENCE deep rules o'er the waters, 
 Calmly slumbering lies the main, 
 While the sailor views with trouble 
 Nought but one vast level plain. 
 
 Not a zephyr is in motion, 
 
 Silence fearful as the grave : 
 In the mighty waste of ocean 
 
 Sunk to rest is every wave. 
 
 JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE. 
 TRANSLATION OF E. A. BOWRING 
 
 THE SONG OF THE GALLEY. 
 
 YE mariners of Spain, 
 Bend strongly on your oars, 
 And bring my love again, 
 
 For he lies among the Moors. 
 
 Ye galleys fairly built, 
 
 Like castles on the sea, 
 Oh ! great will be your guilt, 
 
 If ye bring him not to me. 
 
 The wind is blowing strong, 
 The breeze will aid your oars : 
 
 Oh ! swiftly My along, 
 
 For he lies among the Moors. 
 
 The sweet breeze of the sea 
 Cools every cheek but mine : 
 
 Hot is its breath to me 
 As I gaze upon the brine. 
 
THE SEA IN CALM. 165 
 
 Lift up, lift up, your sail, 
 
 And bend upon your oars : 
 Oh ! lose not the fair gale, 
 
 For he lies among the Moors. 
 
 It is a narrow strait, 
 
 I see the blue hills over : 
 Your coming I'll await, 
 
 And thank you for my lover. 
 
 To Mary I will pray 
 
 While ye bend upon your oars : 
 'Twill be a blessed day 
 
 If ye fetch him from the Moors. 
 
 LOCKHART'S SPANISH BALLADS. 
 
 THE SEA, IN CALM. 
 
 T OOK what jmmortal floods the sunset pours 
 
 .L/ Upon us ! Mark how still (as though in dreams 
 
 Bound) the once wild and terrible ocean seems ! 
 
 How silent are the winds ! No billow roars, 
 
 But all is tranquil as Elysian shores. 
 
 The silver margin which aye runneth round 
 
 The moon-enchanted sea hath here no sound : 
 
 Even echo speaks not on the radiant moors. 
 
 What ! is the giant of the ocean dead, 
 
 Whose strength was all unmatched beneath the sun? 
 
 No : he reposes. Now his toils are done, 
 
 More quiet than the babbling brooks is he. 
 
 So mightiest powers by deepest calms are fed, 
 
 And sleep, how oft, in things that gentlest be ! 
 
 BRYAN WALLER PROCTER. 
 
1 66 THE PILOT-BOAT. 
 
 THE PILOT-BOAT. 
 
 I. EVENING. 
 
 /r T > HERE'S a schooner in the bay 
 A With a signal at her fore ; 
 And I hear the pilot say, 
 " Though a squall may come to-night, 
 We shall get on board all right ; 
 And the tide begins to flow at break of day. 
 Shove her off, lads ! " cries he : 
 " We've a craft that's fit for sea." 
 
 And the ripples on the shore 
 Murmur softly as they run 
 
 Through the crimson evening light, 
 While the father and the son 
 Sail away. 
 
 II. NIGHT. 
 
 When the cliff and wave grow dark, 
 
 In a cottage by the strand 
 See a glimmering taper-spark 
 Where the pilot's wife is sewing, 
 
 With the children all asleep ; 
 But in gloomy heaven above no star is showing. 
 Ha ! the lightning, and a crash 
 
 Like the downfall of the skies, 
 Rushing rain, roaring deep, 
 Sudden gale with fury blowing, 
 
 Out of nothing at each flash 
 Leap the dreadful sea and land. 
 Was that the wind she heard ? or hark ! 
 Shouts and cries ? 
 
COME O^ER THE SEA. 167 
 
 III. MORNING. 
 
 Tis a morn remorseful, pale, 
 
 For the frenzy overpast ; 
 With a sullen sinking gale, 
 Flying clouds, torn and shattered, 
 And a dismal gleam of day among them cast. 
 On the rough perturbed ocean 
 Rolls a ship in helpless motion : 
 She has neither sail nor mast, 
 Lies keel upwards, bruised and battered ; 
 And the son and father these 
 Shall no more on earthly seas 
 Ever float. 
 
 WILLIAM ALLINGHAM. 
 
 COME O'ER THE SEA. 
 
 COME o'er the sea, 
 Maiden, with me, 
 
 Mine through sunshine, storm, and snows : 
 Seasons may roll ; 
 But the true soul 
 Burns the same where'er it goes. 
 Let fate frown on, so we love and part not : 
 'Tis life where thou art, 'tis death where thou art not. 
 Then come o'er the sea, 
 Maiden, with me, 
 
 Come wherever the wild wind blows : 
 Seasons may roll ; 
 But the true soul 
 Burns the same where'er it goes. 
 
1 68 GOD AT SEA. 
 
 Was not the sea 
 
 Made for the free, 
 Land for courts and chains alone ? 
 
 Here we are slaves, 
 
 But on the waves 
 Love and liberty's all our own : 
 No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us, 
 All earth forgot, and all heaven around us. 
 
 Then come o'er the sea, 
 
 Maiden, with me, 
 Mine through sunshine, storm, and snows : 
 
 Seasons may roll, 
 
 But the true soul 
 Burns the same where'er it goes. 
 
 THOMAS MOORE. 
 
 GOD AT SEA. 
 
 THE sea is deep, the sea is broad ; 
 Yet goeth forth the might of God, 
 Deeper than deepest plummet-sound, 
 And wider than earth's watery round. 
 
 So many fishes in the sea, 
 The Lord on all looks lovingly, 
 Gives all their daily food, and still 
 He leads them up and down at will. 
 
 How high the windy billows leap ! 
 If he commands, how still they sleep ! 
 Drawn by his faithful, tender hand, 
 Lo ! smallest ship finds farthest land. 
 
 JOHN JAMES PIATT. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF WILHELM HEY. 
 
TENDIMUS IN LATIUM. 169 
 
 THE RING OP THE LAST DOGE. 
 
 I SAW the widowed Lady of the Sea 
 Crowned with corals and seaweed and shells, 
 That her long anguish and adversity 
 
 Had seemed to drown in plays and festivals. 
 I said, "Where is thy ancient fealty fled? 
 Where is the ring with which Manin did wed 
 His bride?" With tearful visage she, 
 "An eagle with two beaks tore it from me. 
 Suddenly I arose, and how it came 
 I know not ; but I heard my bridegroom's name." 
 Poor widow ! 'tis not he. Yet he may bring 
 Who knows ? back to the bride her long-lost ring. 
 
 FRANCESCO BALL' ONGARO. TRANSLATION OF HOWELLS. 
 
 TENDIMUS IN LATIUM. 
 
 THE blue wave curls about the prow ; 
 The light breeze ripples o'er the sea ; 
 The clouds sweep gently o'er the brow 
 Of fair trinacrian Sicily ; 
 And yonder lies the yellow sand 
 Which girds the promised Latian land. 
 
 Brave hearts, across the stormy deep 
 You hold the faith you pledged of old ; 
 For you the gods in waiting keep 
 Rich lands and herds and sunny gold ; 
 For yonder gleams the yellow sand, 
 Our fated home, the Latian land. 
 
 There sterner walls than Troy's shall rise, 
 And people strong in arms shall dwell ; 
 And, canopied by happy skies, 
 
170 FROM "IN ME MORI AM." 
 
 For us and ours shall all be well. 
 Gleam brighter then, O yellow sand ! 
 Come speedily, O Latian land ! 
 
 O promised rest ! O end of toil ! 
 O country sought for long in vain ! 
 Soon shall we reach thy favored soil, 
 Soon find the guerdon of our pain ; 
 For nearer seems that yellow sand, 
 And nearer grows the Latian land. 
 
 No more shall dread of danger come ; 
 No more shall threats of storm increase ; 
 Within that sacred, destined home 
 At last, at last, we rest in peace, 
 Beyond the belt of yellow sand, 
 In that oft-promised Latian land ! 
 
 SAMUEL WILLOUGHBY DUFFIELD. 
 
 FROM "IN MEMORIAM." 
 
 FAIR ship, that from the Italian shore 
 Sailest the placid ocean-plains 
 With my lost Arthur's loved remains, 
 Spread thy full wings, and waft him o'er ! 
 
 So draw him home to those that mourn 
 In vain : a favorable speed 
 Ruffle thy mirrored mast, and lead 
 
 Through prosperous floods his holy urn ! 
 
 All night no ruder air perplex 
 
 Thy sliding keel, till Phosphor, bright, 
 
FROM "IN MEMORIAM." 171 
 
 As our pure love, through early light 
 Shall glimmer on the dewy decks ! 
 
 Sphere all your lights around, above ; 
 
 Sleep, gentle heavens, before the prow ; 
 
 Sleep, gentle winds, as he sleeps now, 
 My friend, the brother of my love 
 
 My Arthur, whom I shall not see 
 
 Till all my widowed race be run ; 
 
 Dear as the mother to the son, 
 More than my brothers are to me ! 
 
 I hear the noise about thy keel ; 
 
 I hear the bell struck in the night ; 
 
 I see the cabin-window bright ; 
 I see the sailor at the wheel. 
 
 Thou bringest the sailor to his wife, 
 And travelled men from foreign lands, 
 And letters unto trembling hands, 
 
 And thy dark freight, a vanished life. 
 
 So bring him : we have idle dreams ; 
 This look of quiet flatters thus 
 Our home-bred fancies : oh ! to us, 
 
 The fools of habit, sweeter seems 
 
 To rest beneath the clover-sod 
 
 That takes the sunshine and the rains, 
 Or where the kneeling hamlet drains 
 
 The chalice of the grapes of God, 
 
172 FROM "IN MEMORIAL." 
 
 Than if with thee the roaring wells 
 Should gulf him fathom deep in brine, 
 And hands so often clasped in mine 
 
 Should toss with tangle and with shells. 
 
 Thou comest much wept for : such a breeze 
 Compelled thy canvas, and my prayer 
 Was as the whisper of an air, 
 
 To breathe thee over lonely seas. 
 
 For I in spirit saw thee move 
 
 Through circles of the bounding sky, 
 Week after week ; the days go by : 
 
 Come quick ! thou bringest all I love. 
 
 Henceforth, wherever thou mayst roam, 
 My blessing, like a line of light, 
 Is on the waters day and night, 
 
 And like a beacon guards thee home. 
 
 So may whatever tempest mars 
 
 Mid-ocean spare thee, sacred bark, 
 And balmy drops in summer dark 
 
 Slide from the bosom of the stars. 
 
 So kind an office hath been done, 
 
 Such precious relics brought by thee, 
 The dust of him I shall not see 
 
 Till all my widowed race be run. 
 
 ALFRED TENNYSON. 
 
FROM "THE TRIUMPH OF TIME." 173 
 
 AT HOLYHEAD. 
 
 O NEPTUNE, Neptune ! must I still 
 Be here detained against my will? 
 Is this your justice, when I'm come 
 Above two hundred miles from home, 
 O'er mountains steep, o'er dusty plains, 
 Half-choked with dust, half-drowned with rains, 
 Only your godship to implore 
 To let me kiss your other shore ? 
 A boon so small ; but I may weep 
 While you're, like Baal, fast asleep. 
 
 JONATHAN SWIFT. 
 
 FROM "THE TRIUMPH OP TIME." 
 
 I WILL go back to the great sweet mother, 
 Mother and lover of men, the Sea. 
 I will go down to her, I, and none other, 
 Close with her, kiss her, and mix her with me ; 
 Cling to her, strive with her, hold her fast. 
 O fair white mother, in days long past 
 Born without sister, born without brother, 
 Let free my soul as thy soul is free ! 
 
 O fair, green-girdled mother of mine, 
 Sea, that art clothed with the sun and the rain : 
 Thy sweet, hard kisses are strong like wine ; 
 Thy large embraces are keen like pain. 
 Save me, and hide me with all thy waves ; 
 Find me one grave of thy thousand graves, 
 These pure, cold, populous graves of thine, 
 Wrought without hand in a world without stain. 
 
I 74 FROM " THE TRIUMPH OF TIME." 
 
 I shall sleep, and move with the moving ships, 
 Change as the winds change, veer in the tide ; 
 My lips will feast on the foam of thy lips ; 
 I shall rise with thy rising, with thee subside ; 
 Sleep, and not know if she be, if she were 
 Filled full with life to the eyes and the hair, 
 As a rose is full-filled to the rose-leaf tips 
 With splendid summer and perfume and pride. 
 
 This woven raiment of nights and days, 
 Were it once cast off, and unwound from me, 
 Naked and glad would I walk in thy ways 
 Alive, and aware of thy ways and thee, 
 Clear of the whole world, hidden at home, 
 Clothed with the green, and crowned with the foam, 
 A pulse of the life of thy straits and bays, 
 A vein in the heart of the streams of the sea. 
 
 Fair mother, fed with the lives of men, 
 Thou art subtle and cruel of heart, men say ; 
 Thou hast taken, and shalt not render again ; 
 Thou art full of thy dead, and cold as they. 
 But death is the worst that comes of thee ; 
 Thou art fed with our dead, O mother, O Sea ! 
 But when hast thou fed on our hearts ? or when, 
 Having given us love, hast thou taken away? 
 
 O tender-hearted, O perfect lover ! 
 
 Thy lips are bitter, and sweet thine heart. 
 
 The hopes that hurt, and the dreams that hover, 
 
 Shall they not vanish away, and depart ? 
 
AT SEA. 175 
 
 But thou, thou art sure, thou art older than earth ; 
 Thou art strong for death, and fruitful of birth ; 
 Thy depths conceal, and thy gulfs discover 
 From the first thou wert ; in the end thou art. 
 
 ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE. 
 
 THE SEA. 
 
 IT surged and foamed on cold gray lands, 
 No life was in its waves ; 
 It rolled and raged on barren strands, 
 
 Or thundered into caves ; 
 And yet it sang a glorious song, 
 An ancient paean loud and long. 
 
 It broke upon the new-made beach, 
 
 That roaring, restless sea ; 
 The only burden of its speech, 
 
 One word, eternity ; 
 And ever sang that glorious song, 
 An ancient paean loud and long. 
 
 EDMUND SANDARS. 
 AT SEA. 
 
 MIDNIGHT in drear New England ; 
 'Tis a driving storm of snow : 
 How the casement clicks and rattles, 
 And the wind keeps on to blow ! 
 
 For a thousand leagues of coast-line, 
 
 In fitful flurries and starts, 
 The wild North-Easter is knocking 
 
 At lonely windows and hearts. 
 
176 AT SEA. 
 
 Of a night like this, how many 
 Must sit by the hearth, like me, 
 
 Hearing the stormy weather, 
 And thinking of those at sea ! 
 
 Of the hearts chilled through with watching, 
 
 The eyes that wearily blink, 
 Through the blinding gale and snow-drift, 
 
 For the Lights of Navesink ! 
 
 How fare it, my friend, with you ? 
 
 If I've kept your reckoning aright, 
 The brave old ship must be due 
 
 On our dreary coast to-night. 
 
 The fireside fades before me, 
 The chamber quiet and warm ; 
 
 And I see the gleam of her lanterns 
 In the wild Atlantic storm. 
 
 Like a dream, 'tis all around me, 
 The gale, with its steady boom, 
 
 And the crest of every roller 
 Torn into mist and spume, 
 
 The sights and the sounds of ocean 
 On a night of peril and gloom. 
 
 The shroud of snow and of spoon-drift, 
 
 Driving like mad a-lee, 
 And the huge black hulk that wallows 
 
 Deep in the trough of the sea, 
 
 The creak of cabin and bulkhead, 
 The wail of rigging and mast, 
 
AT SEA. 177 
 
 The roar of the shrouds as she rises 
 From a deep lee-roll to the blast, 
 
 The sullen throb of the engine, 
 Whose iron heart never tires, 
 
 The swarthy faces that redden 
 By the glare of his caverned fires, 
 
 The binnacle slowly swaying, 
 And nursing the faithful steel, 
 
 And the grizzled old quartermaster, 
 His horny hands on the wheel. 
 
 I can see it, the little cabin, 
 
 Plainly as if I were there, 
 The chart on the old green table, 
 
 The book, and the empty chair. 
 
 On the deck we have trod together, 
 A patient and manly form, 
 
 To and fro, by the foremast, 
 Is pacing in sleet and storm. 
 
 Since her keel first struck cold water 
 By the stormy Cape's clear light, 
 
 'Tis little of sleep or slumber 
 
 Hath closed o'er that watchful sight 
 
 And a hundred lives are hanging 
 On eye and on heart to-night. 
 
 Would that to-night beside him 
 I walked the watch on her deck, 
 
 Recalling the legends of ocean, 
 Of ancient battle and wreck ! 
 
178 THE CORAL-GROVE. 
 
 But the stout old craft is rolling 
 
 A hundred leagues a-lee, 
 Fifty of snow-wreathed hillside, 
 
 And fifty of foaming sea. 
 
 I cannot hail him, nor press him 
 By the hearty and true right hand : 
 
 I can but murmur, God bless him, 
 And bring him safe to the land ! 
 
 And send him the best of weather, 
 That, ere many suns shall shine, 
 
 We may sit by the hearth together, 
 And talk about " Auld Lang Syne " ! 
 
 HENRY HOWARD BROWNELL, 
 
 THE CORAL-GROVE. 
 
 DEEP in the wave is a coral-grove, 
 Where the purple mullet and goldfish rove, 
 Where the sea-flower spreads its leaves of blue 
 That never are wet with falling dew, 
 But in bright and changeful beauty shine 
 Far down in the green and glassy brine. 
 The floor is of sand, like the mountain-drift, 
 And the pearl-shells spangle the flinty snow ; 
 From coral-rocks the sea-plants lift 
 Their boughs where the tides and billows flow. 
 The water is calm and still below, 
 For the winds and waves are absent there ; 
 And the sands are bright as the stars that glow 
 In the motionless fields of upper air. 
 
THE VOICE AND THE PEAK. 179 
 
 There, with its moving blade of green, 
 
 The sea-Bag streams through the silent water ; 
 
 And the crimson leaf of the dulse is seen 
 
 To blush like a banner bathed in slaughter. 
 
 There, with a light and easy motion, 
 
 The fan-coral sweeps through the clear deep sea ; 
 
 And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean 
 
 Are bending like corn on the upland lea ; 
 
 And life in rare and beautiful forms 
 
 Is sporting amid those bowers of stone, 
 
 And is safe when the wrathful spirit of storms 
 
 Has made the top of the wave his own. 
 
 And when the ship from his fury flies, 
 
 Where the myriad voices of ocean roar ; 
 
 When the wind-god frowns in the murky skies, 
 
 And demons are waiting the wreck on shore, 
 
 Then far below, in the peaceful sea, 
 
 The purple mullet and goldfish rove, 
 
 Where the waters murmur tranquilly 
 
 Through the bending twigs of the 'coral-grove. 
 
 JAMES GATES PERCIVAL. 
 
 THE VOICE AND THE PEAK. 
 
 THE voice and the Peak 
 Far over summit and lawn, 
 The lone glow and the long roar 
 Green-rushing from the rosy thrones of dawn ! 
 
 All night have I heard the voice 
 Rave over the rocky bar : 
 But thou wert silent in heaven, 
 Above thee glided the star. 
 
I So THE VOICE AND THE PEAK. 
 
 " Hast thou no voice, O Peak 
 That standest high above all ? " 
 "I am the voice of the Peak : 
 " I roar and rave, for I fall. 
 
 " A thousand voices go 
 
 To north, south, east, and west : 
 
 They leave the heights, and are troubled, 
 
 And moan, and sink to their rest. 
 
 " The fields are fair beside them ; 
 
 The chestnut towers in his bloom : 
 
 But they they feel the desire of the deep 
 
 Fall, and follow their doom. 
 
 " The deep has power on the height, 
 And the height has power on the deep : 
 They are raised for ever and ever, 
 And sink again into sleep." 
 
 Not raised for ever and ever ; 
 
 But, when their cycle is o'er, 
 
 The valley, the voice, the peak, the star, 
 
 Pass, and are found no more. 
 
 The Peak is high, and flushed 
 
 At his highest with sunrise fire : 
 
 The peak is high, and the stars are high, 
 
 And the thought of a man is higher. 
 
 A voice below the voice, 
 And a height beyond the height : 
 Our hearing is not hearing, 
 And our seeing is not sight. 
 
TO A FOSSIL SHELL. 181 
 
 The voice and the Peak 
 Far into heaven withdrawn, 
 The lone glow and the long roar 
 Green-rushing from the rosy thrones of dawn ! 
 
 ALFRED TENNYSON. 
 
 TO A FOSSIL SHELL. 
 
 WORN little shell, that long ago 
 Didst lie on some primeval beach, 
 And hear the rhythmic waters flow 
 
 When waves swelled up the untrodden reach, 
 Dost still the murmuring cadence know 
 
 That winds and waves to sea-shells teach ? 
 Or did the change that robbed thy glow 
 Steal all thy pretty trick of speech ? 
 
 As one who wandering, wrapped in thought, 
 
 Beneath some vaulted roof, alone, 
 Has to his ear far whispers brought, 
 
 Resounding from the arched stone, 
 -And startles, as the words are caught, 
 
 To find his path has touched, unknown, 
 The spot where cunning art has taught 
 
 The walls to yield each buried tone : 
 
 So, when unto my quickening ear 
 
 Thy brown and ragged lips I bring, 
 My fancy thrills the throb to hear 
 
 Of rushing winds, and waves that sing, 
 And cavern echoes, low but clear, 
 
 And rapid beat of sea-bird's wing, 
 The pulse of some forgotten year, 
 
 Down humming with melodic ring. 
 
182 THE SINGERS OF THE SEA. 
 
 O whispering-gallery of mine, 
 
 Thou little convoluted shell ! 
 Still echo, through thy spiral fine, 
 
 Along thy stony, winding cell, 
 Deep murmurs from the early brine, 
 
 When Triton rode the watery swell, 
 When Neptune swayed his triple tine, 
 
 And Proteus wrought his magic spell. 
 
 And if thou sing'st to none but me, 
 
 And others call my fancies vain, 
 Not less thy tones delight shall be, 
 
 And echo on their low refrain ; 
 Still sing thy tale, and prophesy 
 
 Of calm and tempest, joy and pain : 
 Though Nereids have fled the sea, 
 
 The deeps that gave them birth remain. 
 
 " RUTH EMERSON. 
 
 THE SINGERS OF THE SEA. 
 
 OH, many voices has the sea ! 
 A chorus of rare melody : 
 The solemn bass, the lighter tone, 
 Flowing in tuneful unison, 
 Without a discord ; sounding high 
 Above the lark that sweeps the sky, 
 Or striking with tumultuous roar 
 Against the frowning rocky shore. 
 In quiet bays, with dreamy song 
 To fragrant airs it glides along, 
 Or, hiding in some cloister dim, 
 Nun-like, it chants a vesper-hymn. 
 
ON THE STRAND. 183 
 
 In liquid tones, in angry swells, 
 The joys and woes of earth it tells : 
 For many voices has the sea, 
 Though never more than one to me. 
 
 O Love ! the singers of the sea 
 
 Can never hope to rival thee ; 
 
 For every land and every zone, 
 
 Rocks, hills, and vales, are all thine own. 
 
 Dirge, lullaby, or canticle, 
 
 Sweet carol, or funereal knell, 
 
 Earth's passions in their rise and fall 
 
 O Love, thou hast control of all ! 
 
 The mighty voices of the main 
 
 Ere long will cease their loud refrain, 
 
 And all the passions in its breast 
 
 Be hushed to Everlasting rest. 
 
 And though to-day it singeth clear, 
 
 One voice, one song, is all I hear, 
 
 All other sounds far, far above, 
 
 The sweet undying song of Love. 
 
 JOSEPHINE POLLARD. 
 ON THE STRAND. 
 
 HOMEWARD the gull is flying, 
 And twilight darkens fast 
 Across the wet sea-margin 
 Where sunlight lingers last. 
 
 The shadowy wings flit over, 
 
 And skim along the deep ; 
 And veiled in cloud, and silent, 
 
 Like dreams, the islands sleep. 
 
1 84 THE TEMPLE. 
 
 I hear from plashy marshes 
 
 A strange, mysterious cry ; 
 A lonesome bird is calling : 
 
 How like to that am I ! 
 
 And now the rain falls softly, 
 
 And now the wood is still ; 
 But words which ocean whispers 
 
 Are open to my will. 
 
 SAMUEL W. DUFFIELD. FROM THE GERMAN OF THEODORE STORM. 
 
 THE TEMPLE. 
 
 HOW can we tell in words the wondrous story, 
 Solemn and mystic, that mysterious night 
 When the great waves, gorgeous with golden glory, 
 Crashed in a flood of crescent foaming light ! 
 
 Far in the mist, the mighty breakers crested, 
 Crested and tipt with glints and gleams of gold, 
 Darkly and deep swept on, and plunged, and rested 
 On the soft sands where slow their jewels rolled 
 
 Gems from the raiment round that sacred altar, 
 Where the grand priesthood of the choral sea, 
 Chanting their praises, pause and fall and falter, 
 Bowed to the Power that fills infinity. 
 
 Then the gray mists above the dim earth sweeping 
 Burned with strange brightness, gold and rose and green ; 
 Brightened and parted ; and, their calm watch keeping, 
 Through the blue distance shone the stars serene. 
 
THE SAILOR'S CONSOLATION. 185 
 
 Types of that love above the world uplifted, 
 Friendly they beamed, benign and still and far, 
 Till the great curtain closed, and dark clouds drifted 
 Over the glory where our longings are. 
 
 Wondering, we wandered ; still above, around us, 
 Into our souls the solemn meanings shine : 
 Centre and secret of the spells which bound us 
 Shine the sublimities of Power Divine. 
 
 Holy of holies, consecrate and gilded, 
 'Semple and altar, shrine of light and air ! 
 Under this dome the Master-Builder builded : 
 Kneel with his waves ; in silence worship there ! 
 
 ANONYMOUS. 
 
 THE SAILOR'S CONSOLATION. 
 
 ONE night came on a hurricane, 
 The sea was mountains rolling, 
 When Barney Buntline turned his quid, 
 
 And said to Billy Bowling, 
 " A strong nor'wester's blowing, Bill : 
 Hark ! don't ye hear it roar now ? 
 Lord help 'm ! How I pities all 
 Unhappy folks on shore now ! 
 
 " Foolhardy chaps who live in town 
 What danger they are all in ! 
 
 And now are quaking in their beds, 
 For fear the roof should fall in. 
 
1 86 GRANDMOTHER TENTERDEN. 
 
 Poor creatures ! how they envies us, 
 
 And wishes, I've a notion, 
 For our good luck, in such a storm, 
 
 To be upon the ocean. 
 
 " But as for them who're out all day 
 
 On business from their houses, 
 And late at night are coming home 
 
 To cheer their babes and spouses, 
 While you and I, Bill, on the deck 
 
 Are comfortably lying 
 My eyes ! what tiles and chimney-pots 
 
 About their heads are flying ! 
 
 " And very often have we heard 
 
 How men are killed and undone 
 By overturns of carriages, 
 
 And thieves and fires, in London. 
 We know what risks all landsmen run, 
 
 From noblemen to tailors ; 
 Then, Bill, let us thank Providence 
 
 That you and I are sailors." 
 
 WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 GRANDMOTHER TENTERDEN. 
 
 I MIND it was but yesterday : 
 The sun was dim, the air was chill ; 
 Below the town, below the hill, 
 The sails of my son's ship did fill, 
 My Jacob, who was cast away. 
 
GRANDMOTHER TENTERDEN. 187 
 
 He said, " God keep you, mother dear ! " 
 But did not turn to kiss his wife : 
 They had some foolish, idle strife ; 
 Her tongue was like a two-edged knife, 
 
 And he was proud as any peer. 
 
 Howbeit that night I took no note 
 Of sea nor sky, for all was drear ; 
 I marked not that the hills looked near, 
 Nor that the moon, though curved and clear, 
 
 Through curd-like scud did drive and float. 
 
 For with my darling went the joy 
 Of autumn woods and meadows brown. 
 I came to hate the little town : 
 It seemed as if the sun went down 
 
 With him, my only darling boy. 
 
 It was the middle of the night : 
 The wind it shifted west by south ; 
 It piled high up the harbor-mouth ; 
 The marshes, black with summer drouth, 
 
 Were all abroad with sea-foam white. 
 
 It was the middle of the night : 
 The sea upon the garden leapt ; 
 And my son's wife in quiet slept ; 
 And I, his mother, waked and wept, 
 
 When, lo ! there came a sudden light. 
 
 And there he stood ! his seaman's dress 
 All wet and dripping seemed to be ; 
 The pale blue fires of the sea 
 Dripped from his garments constantly : 
 
 I could not speak through cowardness. 
 
1 88 GRANDMOTHER TENTERDEN. 
 
 " I come through night and storm," he said, 
 "Through storm and night and death," said he, 
 " To kiss my wife, if it be so 
 That strife still holds 'tvvixt her and me ; 
 
 For all beyond is peace," he said. 
 
 " The sea is His ; and He who sent 
 The wind and wave can soothe their strife ; 
 And brief and foolish is our life." 
 He stooped, and kissed his sleeping wife, 
 
 Then sighed, and like a dream he went. 
 
 Now, when my darling kissed not me, 
 But her, his wife, who did not wake, 
 My heart within me seemed to break : 
 I swore a vow, nor thenceforth spake 
 
 Of what my clearer eyes did see. 
 
 And when the slow weeks brought him not, 
 Somehow we spake of aught beside ; 
 For she her hope upheld her pride : 
 And I in me all hope had died, 
 
 And my son passed as if forgot. 
 
 It was about the next spring-tide 
 She pined and faded where she stood, 
 Yet spake no word of ill or good : 
 She had the hard, cold Edwards blood 
 
 In all her veins and so she died. 
 
 One time I thought, before she passed, 
 To give her peace ; but ere I spake 
 Methought, " He will be first to break 
 The news in heaven ; " and for his sake 
 
 I held mine back until the last. 
 
" GOD KNOWS." 189 
 
 And here I sit, nor care to roam : 
 I only wait to hear his call ; 
 I doubt not that this day next fall 
 Shall see me safe in port, where all 
 
 And every ship at last comes home. 
 
 And you have sailed the Spanish main, 
 And knew my Jacob? . . . Eh ! mercy ! 
 Ah, God of wisdom ! hath the sea 
 Yielded its dead to humble me ? 
 
 My boy ! ... my Jacob ! . . . Turn again ! 
 
 BRET HARTE. 
 
 "GOD KNOWS." 
 
 THE people looked from the windows, out at the 
 awful sight 
 Of the rising and falling billows, while the strong gale 
 
 raged that night ; 
 And they prayed unto God, " Have mercy on all on the 
 
 pitiless sea, 
 
 And give to the drowning strangers the power to rise to 
 thee." 
 
 In the air was a sound of moaning, when the late day lit 
 
 the skies ; 
 And compassionate wives of seamen, scarce daring to lift 
 
 their eyes 
 Lest afar they should look on faces solemnly white and 
 
 dead, 
 Made cosey the little home-place, and ready the empty 
 
 bed. 
 
190 " GOD KNOWS r 
 
 But of all in the outbound vessel that was caught by the 
 
 fearful gale, 
 Nor passenger, child, or seaman was rescued to tell the 
 
 tale; 
 For, lo ! through the seething waters the ship and its 
 
 hosts went down : 
 Only the God of heaven watches when people drown. 
 
 Next day, when the fish-wives waited, fighting the storm 
 
 and roar, 
 The body of some one's darling was ruthlessly washed 
 
 ashore ; 
 And the pitiful sailors took her. Said they, " She shall 
 
 find a grave 
 Away in our little churchyard, out of reach of the cruel 
 
 wave." 
 
 The coffin had been made ready, when a questioning 
 
 word arose : 
 "What name shall we put upon it?" Said a pitying 
 
 man, " God knows." 
 And the heart of the reverend asker echoed the word he 
 
 said, 
 And that was the sole memorial they had for the early 
 
 dead. 
 
 And that is the greatest comfort we have in this world of 
 
 care. 
 
 Black are the skies above us, and the storm is in the air ; 
 We are often hurt and worsted by the thickening shower 
 
 of woes : 
 But we rest on the heart of the Father, and we calmly 
 
 say, " God knows." 
 
 MARIANNE FARNINGHAM. 
 
THE CASTAWAY. 191 
 
 THE CASTAWAY. 
 
 OBSCUREST night involved the sky, 
 The Atlantic billows roared, 
 When such a destined wretch as I, 
 Washed headlong from on board, 
 Of friends, of hope, of all bereft, 
 His floating home forever left. 
 
 No braver chief could Albion boast 
 
 Than he with whom he went ; 
 Nor ever ship left Albion's coast 
 
 With warmer wishes sent. 
 He loved them both, but both in vain; 
 Nor him beheld, nor her again. 
 
 Not long beneath the whelming brine, 
 
 Expert to swim, he lay ; 
 Nor soon he felt his strength decline, 
 
 Or courage die away ; 
 But waged with death a lasting strife, 
 Supported by despair of life. 
 
 He shouted ; nor his friends had failed 
 
 To check the vessel's course : 
 But so the furious blast prevailed, 
 
 That pitiless, perforce, 
 They left their outcast mate behind, 
 And scudded still before the wind. 
 
 Some succor yet they could afford ; 
 
 And such as storms allow 
 The cask, the coop, the floated cord 
 
 Delayed not to bestow : 
 
192 THE CASTAWAY. 
 
 But he, they knew, nor ship nor shore, 
 Whate'er they gave, should visit more. 
 
 Nor, cruel as it seemed, could he 
 Their haste himself condemn, 
 
 Aware that flight in such a sea 
 Alone could rescue them ; 
 
 Yet bitter felt it still to die 
 
 Deserted, and his friends so nigh. 
 
 He long survives who lives an hour 
 
 In ocean, self-upheld ; 
 And so long he, with unspent power, 
 
 His destiny repelled, 
 And ever, as the minutes flew, 
 Entreated help, or cried, " Adieu ! " 
 
 At length, his transient respite past, 
 His comrades, who before 
 
 Had heard his voice in every blast, 
 Could catch the sound no more ; 
 
 For then, by toil subdued, he drank 
 
 The stifling wave and then he sank. 
 
 No poet wept him ; but the page 
 
 Of narrative sincere 
 That tells his name, his worth, his age, 
 
 Is wet with Anson's tear ; 
 And tears by bards or heroes shed 
 Alike immortalize the dead. 
 
 I therefore purpose not, or dream, 
 
 Descanting on his fate, 
 To give the melancholy theme 
 
 A more enduring date ; 
 
SONG OF THE BERSERKS. 193 
 
 But misery still delights to trace 
 Its semblance in another's case. 
 
 No voice divine the storm allayed, 
 
 No light propitious shone, 
 When, snatched from all effectual aid, 
 
 We perished, each alone ; 
 But I beneath a rougher sea, 
 And whelmed in deeper gulfs, than he. 
 
 WILLIAM COWPER. 
 
 SONG OF THE BERSERKS. 
 
 BROWN are our ships, 
 But the Vauns admire 
 The haunts of the brave : 
 Horses of the sea, 
 They carry the warrior 
 To the winning of plunder. 
 
 The wandering home 
 Enriches the fixed one ; 
 Welcome to woman 
 Is the crosser of ocean ; 
 Merry are children 
 In strange attire. 
 
 Narrow are our beds 
 
 As graves of the nameless ; 
 
 But mighty our rising 
 
 As the storms of Thor : 
 
 He fears not man 
 
 Who laughs at the tempest. 
 
194 THE MEETING OF THE SHIPS. 
 
 Who feeds with corses 
 The whales of ^Eger 
 Shall deck his hall 
 With far-fetched booty, 
 And quaff at will 
 The wine of the South. 
 
 FROM THE HERVARAR SAGAR. TRANSLATED DY W. TAYLOR. 
 
 THE MEETING OF THE SHIPS. 
 
 WHEN, o'er the silent seas alone, 
 For days and nights we've cheerless gone, 
 Oh, they who've felt it know how sweet 
 Some sunny morn a sail to meet ! 
 
 Sparkling at once is every eye, 
 
 " Ship ahoy ! " our joyful cry ; 
 
 While answering back the sounds we hear, 
 
 "Ship ahoy ! " What cheer? what cheer? 
 
 Then sails are backed ; we nearer come : 
 Kind words are said of friends and home ; 
 And soon, too soon, we part with pain, 
 To sail o'er silent seas again. 
 
 THOMAS MOORE. 
 
 A HYMN OF THE SEA. 
 
 r I A HE sea is mighty ; but a mightier sways 
 JL His restless billows. Thou whose hands have 
 
 scooped 
 His boundless gulfs, and built his shore, thy breath, 
 
OUT TO SEA. 195 
 
 That moved in the beginning o'er his face, 
 Moves o'er it evermore. The obedient waves 
 To its strong motion roll and rise and fall. 
 Still from that realm of rain thy cloud goes up, 
 As at the first, to water the great earth, 
 And keep her valleys green. A hundred realms 
 Watch its broad shadow warping on the wind, 
 And in the dropping shower with gladness hear 
 Thy promise of the harvest. I look forth 
 Over the boundless blue, where joyously 
 The bright crests of innumerable waves 
 Glance to the sun at once, as when the hands 
 Of a great multitude are upward flung 
 In acclamation. I behold the ships 
 Gliding from cape to cape, from isle to isle, 
 Or stemming toward far lands, or hastening home 
 From the Old World. It is thy friendly breeze 
 That bears them, with the riches of the land, 
 And treasure of dear lives, till in the port 
 The shouting seaman climbs, and furls the sail. 
 
 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 
 
 OUT TO SEA. 
 
 wind is blowing east, 
 And the waves are running free 
 Let's hoist the sail at once, 
 And stand out to sea, 
 
 (You and me.) 
 
 I am growing more and more 
 Aweary of the shore : 
 It was never so before 
 Out to sea ! 
 
196 CHILD'S SONG IN WINTER. 
 
 The wind is blowing east ; 
 
 How it swells the straining sail ! 
 A little farther out 
 
 We shall have a jolly gale. 
 
 (Cling to me.) 
 
 The waves are running high ; 
 And the gulls, how they fly ! 
 We shall only see the sky 
 Out to sea. 
 
 The wind is blowing east 
 
 From the dark and bloody shore, 
 Where flash a million swords, 
 And the dreadful cannon roar. 
 
 (Woe is me !) 
 
 There's a curse upon the land, 
 (Is that blood upon my hand?) 
 What can we do but stand 
 Out to sea? 
 
 RICHARD HENRY STODDARD. 
 
 CHILD'S SONG IN WINTER. 
 
 OUTSIDE the garden 
 The wet skies harden ; 
 The gates are barred on 
 
 The summer side ; 
 Shut out the flower- time, 
 Sunbeam, and shower-time ; 
 Make way for our time, 
 The winter-tide. 
 
CHILD 'S SONG IN WINTER. 197 
 
 Green once and cheery, 
 The woods, worn and weary, 
 Sigh as the dreary, 
 
 Weak sun goes home. 
 A great wind grapples 
 The wave, and dapples 
 
 The dead green floor of the sea with foam. 
 Through fell and moorland, 
 And salt sea foreland, 
 Our noisy norland 
 
 Resounds and sings ; 
 Waste waves thereunder 
 Are blown in sunder, 
 And winds make thunder 
 
 With cloud-wide wings. 
 Sea-drift makes dimmer 
 The beacon's glimmer ; 
 Nor sail nor swimmer 
 Can try the tides ; 
 And snow-drifts thicken, 
 
 Under the heather the sundew hides. 
 
 In fierce March weather 
 White waves break tether, 
 And, whirled together 
 
 At either hand, 
 Like weeds uplifted, 
 The tree-trunks rifted, 
 In spars are drifted, 
 
 Like foam or sand, 
 Past swamp and sallow, 
 And reed-beds callow, 
 Through pool and shallow, 
 
198 CHILD'S SONG IN WINTER. 
 
 To wind and lea, 
 Till, no more tongue-tied, 
 Full flood and young tide 
 
 Roar down the rapids, and storm the sea. 
 
 As men's cheeks faded 
 On shores invaded, 
 When shorewards waded 
 
 The lords of fight ; 
 When churl and craven 
 Saw hard on haven 
 The wide-winged raven 
 At mainmast height ; 
 W T hen monks affrighted 
 To windward sighted 
 The birds full-flighted 
 
 Of swift sea-kings : 
 So earth turns paler, 
 When Storno the sailor 
 
 Steers in with a roar in the race of his wings. 
 
 O strong sea sailor ! 
 Whose cheek turns paler 
 For wind or hail, or 
 
 For fear of thee ? 
 O far sea-farer ! 
 O thunder-bearer ! 
 Thy songs are rarer 
 
 Than soft songs be. 
 O fleet-foot stranger ! 
 O North-sea ranger ! 
 Through days of danger 
 
CHILD ^S SONG IN WINTER. 199 
 
 And ways of fear, 
 Blow thy horn here for us, 
 Blow the sky clear for us ; 
 
 Send us the song of the sea to hear. 
 
 Roll the strong stream of it 
 Up, till the scream of it 
 Wake from a dream of it 
 
 Children that sleep ; 
 Seamen that fare for them 
 Forth, with a prayer for them, 
 Shall not God care for them ? 
 
 Angels not keep ? 
 Spare not the surges 
 Thy stormy scourges ; 
 Spare us the dirges 
 
 Of wives that weep. 
 Turn back the waves for us, 
 Dig no fresh graves for us, 
 
 Wind, in the manifold gulls of the deep. 
 
 O stout north-easter, 
 Sea-king, land-waster ! 
 For all thine haste, or 
 
 Thy stormy skill, 
 Yet hadst thou never, 
 For all endeavor, 
 Strength to dissever, 
 
 Or strength to spill, 
 Save of His giving 
 Who gave our living, 
 Whose hands are weaving 
 
200 THE SEASIDE. 
 
 What ours fulfil, 
 Whose feet tread under 
 The storms and thunder ; 
 
 Who made our wonder to work His will. 
 
 His years and hours, 
 His world's blind powers, 
 His stars and flowers, 
 
 His nights and days, 
 Sea-tide and river, 
 And waves that shiver, 
 Praise God, the Giver 
 
 Of tongues to praise. 
 Winds in their blowing, 
 And fruits in growing, 
 Time in its going, 
 
 While time shall be, 
 In death and living, 
 With one thanksgiving, 
 
 Praise Him whose hand is the strength of the sea. 
 
 ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE. 
 
 THE SEASIDE. 
 
 IN summer-time it was a paradise 
 Of mountain, frith, and bay, and shining sand : 
 Our outward rowers sang towards the land, 
 Followed by waving hands, and happy cries ; 
 By the full flood the groups no longer roam ; 
 And when, at ebb, the glistening beach grows wide, 
 No barefoot children race into the foam, 
 But passive jellies wait the turn of tide. 
 
THE LAST BUCCANEER. 2OI 
 
 Like some forsaken lover, lingering there, 
 The boatman stands ; the maidens trip no more 
 With loosened locks ; far from the billows' roar 
 The Mauds and Maries knot their tresses fair, 
 Where not a foam-flake from the enamoured shore 
 Comes down the sea-wind on the golden hair. 
 
 CHARLES (TENNYSON) TURNER. 
 THE LAST BUCCANEER. 
 
 THE winds were yelling, the waves were swelling, 
 The sky was black and drear, 
 When the crew, with eyes of flame, brought the ship 
 
 without a name 
 Alongside the last buccaneer. 
 
 " Whence flies your sloop full sail before so fierce a gale, 
 
 When all others drive bare on the seas? 
 Say, come ye from the shore of the holy Salvador, 
 
 Or the gulf of the rich Caribbees?" 
 
 " From a shore no search hath found, from a gulf no line 
 can sound, 
 
 Without rudder or needle we steer ; 
 Above, below, our bark, dies the sea-fowl and the shark, 
 
 As we fly by the last buccaneer. 
 
 "To-night there shall be heard, on the rocks of Cape de 
 
 Verde, 
 
 A loud crash and a louder roar ; 
 And to-morrow shall the deep, with a heavy moaning, 
 
 sweep 
 The corpses and wreck to the shore." 
 
202 IN SWAN AGE BAY. 
 
 The stately ship of Clyde securely now may ride 
 
 In the breath of the citron-shades ; 
 And Severn's towering mast securely now flies fast 
 
 Through the sea of the balmy trades. 
 
 From St. Jago's wealthy port, from Havana's royal fort, 
 
 The seaman goes forth without fear ; 
 For, since that stormy night, not a mortal hath had sight 
 
 Of the flag of the last buccaneer. 
 
 THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY. 
 
 IN SWANAGE BAY. 
 
 five and forty year ago, 
 X Just such another morn ; 
 The fishermen were on the beach, 
 
 The reapers in the corn : 
 My tale is true, young gentlemen, 
 As sure as you were bora. 
 
 " My tale's all true, young gentlemen," 
 The fond old boatman cried 
 
 Unto the sullen, angry lads, 
 Who vain obedience tried : 
 
 " Mind what your father says to you, 
 And don't go out this tide. 
 
 " Just such a shiny sea as this, 
 Smooth as a pond, you'd say, 
 
 And white gulls flying, and the crafts 
 Down Channel making way, 
 
 And Isle of Wight, all glittering bright, 
 Seen clear from Swanage Bay, 
 
IN SWAN AGE BAY. 203 
 
 " The Battery Point, the Race beyond, 
 
 Just as to-day you see : 
 This was, I think, the very stone 
 
 Where sat Dick, Dolly, and me : 
 She was our little sister, sirs, 
 
 A small child, just turned three. 
 
 " And Dick was mighty fond of her : 
 
 Though a big lad and bold, 
 He'd carry her like any nurse, 
 
 Almost from birth, I'm told ; 
 For mother sickened soon, and died 
 
 When Doll was eight months old. 
 
 " We sat and watched a little boat, 
 
 Her name the ' Tricksy Jane,' 
 A queer old tub laid up ashore ; 
 
 But we could see her plain. 
 To see her, and not haul her up, 
 
 Cost us a deal of pain. 
 
 " Said Dick to me, ' Let's have a pull : 
 
 Father will never know ; 
 He's busy in his wheat up there, 
 
 And cannot see us go. 
 These landsmen are such cowards if 
 
 A puff of wind does blow ! 
 
 " ' I've been to France and back three times : 
 
 Who knows best, dad or me, 
 Whether a ship's seaworthy or not ? 
 
 Dolly, wilt go to sea? ' 
 And Dolly laughed, and hugged him tight, 
 
 As pleased as she could be. 
 
204 IN SWAN AGE BAY. 
 
 " I don't mean, sirs, to blame poor Dick : 
 
 What he did, sure I'd do ; 
 And many a sail in ' Tricksy Jane ' 
 
 We'd had when she was new. 
 Father was always sharp ; and what % 
 
 He said he meant it too. 
 
 " But now the sky had not a cloud, 
 The bay looked smooth as glass : 
 
 Our Dick could manage any boat 
 As neat as ever was. 
 
 And Dolly crowed, ' Me go to sea ! ' 
 The jolly little lass ! 
 
 " Well, sirs, we went a pair of oars, 
 
 My jacket for a sail 
 Just round ' Old Harry and his Wife,' 
 
 Those rocks there, within hail ; 
 And we came back d'ye want to hear 
 
 The end o' the old man's tale ? 
 
 " Ay, ay, we came back past that point ; 
 
 But then a breeze up-sprung : 
 Dick shouted, ' Hoy ! down sail ! ' and pulled 
 
 With all his might among 
 The white sea-horses that upreared 
 
 So terrible and strong. 
 
 " I pulled too : I was blind with fear ; 
 
 But I could hear Dick's breath 
 Coming and going, as he told 
 
 Dolly to creep beneath 
 His jacket, and not hold him so : 
 
 We rowed for life or death. 
 
IN SWAN AGE BAY. 205 
 
 " We almost reached the sheltered bay ; 
 
 We could see father stand 
 Upon the little jetty here, 
 
 His sickle in his hand ; 
 The houses white, the yellow fields, 
 
 The safe and pleasant land. 
 
 " And Dick, though pale as any ghost, 
 
 Had only said to me, 
 ' We're all right now, old lad ! ' when up 
 
 A wave rolled drenched us three ; 
 One lurch, and then I felt the chill 
 
 And roar of blinding sea. 
 
 " I don't remember much but that : 
 
 You see I'm safe and sound. 
 I have been wrecked four times since then, 
 
 Seen queer sights, I'll be bound. 
 I think folks sleep beneath the deep 
 
 As calm as under ground." 
 
 " But Dick and Dolly? " " Well, poor Dick ! 
 
 I saw him rise, and cling 
 Unto the gunwale of the boat, 
 
 Floating keel up, and sing 
 Out loud, ' Where's Doll ? ' I hear him yet 
 
 As clear as any thing. 
 
 " ' Where's Dolly? ' I no answer made ; 
 
 For she dropped like a stone 
 Down through the deep sea, and it closed : 
 
 The little thing was gone. 
 1 Where's Doll ? ' three times ; then Dick loosed hold, 
 
 And left me there alone. 
 
206 THE SONG OF THE WRECK. 
 
 " It's five and forty year since then," 
 Muttered the boatman gray, 
 
 And drew his rough hand o'er his eyes, 
 And stared across the bay, 
 
 "Just five and forty year," and not 
 Another word did say. 
 
 "But Dolly?" ask the children all 
 
 As they about him stand. 
 " Poor Doll ! she floated back next tide 
 
 With seaweed in her hand. 
 She's buried o'er that hill you see, 
 
 In a churchyard on land. 
 
 " But where Dick lies, God knows. He'll find 
 
 Our Dick at judgment-day." 
 The boatman fell to mending nets, 
 
 The boys ran off to play ; 
 And the sun shone, and the waves danced, 
 
 In quiet Swanage Bay. 
 
 DINAH MARIA MULOCK. 
 
 THE SONG OF THE WRECK. 
 
 THE wind blew high, the waters raved ; 
 A ship drove on the land : 
 A hundred human creatures saved 
 
 Kneeled down upon the sand. 
 Threescore were drowned ; threescore were thrown 
 
 Upon the black rocks wild ; 
 And thus, among them, left alone, 
 They found one helpless child. 
 
THE SONG OF THE WRECK. 207 
 
 A seaman rough, to shipwreck bred, 
 
 Stood out from all the rest, 
 And gently laid the lonely head 
 
 Upon his honest breast ; 
 And, travelling o'er the desert wide, 
 
 It was a solemn joy 
 To see them ever side by side, 
 
 The sailor and the boy. 
 
 In famine, sickness, hunger, thirst, 
 
 The two were still but one, 
 Until the strong man dropped the first, 
 
 And felt his labors done. 
 Then to a trusty friend he spake, 
 
 " Across the desert wide 
 Oh, take this poor boy for my sake ! " 
 
 And kissed the child, and died. 
 
 Toiling along in weary plight, 
 
 Through heavy jungle, mire, 
 These two came later every night 
 
 To warm them at the fire. 
 Until the captain said one day, 
 
 " O seaman good and kind ! 
 To save thyself now come away, 
 
 And leave the boy behind." 
 
 The child was slumbering near the blaze 
 
 " O captain ! let him rest 
 Until it sinks, when God's own ways 
 
 Shall teach us what is best." 
 
208 THE "REVENGE." 
 
 They watched the whitened, ashy heap, 
 Then touched the child in vain : 
 
 They did not leave him there asleep, 
 He never woke again. 
 
 CHARLES DICKENS. 
 
 THE "REVENGE." 
 (A BALLAD OF THE FLEET, 1591.) 
 
 AT Flores in the Azores Sir Richard Grenville lay ; 
 And a pinnace, like a fluttered bird, came flying 
 from far away : 
 
 " Spanish ships-of-war at sea we have sighted fifty-three ! " 
 
 Then sware Lord Thomas Howard, " Fore God I am no 
 coward ! 
 
 But I cannot meet them here ; for my ships are out of 
 gear, 
 
 And the half my men are sick. I must fly, but follow 
 quick. 
 
 We are six ships of the line : can we fight with fifty- 
 three?" 
 
 n. 
 
 Then spake Sir Richard Grenville, " I know you are no 
 
 coward : 
 
 You fly them for a moment to fight with them again. 
 But I've ninety men and more that are lying sick ashore. 
 I should count myself the coward if I left them, my Lord 
 
 Howard, 
 To these Inquisition dogs and the devildoms of Spain." 
 
THE "REVENGE." 209 
 
 III. 
 
 So Lord Howard past away with five ships-of-war that day, 
 Till he melted like a cloud in the silent summer heaven ; 
 But Sir Richard bore in hand all his sick men from the 
 
 land 
 
 Very carefully and slow, 
 Men of Bideford in Devon : 
 And we laid them on the ballast down below ; 
 For we brought them all aboard ; 
 And they blest him, in their* pain, that they were not left 
 
 to Spain, 
 To the thumbscrew and the stake, for the glory of the 
 
 Lord. 
 
 IV. 
 
 He had only a hundred seaman to work the ship and to 
 
 fight ; 
 And he sailed away from Flores till the Spaniard came in 
 
 sight, 
 
 With his huge sea- castles heaving upon the weather-bow. 
 "Shall we fight, or shall we fly? 
 Good Sir Richard, tell us now ; 
 For to fight is but to die. 
 
 There'll be little of us left by the time this sun be set." 
 And Sir Richard said again, " We be all good English 
 
 men. 
 Let us bang these dogs of Seville, the children of the 
 
 devil, 
 For I never turned my back upon Don or devil yet." 
 
 v. 
 
 Sir Richard spoke, and he laughed, and we roared a 
 hurrah ; and so 
 
210 THE "REVENGE." 
 
 The little " Revenge " ran on sheer into the heart of the 
 foe, 
 
 With her hundred fighters on deck, and her ninety sick 
 below ; 
 
 For half of their fleet to the right, and half to the left, 
 were seen ; 
 
 And the little " Revenge " ran on through the long sea- 
 lane between. 
 
 v?. 
 
 Thousands of their soldiers looked down from their decks, 
 and laughed ; 
 
 Thousands of their seaman made mock at the mad little 
 craft 
 
 Running on and on, till delayed 
 
 By their mountain-like " San Philip," that, of fifteen hun- 
 dred tons, 
 
 And up- shadowing high above us with her yawning tiers 
 of guns, 
 
 Took the breath from our sails, and we stayed. 
 
 VII. 
 
 And while now the great " San Philip " hung above us, 
 
 like a cloud 
 
 Whence the thunderbolt will fall 
 Long and loud, 
 Four galleons drew away 
 From the Spanish fleet that day ; 
 And two upon the larboard, and two upon the starboard, 
 
 lay; 
 And the battle- thunder broke from them all. 
 
THE "REVENGE." 211 
 
 VIII. 
 
 But anon the great "San Philip," she bethought herself, 
 
 and went, 
 
 Having that within her womb that had left her ill content ; 
 And the rest, they came aboard us, and they fought us 
 
 hand to hand : 
 For a dozen times they came with their pikes and 
 
 musketeers ; 
 And a dozen times we shook 'em off, as a dog that shakes 
 
 his ears 
 When he leaps from the water to the land. 
 
 IX. 
 
 And the sun went down, and the stars came out far over 
 the summer sea ; 
 
 But never a moment ceased the fight of the one and the 
 fifty-three. 
 
 Ship after ship, the whole night long, their high-built gal- 
 leons came, 
 
 Ship after ship, the whole night long, with her battle- 
 thunder and flame : 
 
 Ship after ship, the whole night long, drew back with her 
 dead and her shame. 
 
 For some were sunk, and many were shattered, and so 
 could fight us no more 
 
 God of battles, was ever a battle like this in the world 
 before ? 
 
 x. 
 
 For he said, " Fight on ! fight on ! " 
 Though his vessel was all but a wreck ; 
 And it chanced that, when half of the short summer 
 night was gone, 
 
212 THE "REVENGE." 
 
 With a grisly wound to be dressed he had left the 
 
 deck; 
 But a bullet struck him that was dressing it suddenly 
 
 dead, 
 And himself he was wounded again in the side and the 
 
 head ; 
 And he said, " Fight on ! fight on ! " 
 
 XI. 
 
 And the night went down, and the sun smiled out far over 
 
 the summer sea, 
 And the Spanish fleet, with broken sides, lay round us all 
 
 iii a ring ; 
 But they dared not touch us again, for they feared that 
 
 we still could sting : 
 
 So they watched what the end would be. 
 And we had not fought them in vain. 
 But in perilous plight were we, 
 Seeing forty of our poor hundred were slain, 
 And half of the rest of us maimed for life 
 In the crash of the cannonades and the desperate strife ; 
 And the sick men down in the hold were most of them 
 
 stark and cold ; 
 And the pikes were all broken or bent ; and the powder 
 
 was all of it spent ; 
 
 And the masts and the rigging were lying over the side : 
 But Sir Richard cried, in his English pride, 
 " We have fought such a fight for a day and a night 
 As may never be fought again ! 
 We have won great glory, my men. 
 And a day less or more, 
 At sea or ashore, 
 We die does it matter when ? 
 
THE "REVENGE." 213 
 
 Sink me the ship, master gunner, sink her ! split her in 
 
 twain ! 
 Fall into the hands of God not into the hands of 
 
 Spain ! " 
 
 XII. 
 
 And the gunner said, " Ay, ay ! " But the seamen made 
 
 reply, 
 
 " We have children, we have wives ; 
 And the Lord hath spared our lives. 
 We will make the Spaniard promise, if we yield, to let us 
 
 go; 
 
 We shall live to fight again, and to strike another blow : 
 And the lion there lay dying, and they yielded to the foe. 
 
 xm. 
 
 And the stately Spanish men to their flag-ship bore him 
 
 then, 
 Where they laid him by the mast, old Sir Richard, caught 
 
 at last : 
 And they praised him to his face with a courtly foreign 
 
 grace ; 
 
 But he rose up on their decks, and he cried, 
 " I have fought for queen and faith like a valiant man and 
 
 true ; 
 
 I have only done my duty as a man is bound to do : 
 With a joyful spirit, I, Sir Richard Grenville, die ! " 
 And he fell upon their decks, and he died. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 And they stared at the dead that had been so valiant and 
 
 true, 
 And had holden the power and glory of Spain so cheap, 
 
214 ON THE SEA - 
 
 That he dared her with one little ship and his English few. 
 Was he devil, or man? He was devil, for aught they 
 
 knew. 
 
 But they sank his body with honor down into the deep, 
 And they manned the "Revenge " with a swarthier alien 
 
 crew ; 
 And away she sailed with her loss, and longed for her 
 
 own, 
 When a wind from the lands they had ruined awoke from 
 
 sleep, 
 
 And the water began to heave and the weather to moan ; 
 And or ever that evening ended, a great gale blew, 
 And a wave, like the wave that is raised by an earthquake, 
 
 grew, 
 Till it smote on their hulls and their sails and their masts 
 
 and their flags ; 
 And the whole sea plunged, and fell on the shot-shattered 
 
 navy of Spain ; 
 And the little " Revenge " herself went down by the 
 
 island crags 
 To be lost evermore in the main. 
 
 ALFRED TENNYSON. 
 
 ON THE SEA. 
 
 IT keeps eternal whisperings around 
 Desolate shores, and with its mighty swell 
 Gluts twice ten thousand caverns till the spell 
 Of Hecate leaves them their old shadowy sound. 
 Often 'tis in such gentle temper found, 
 That scarcely will the very smallest shell 
 Be moved for days from where it sometime fell 
 When last the winds of heaven were unbound. 
 
SONNET. 215 
 
 Oh, ye who have your eyeballs vexed and tired, 
 Feast them upon the wideness of the sea ! 
 Oh, ye whose ears are dinned with uproar rude, 
 Or fed too much with cloying melody, 
 Sit ye near some old cavern's mouth, and brood 
 Until ye start, as if the sea-nymphs quired ! 
 
 JOHN KEATS. 
 
 AT DOVER CLIFFS. 
 
 ON these white cliffs that calm above the flood 
 Uplift their shadowing heads, and at their feet 
 Scarce hear the surge that has for ages beat, 
 Sure many a lonely wanderer has stood, 
 And whilst the lifted murmur met his ear, 
 And o'er the distant billows the still eve 
 Sailed slow, has thought of all his heart must leave 
 To-morrow, of the friends he loved most dear, 
 Of social scenes from which he wept to part : 
 But if, like me, he knew how fruitless all 
 The thoughts that would full fain the past recall, 
 Soon would he quell the risings of his heart, 
 And brave the wild winds and unhearing tide, 
 The world his country, and his God his guide. 
 
 WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 WATERS, which, pendent from your airy height, 
 Dash on the heedless rocks and stones below, 
 Whilst in your white, uplifted foam ye show, 
 Though vexed yourselves, your beauties much more 
 bright, 
 
216 THE SEA-CAPTAIN'S FAREWELL. 
 
 Why, as ye know that changeless is their doom, 
 
 Do ye, if weary, strive against them still ? 
 
 Year after year, as ye your course fulfil, 
 
 Ye find them rugged, nor less hard become. 
 
 Return ye back unto the leafy grove 
 
 Through which your way ye may at pleasure roam, 
 
 Until ye reach at last your longed-for home. 
 
 How hid in mystery are the ways of love ! 
 
 Ye, if ye wished, yet could not wander free : 
 
 Freedom in my lone state is valueless to me. 
 
 FRANCISCO RODRIGUEZ LOBO. 
 
 TRANSLATION OF JOHN ADAMSON. 
 
 THE SEA-CAPTAIN'S FAREWELL TO HIS CHILD. 
 
 ^T^HE fresh breeze whistles above us, the tide runs fast 
 J. below ; 
 
 The ship is waiting, they tell me, is waiting, and I 
 must go ; 
 
 For my bread must be won on the waters, on the change- 
 ful, treacherous main : 
 
 I'll be back in a year, my baby, when the roses bloom 
 again. 
 
 A year ! Full many a sailor, ere the year is past, shall 
 
 sleep, 
 With a bowlder of rock for a pillow, in the tangleweed, 
 
 fathoms deep. 
 Back in a year, my lambkin the words are quickly 
 
 said ; 
 But the storm will be up and doing, and the sea will have 
 
 its dead. 
 
REMEMBRANCE. 2 1 7 
 
 What then? Who die in their duty die well, and are in 
 
 His hand. 
 " We're as near to heaven," said old Gilbert, " by sea as 
 
 we are by land : " 
 E'en then we shall have a meeting, and no more parting 
 
 and pain, 
 When both are at rest on OUR FATHER'S breast, and the 
 
 roses bloom again. 
 
 H. W. DULCKEN. 
 
 REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 r I A HE dash of waves upon the shore, 
 A And hills that rise so calm and blue, 
 How all my wish goes back to you, 
 Until I dream that I once more 
 Feel the strong wind sweep in from sea, 
 And hear the waves that break below 
 My rocky nest, that now I know 
 Is waiting desolate for me ! 
 I watch the white sails dim and far 
 Until the night comes creeping in ; 
 And then, on the horizon's rim, 
 I see the lighthouse's lonely star. 
 Then rise, and going 'cross the field 
 That lies between my home and me, 
 And turning now and then to see 
 How graciously the evening falls 
 Upon the lonely rocks and shore ; 
 And then the voice I hear no more 
 From out the silence clearly calls. 
 
 ALICE TURNER. 
 
2l8 THE OCEA.V. 
 
 THE OCEAN. 
 
 E Ocean, at the bidding of the Moon, 
 A Forever changes with his restless tide ; 
 Flung shoreward now, to be regathered soon 
 With kingly pauses of reluctant pride, 
 And semblance of return. Anon from home 
 He issues forth again, high-ridged and free, 
 The seething hiss of his tumultuous foam 
 Like armies whispering where great echoes be. 
 Oh ! leave me here upon this beach to rove, 
 Mute listener to that sound so grand and lone, 
 A glorious sound, deep-drawn and strongly thrown, 
 And reaching those on mountain heights above ; 
 To British ears, as who shall scorn to own, 
 A tutelar fond voice, a saviour-tone of love. 
 
 CHARLES (TENNYSON) TURNER. 
 
 PRELUDE TO "THE AMBER "WHALE." 
 
 THOUGH it lash the shallows that line the beach, 
 Afar from the great sea-deeps, 
 There is never a storm whose might can reach 
 
 Where the vast leviathan sleeps. 
 Like a mighty thought in a quiet mind, 
 
 In the clear, cold depths he swims ; 
 Whilst above him the pettiest form of his kind 
 With a dash o'er the surface skims. 
 
 There is peace in power : the men who speak 
 
 With the loudest tongues do least ; 
 And the surest sign of a mind that is weak 
 
 Is its want of the power to rest. 
 
DROWNED. 219 
 
 It is only the lighter water that flies 
 
 From the sea on a windy day ; 
 And the deep blue ocean never replies 
 
 To the sibilant voice of the spray. 
 
 JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY. 
 
 DROWNED. 
 
 SHIPS are tossing at sea, 
 And ships sail in to the windy cliffs of the shore ; 
 But the ship that is dearest to me 
 Will nevqr come in with the tide, 
 Will ripple the bay no more, 
 Riding in with the tide. 
 
 Under the froth and the foam, 
 
 And the yeasty surge, and the shuddering gusts of rain, 
 
 Lies the lad who will never come home, 
 
 His white face hid in the sand : 
 
 He neither has care nor pain 
 
 Under the seaweed and sand. 
 
 Down by the reefs and the shells, 
 
 Far down by the channels that furrow the dolorous deep, 
 
 Where the torn sails rise with the swells, 
 
 And swing in the pulse of the sea, 
 
 He is only sleeping, asleep 
 
 Down in the sorrowful sea. 
 
 Above him the wrack and the drift, 
 
 The red-lit east, and the dark, sad glow in the west, 
 
 The currents that change and shift, 
 
 And the rain-blown face of the storm : 
 
 There is nothing but silence and rest 
 
 Under the beat of the storm. 
 
220 THE SEA-SERPENT. 
 
 Tangled in rigging and ropes, 
 
 And fenced by the wreck of spar and the ruin of mast, 
 
 The purple sea-plant gropes 
 
 And wanders over my dead : 
 
 He shall waken and rise at last, 
 
 When the sea gives up its dead. 
 
 So in the dark and the dawn, 
 
 In the gloom of keels, and the shadow of home-bound 
 
 ships, 
 
 My mariner slumbers on, 
 While I am awake and forlorn, 
 With a weary song on my lips, 
 Out of my heart forlorn. 
 
 THOMAS GARVIE. 
 
 THE SEA-SERPENT. 
 
 UPON the level of the midnight sea 
 Rested the blue dome of immensity, 
 Spangled with starry clusters innumerate, 
 Save to the east, where lay a line of clouds 
 Foam pale, but indistinct as unguessed fate : 
 As stately the full-sailed ship cleft through 
 The waste of heaving blue, 
 Beneath the swinging oil-lamp's yellow glow, 
 Over his charts, the captain bent below, 
 Calmly secure whence'er a wind should blow : 
 The sailors sang at the helm and in the shrouds. 
 
 Three bells had gone ; a dark cloud dimmed the moon, 
 
 That underneath the wave would vanish soon, 
 
 And in the solemn darkness before dawn, 
 
 All save the helmsman slept ; when, in the wake, 
 
 A strange and rushing sound turned his cheek wan, 
 
THE SEA-SERPENT. 221 
 
 And, looking o'er his shoulder, he beheld 
 
 A something black, that swelled, 
 
 And lengthened far away ; while all around, 
 
 The monstrous head advancing, bound on bound, 
 
 A storm of surge and watery thunder's sound. 
 
 Bursting the sea-calm, caused his heart to quake. 
 
 The last light of the moon was glimmering drear, 
 
 As on the lonely ocean it drew near, 
 
 Sending a mountain-ridge of billows before ; 
 
 And straight behind the heaving stern he saw 
 
 The million-headed hydra, black and frore, 
 
 With crest enormous o'er the surge, and eyes 
 
 Yellow in moonlight, rise ; 
 
 And as it shouldered aside, and thundered past, 
 
 The seas, foam-maddened by the rushing blast 
 
 Of its swift motion sloky masses vast, 
 
 Of serpent black, ravenous with mouth and claw. 
 
 Innumerable monsters joined in one 
 
 Writhed from its sides, and hissed its back upon, 
 
 Erect with rage, or sleek with black disdain, 
 
 Fierce-eyed and multitudinous, bursting forth, 
 
 Horrored for one dread mile the shaken main j 
 
 But on the monster's brow, risen from sleep, 
 
 Rested the awe of the deep ; 
 
 And round it spread a shadow and a breath 
 
 Cold as the ice, and imminent as death, 
 
 As dawn with moonlight mingled, from beneath 
 
 Broadening, beheld it vanish toward the north. 
 
 Stiffened with dread, and dumb, the helmsman stood, 
 As through that long black valley in the flood 
 
222 IN THE SEA. 
 
 The last huge monster of the early world 
 
 Shook the great seas with unaccustomed fears ; 
 
 And dumb remained when morning's crimson curled 
 
 Over the vast ; nor spake he till death's hour 
 
 Of it, whose shape of power 
 
 Sleeps underneath the sun and moon alone, 
 
 In polar ocean's solitudes alone, 
 
 Mid alps of ice, lulled by tempest's moan, 
 
 Then but to man appears once in a thousand years. 
 
 ALFRED M. WILLIAMS. 
 
 IN THE SEA. 
 
 THE salt wind blows upon my cheek 
 As it blew a year ago, 
 When twenty boats were crushed among 
 
 The rocks of Norman's Woe. 
 
 'Twas dark then : 'tis light now ; 
 
 And the sails are leaning low. 
 
 In dreams I pull the seaweed o'er, 
 
 And find a face not his, 
 And hope another tide will be 
 
 More pitying than this. 
 The wind turns, the tide turns : 
 
 They take what hope there is. 
 
 My life goes on as thine would go 
 With all its sweetness spilled : 
 
 My God ! why should one heart of two 
 Beat on when one is stilled ? 
 
 Through heart-wreck or home-wreck 
 Thy happy sparrows build. 
 
BY THE BAY. 223 
 
 Though boats go down, men build anew, 
 
 Whatever winds may blow : 
 If blight be in the wheat one year, 
 
 We trust again, and sow, 
 Though grief comes, and changes 
 
 The sunshine into snow. 
 
 Some have their dead, where, sweet and low 
 
 The summers bloom and go. 
 The sea withholds my dead : I walk 
 
 The bar, when tides are low, 
 And wonder the grave-grass 
 
 Can have the heart to grow. 
 
 Flow on, O unconsenting sea ! 
 
 And keep my dead below : 
 Though night, oh, utter night ! my soul, 
 
 Delude thee long, I know, 
 Or life Gomes, or death comes, 
 
 God lends the eternal flow. 
 
 HIRAM RICH. 
 
 BY THE BAY. 
 
 ON the smooth shore I stand alone, and see 
 A wonder in the distance : there the bay, 
 Drawn on to meet and mingle far away 
 With the broad sky's unstained serenity, 
 Pauses at last from panting restlessly, 
 Smooths his short waves, and, scorning to delay, 
 Falls from the rounded world with all his weight 
 In silence through the silences below, 
 Where nothing balks the aimless overflow, 
 Till all the solid waters separate, 
 
224 FROM "A LOOKING-GLASS." 
 
 Split into streams, that bursting as they go 
 Fly off in rain, that ends in scattered spray, 
 And mist that rises for the winds to blow 
 Hither and thither in unending play. 
 
 ROBERT K. WEEKS. 
 
 FROM "A LOOKING-GLASS FOR LONDON AND 
 
 ENGLAND." 
 
 TO the seas with blitheful western blasts 
 We sailed amain, and let the bowline fly. 
 Scarce had we gone ten leagues from sight of land, 
 But, lo ! an host of black and sable clouds 
 'Gan to eclipse Lucina's silver face ; 
 And with a hurling noise, from forth the south 
 A gust of wind did rear the billows up : 
 Then scantled we our sails with speedy hands, 
 And took our drablers from our bonnets straight, 
 And severed our bonnets from our courses : 
 Our topsails up, we truss our spritsails in. 
 But vainly strive they that resist the heavens. 
 For, lo ! the waves incense them more and more, 
 Mounting with hideous roarings from the depth. 
 Our bark is battered by encountering storms, 
 1 And well-nigh stemmed by breaking of the floods. 
 The steersman, pale and careful, holds his helm, 
 Wherein the trust of life and safety lay ; 
 Till, all at once (a mortal tale to tell) 
 Our sails were split by Bisa's bitter blast, 
 Our rudder broke, and we bereft of hope. 
 There might you see, with pale and ghastly looks, 
 The dead in thought, and doleful merchants lift 
 Their eyes and hands unto their country's gods. 
 
FROM " THE SEA." 225 
 
 The goods we cast in bowels of the sea, 
 
 A sacrifice to 'suage proud Neptune's ire. 
 
 Only alone a man of Israel, 
 
 A passenger, did under hatches lie, 
 
 And slept secure, when we for succor prayed. 
 
 Him I awoke, and said, " Why slumberest thou? 
 
 Arise and pray, and call upon thy God : 
 
 He will perhaps in pity look on us." 
 
 Then cast we lots to know by whose amiss 
 
 Our mischief came, according to the guise ; 
 
 And, lo ! the lot did unto Jonas fall,. 
 
 The Israelite of whom I told you last. 
 
 Then question we his country and his name ; 
 
 Who answered us, " I am an Hebrew born, 
 
 Who fear the Lord of heaven, who made the sea, 
 
 And fled from him, for which we all are plagued : 
 
 So, to assuage the fury of my God, 
 
 Take me, and cast my carcass in the sea ; 
 
 Then shall this stormy wind and billow cease." 
 
 The heavens they know, the Hebrew's God can tell, 
 
 How loath we were to execute his will : 
 
 But, when no oars nor labor might suffice, 
 
 We heaved the hapless Jonas overboard. 
 
 So ceased the storm, and calmed all the sea, 
 
 And we by strength of oars recovered shore. 
 
 ROBERT GREENE. 
 FROM "THE SEA." 
 
 (A BALLAD.) 
 
 I HAVE no hope, I have no light ; 
 For me the sun burns wan and gray ; 
 I see the shadows of the night 
 Stream .far into the golden day. 
 
226 FROM " THE SEA." 
 
 One year ago, across the sea 
 
 I saw a brave ship swiftly sail, 
 The shining water far a-lee 
 
 Just rippled by the rising gale. 
 
 
 
 I stood on yonder beetling rock, 
 
 And watched her as she sped along : 
 
 The waves rolled in with thunderous shock, 
 And filled the air with mighty song. 
 
 The sun sank slowly in the west ; 
 
 The moon, a sphere of amber, came 
 Rising above the ocean's breast, 
 
 And made its waters burn like flame. 
 
 And, fringed with gold, the fading sails 
 Went sinking slowly out of sight ; 
 
 And from afar the sea-gull's hails 
 
 Rang sharply through the deepening night. 
 
 He whom my soul held high and dear 
 Had kissed me, and sailed o'er the sea, 
 
 Saying, " Sweetheart, in one short year, 
 Alive or dead, I'll come to thee." 
 
 Day after day my watch I've kept : 
 Where his ship made a foamy path, 
 
 I've seen the sea by tempests swept, 
 And wild waves tossing high in wrath ; 
 
 I've seen the sunset's golden light 
 
 Run o'er the waves in lengthened sweep, 
 
 And watched the morning's radiance bright 
 Flash down the hollows of the deep. 
 
FROM " THE SEA." 227 
 
 Week followed week : the long months grew 
 Through weary hours that had no cheer, 
 
 Save the one thought, he loves me true ; 
 And brought to-day the ripened year 
 
 No word from him ; no letter came 
 
 To make Time's footsteps grow more fleet, 
 
 Though in my soul his cherished name 
 Rang through refrains both sad and sweet. 
 
 This morn I said, " To-day I'll know 
 
 What future years will hold for me : 
 For boundless joy or bitter woe 
 
 Will come across the sunlit sea." 
 
 With lingering steps I took my way 
 Down to the shining stretch of sand : 
 
 The cool, sweet waters of the bay, 
 Rich with rare color, kissed the land. 
 
 The vast immensity of waves 
 
 Came shoreward, full of murmurous sound, 
 Telling of far, dim, coral caves, 
 
 And wrecks by seaweed garlands crowned. 
 
 There was no wind : the ocean rolled 
 In wide, long sweeps upon the beach ; 
 
 And broadening columns of red gold 
 Lay rippling on the sailless reach. 
 
 Then up against the eastern bine 
 
 A swaying ship rose high and fast : 
 Canvas and hull the sun shone through, 
 
 And luminous were yard and mast. 
 
228 FROM " THE SEA." 
 
 Her strong spars bent ; her hempen sail 
 Seemed bursting with a fearful strain ; 
 
 And, as if driven by a gale, 
 
 She swiftly sped across the main. 
 
 And all the while the water lay 
 Unruffled even by a breeze ; 
 
 And down the reaches of the bay 
 The gulls winged slowly at their ease. 
 
 I shivered as the ship drew near ; 
 
 I heard hoarse calls from her arise : 
 Cold grew my heart with dread and fear ; 
 
 And yet I could not turn my eyes. 
 
 On, on, she came ; then with a roar 
 Her dark sails fluttered wild and rent ; 
 
 Her spars gave way, and tumbled o'er 
 A deck where storm and tumult blent. 
 
 The great hull swayed and tossed about, 
 With masts and cordage all a-wreck ; 
 
 And mad waves seemed to roar and shout 
 Along the riven oaken deck. 
 
 Then slowly down the sea she sank ; 
 
 And for a moment, cold and white, 
 His face, mid rope and driftings dank, 
 
 Shone, and then faded from my sight. 
 
 Roll up across the shining sand, 
 
 O sad, wild waves, so deep and cold ! 
 
 For somewhere in your empire grand 
 My shipwrecked sailor's form you hold. 
 
FROM " THE SEA." 
 
 And I have neither hope nor light ; 
 
 For me the sun grows wan and gray, 
 And the drear shadows of the night 
 
 Stream far into the golden day. 
 
 THOMAS S. COLLIER. 
 
 229 
 
EA-SPRAY. 
 
 BREEZY waves toss up their silvery spray. 
 
 HOOD: Ode to the Moon. 
 
"GOD KNOWS." 
 
 OH ! wild and dark was the winter night 
 When the emigrant-ship went down 
 But just outside of the harbor-bar, 
 In the sight of the startled town. 
 The winds howled, and the sea roared ; 
 
 And never a soul could sleep, 
 Save the little ones on their mothers' breasts, 
 Too young to watch and weep. 
 
 No boat could live in the angry surf; 
 
 No boat could reach the land : 
 There were bold, brave hearts upon the shore ; 
 
 There was many a ready hand, 
 Women who prayed, and men who strove 
 
 When prayers and work were vain ; 
 For the sun rose over the awful void 
 
 And the silence of the main. 
 
 All day the watchers paced the sands, 
 
 All day they scanned the deep ; 
 All night the booming minute-guns 
 
 Echoed from steep to steep. 
 
 233 
 
234 SOA'G. 
 
 " Give up thy dead, O cruel sea ! " 
 
 They cried athwart the space ; 
 But only a baby's fragile form 
 
 Escaped from its stern embrace. 
 
 Only one little child of all 
 
 Who with the ship went down 
 That night, when the happy babies slept 
 
 So warm in the sheltered town. 
 Wrapped in the glow of the morning light, 
 
 It lay on the shifting sand, 
 As fair as a sculptor's marble dream, 
 
 With a shell in its dimpled hand. 
 
 There were none to tell of its race or kin. 
 
 " God knoweth," the pastor said, 
 When the sobbing children crowded to ask 
 
 The name of the baby dead. 
 And so, when they laid it away at last 
 
 In the churchyard's hushed repose, 
 They raised a stone at the baby's head, 
 
 With the carven words, " God knows." 
 
 JULIA C. R. DORR. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 FROM high, the seaman's wearied sight 
 Spies the green forest with delight, 
 Which seems to promise rest and joy ; 
 But woe is him, if hope deceives, 
 If his fond eye too late perceives 
 The breakers lurking to destroy. 
 
OLIVIA. 235 
 
 Oh, sweetest pledge of love and pleasure, 
 Enchanting smile ! thy depth I'll measure, 
 
 Wary, as in the shallow tide ; 
 That, if beneath that garb of beauty 
 The mind has shoals to wreck my duty, 
 
 I straight may seek the waters wide. 
 
 JOHANNES EVALD. 
 
 OLIVIA. 
 
 WHAT are the long waves singing so mournfully 
 evermore ? 
 What are they singing so mournfully as they weep on the 
 
 sandy shore ? 
 
 " Olivia, O Olivia ! " what else can it seem to be ? 
 " Olivia, lost Olivia, will never return to thee. 
 Olivia, lost Olivia ! " what else can the sad song be? 
 " Weep and mourn : she will not return, she can not re- 
 turn, to thee." 
 
 And strange it is when the low wind sighs, and strange 
 when the loud winds blow, 
 
 In the rustle of trees, in the roar of the storm, in the 
 sleepiest streamlet's flow, 
 
 Forever, from ocean or river, arises the same sad 
 moan : 
 
 She sleeps ; let her sleep ; wake her not ; it were best she 
 should rest, and alone. 
 
 Forever the same sad requiem comes up from the sorrow- 
 ful sea, 
 
 For the lovely, the lost Olivia, who cannot return to 
 me. 
 
236 OLIVIA. 
 
 Alas ! I fear 'tis not in the air, or the sea, or the trees, 
 that strain : 
 
 I fear 'tis a wrung heart aching, and the throb of a tor- 
 tured brain ; 
 
 And the shivering whisper of startled leaves, and the sob 
 of the waves as they roll, 
 
 I fear they are only the echo of the song of a suffering 
 soul; 
 
 Are only the passionless echo of the voice that is ever 
 with me, 
 
 "The lovely, the lost Olivia will never return to thee." 
 
 I stand in the dim, gray morning where once I stood to 
 mark, 
 
 Gliding away along the bay, like a bird, her white-winged 
 bark ; 
 
 And when through the Golden Gate the sunset radiance 
 rolled, 
 
 And the tall masts melted to thinnest threads in the glow- 
 ing haze of gold, 
 
 I said, "To thine arms I give her, O kind and shining 
 sea ! 
 
 And in one long moon from this June you shall let her 
 return to me." 
 
 But the wind from the far spice-islands came back ; and it 
 
 sang with a sigh, 
 " The ocean is rich with treasure it has hidden from you 
 
 and the sky." 
 And where, amid rocks and the green seaweed, the storm 
 
 and tide were at war, 
 The night-sought waste was still vacant when I looked to 
 
 the cloud and the star ; 
 
OLIVIA. 237 
 
 And soon the sad wind and dark ocean unceasingly sang 
 
 unto me, 
 " The lovely, the lost Olivia will never return to thee." 
 
 Dim and still the landscape lies, but shadowless as 
 
 heaven ; 
 For the growing morn and the low west moon on every 
 
 thing shine even : 
 The ghosts of the lost have departed, that nothing can 
 
 ever redeem ; 
 And Nature, in light, sweet slumber, is dreaming her 
 
 morning dream. 
 'Tis morn ; and our Lord has awakened, and the souls of 
 
 the blest are free : 
 Oh, come from the caves of the ocean ! Olivia, return 
 
 unto me ! 
 
 What thrills me? What comes near me? Do I stand 
 
 on the sward alone? 
 Was that a light wind, or a whisper? a touch, or the pulse 
 
 of a tone ? 
 Olivia, whose spells from thy slumber my broken heart 
 
 sway and control, 
 At length bring'st thou death to me, dearest, or rest to 
 
 my suffering soul? 
 No sound but the psalm of the ocean ; bow down to the 
 
 solemn decree : 
 "The lovely, the lost Olivia will never return to thee." 
 
 And still are the long waves singing so mournfully ever- 
 more ; 
 
 Still are they singing so mournfully as they weep on the 
 sandy shore, 
 
238 EVENING. 
 
 " Olivia, lost Olivia ! " so ever 'tis doomed to be ; 
 " Olivia, lost Olivia, will never return to thee. 
 Olivia, lost Olivia ! " what else could the sad song be? 
 " Weep and mourn : she will not return, she can not return, 
 to thee." 
 
 EDWARD POLLOCK. 
 
 EVENING. 
 
 A LEVEL sea ; 
 A film of blue 
 Covering the coast-line ; 
 A sail or two ; 
 
 A ship asleep 
 
 On the offing's breast ; 
 A blood-red ball 
 
 Low down in the west ; 
 
 A poplar perched 
 
 High on the hill, 
 Back 'gainst the crimson, 
 
 Stark and still. 
 
 Now fades the great ball, 
 
 It was the sun, 
 And sky and ocean 
 
 Melt into one. 
 
 Now the mists, like a tide, 
 
 Slowly lift and lift, 
 Till all the landscape 
 
 Is set adrift. 
 
 GEORGE HOUGHTON. 
 
THE MARINER'S BRIDE. 239 
 
 THE MARINER'S BRIDE. 
 
 LOOK, mother ! the mariner's rowing 
 His galley adown the tide : 
 I'll go where the mariner's going, 
 And be the mariner's bride. 
 
 I saw him one day through the wicket : 
 
 I opened the gate, and we met ; 
 
 As a bird in the fowler's net, 
 Was I caught in my own green thicket. 
 
 O mother ! my tears are flowing ; 
 I've lost my maidenly pride : 
 
 I'll go if the mariner's going, 
 And be the mariner's bride. 
 
 This Love, the tyrant, evinces, 
 
 Alas ! an omnipotent might : 
 
 He darkens the mind like night ; 
 He treads on the necks of princes. 
 
 O mother ! my bosom is glowing ; 
 I'll go, whatever betide : 
 
 I'll go where the mariner's going, 
 And be the mariner's bride. 
 
 Yes, mother, the spoiler has reft me 
 
 Of reason and self-control : 
 
 Gone, gone, is my wretched soul, 
 And only my body is left me. 
 
 The winds, O mother ! are blowing ; 
 The ocean is bright and wide : 
 
 I'll go where the mariner's going, 
 And be the mariner's bride. 
 
 TRANSLATED BY MANGAN FROM THE SPANISH. 
 
240 A SONG OF THE SEA. 
 
 A SONG OF THE SEA. 
 
 / ^T A HERE is a plough that hath no share, 
 JL But a coulter that parteth keen and fair. 
 
 The furrows rise 
 
 To a terrible size 
 
 Or ever the plough hath touched them there. 
 'Gainst horses and plough in wrath they shake : 
 The horses are fierce, but the plough will break. 
 
 And the seed that is dropped in those furrows of fear 
 
 Will lift to the sun neither blade nor ear. 
 Down it drops plumb, 
 Where no spring-times come ; 
 
 Nor needeth it any harrowing-gear : 
 
 Wheat, nor poppy, nor any leaf, 
 
 Will cover this naked ground of grief. 
 
 But a harvest-day will come at last, 
 When the watery winter all is past : 
 
 The furrows so gray 
 
 Shall be shorn away 
 By the angels' sickles keen and fast ; 
 And the buried harvest of the sea 
 Stored in the barns of eternity. 
 
 GEORGE MACDONALD. 
 
 THE LANGUAGE OF THE SEA. 
 
 I SPOKE ; but, if my voice was heard, 
 You did not answer me, 
 But looked with painful earnestness 
 Far at the foaming sea. 
 
THE SEA-BIRD'S SONG. 241 
 
 The breakers caught the glance and thought, 
 
 And in a wondrous strain, 
 With tones of solemn melody 
 
 They brought them back again. 
 
 And what your glances did not tell 
 
 I heard in that deep voice, 
 And what to you was strange and sad 
 
 First made my heart rejoice. 
 
 Oh ! it was well that none around 
 
 Who laughed so merrily, 
 Had ever learned on life's great shore 
 
 The language of the sea. 
 
 CHARLES GODFREY LELAND. 
 
 THE SEA-BIRD'S SONG. 
 
 ON the deep is the mariner's danger ; 
 On the deep is the mariner's death ; 
 Who, to fear of the tempest a stranger, 
 Sees the last bubble burst of his breath? 
 'Tis the sea-bird, sea-bird, sea-bird, 
 
 Lone looker on despair ; 
 The sea-bird, sea-bird, sea-bird, 
 The only witness there. 
 
 Who watches their course, who so mildly 
 Careen to the kiss of the breeze ? 
 
 Who lists to their shrieks, who so wildly 
 Are clasped in the arms of the seas? 
 } Tis the sea-bird, etc. 
 
242 THOUGH LOST TO SIGHT. 
 
 Who hovers on high o'er the lover, 
 And her who has clung to his neck ? 
 
 Whose wing is the wing that can cover 
 With its shadow the foundering wreck? 
 Tis the sea-bird, etc. 
 
 My eye in the light of the billow, 
 My wing on the wake of the wave, 
 
 I shall take to my breast for a pillow 
 The shroud of the fair and the brave. 
 I'm the sea-bird, etc. 
 
 My foot on the iceberg has lighted, 
 
 When hoarse the wild winds veer about ; 
 My eye, when the bark is benighted, 
 Sees the lamp of the lighthouse go out. 
 I'm the sea-bird, sea-bird, sea-bird, 
 
 Lone looker on despair ; 
 The sea-bird, sea-bird, sea-bird, 
 The only witness there. 
 
 JOHN GARDINER CAULKINS BRAINARD. 
 
 THOUGH LOST TO SIGHT, TO MEMORY DEAR. 
 
 O WEETHEART, good-by ! the fluttering sail 
 O Is spread to waft me far from thee ; 
 And soon, before the favoring gale, 
 
 My ship shall bound upon the sea. 
 Perchance, all desolate and forlorn, 
 
 These eyes shall miss thee many a year ; 
 But unforgotten every charm : 
 
 Though lost to sight, to memory dear. 
 
THE LITTLE BEACH-BIRD. 243 
 
 Sweetheart, good-by ! one last embrace : 
 
 O cruel fate ! true souls to sever ; 
 Yet, in this heart's most sacred place, 
 
 Thou, thou alone, shalt dwell forever. 
 And still shall recollection trace 
 
 In fancy's mirror, ever near, 
 Each smile, each tear, that form, that face : 
 
 Though lost to sight, to memory dear. 
 
 GEORGE LINLEY (GREENWICH MAGAZINE FOR MARINERS, 1701). 
 
 THOU LITTLE BEACH-BIRD. 
 
 little bird, thou dweller by sea, 
 JL Why takest thou its melancholy voice, 
 And with that boding cry 
 Along the waves dost thou fly ? 
 Oh, rather, bird, with me 
 Through the fair land rejoice ! 
 
 Thy flitting form comes ghostly dim and pale, 
 - As driven by a beating storm at sea : 
 Thy cry is weak and scared, 
 As if thy mates had shared 
 The doom of us. Thy wail, 
 What does it bring to me ? 
 
 Thou call'st along the sand, and haunt'st the surge, 
 Restless and sad, as if, in strange accord 
 With the motion and the roar 
 Of waves that drive to shore, 
 One.spirit did ye urge, 
 The Mystery the Word. 
 
244 THE WATERS ARE RISIXG AND FLOWING. 
 
 Of thousands, thou both sepulchre and pall, 
 Old Ocean, art. A requiem o'er the dead, 
 From out thy gloomy cells 
 A tale of mourning tells, 
 Tells of man's woe and fall, 
 His sinless glory fled. 
 
 Then turn thee, little bird, and take thy flight 
 Where the complaining sea shall sadness bring 
 Thy spirit nevermore. 
 Come, quit with me the shore, 
 For gladness and the light, 
 Where birds of summer sing. 
 
 RICHARD HENRY DANA. 
 
 'HE WATERS ABE RISING AND FLOWING. 
 
 THE waters are rising and flowing 
 Over the weedy stone, 
 Over it, over it going : 
 It is never gone. 
 
 So joy after joy may go sweeping 
 
 Over the ancient pain : 
 Drowned in waves and waves of weeping, 
 
 It will rise again. 
 
 GEORGE MACDONALD. 
 
 THE TWO SHIPS. 
 
 AS I stand by the cross on the lone mountain's crest, 
 Looking over the ultimate sea, 
 In the gloom of the mountain a ship lies at rest, 
 And one sails away from the lea : 
 
WHY THE SEA COMPLAINS. 245 
 
 One spreads its white wings on a far-reaching track, 
 
 With pennant and sheet flowing free ; 
 One hides in the shadow, with sails laid aback, 
 
 The ship that is waiting for me. 
 
 But lo ! in the distance the clouds break away ; 
 
 The Gate's glowing portals I see ; 
 And I hear from the outgoing ship in the bay 
 
 The song of the sailors in glee. 
 So I think of the luminous footprints that bore 
 
 The comfort o'er dark Galilee, 
 And wait for the signal to go to the shore, 
 
 To the ship that is waiting for me. 
 
 BRET HARTE. 
 
 WHY THE SEA COMPLAINS. 
 
 EARLY in boyhood the sighing and sobbing 
 Sound of the sea-wave was oft in my ears, 
 Drowning the voice of my crying, and robbing 
 
 Sleep from young eyes growing pale from their tears. 
 Down by the shore, when the morning was breaking, 
 
 Often I questioned and pitied the sea ; 
 And the great deep, from its sad sorrow waking, 
 One day grew calm, and made answer to me. 
 
 That was the time of his tender confession ; 
 
 That was the hour when his secret was told ; 
 Just as the sun and his royal procession 
 
 Marched up the east with their banners of gold ; 
 Just as a rivulet, loving, elated, 
 
 Paused for a moment for strength, ere she sprang 
 Into the arms of Old Ocean, who waited 
 
 To answer the questioning song that I sang. 
 
246 TO SEA. 
 
 Ocean, give ear to the musical waters 
 
 Sliding down hillside, and gliding through lea, 
 
 The bright little brooklet that saucily scatters 
 Sparkling, pure drops, as in prodigal glee, 
 
 And in trustful profusion she pours out for thee 
 
 Her life's blood ! Now, what wilt thou give her, O 
 sea? 
 
 " I will give her my all, my heart and my treasure, 
 And cherish her ever with tenderest care. 
 
 She may float on my bosom, and lie at her leisure 
 In these briny arms : but the sun will not spare 
 
 One so lovely and fair ; some sweet summer-day 
 He will dazzle and charm her, and steal her away. 
 
 "All my life long I am mourning in sorrow, 
 Longing for loves he has taken from me : 
 
 Only the hope of some swift-coming morrow 
 Calms the sad soul of the sullen, salt sea, 
 
 When brooklet and dewdrop, and soft summer rain, 
 May bring to my bosom my darlings again." 
 
 SIMEON TUCKER CLARK. 
 
 TO SEA. 
 
 TO sea, to sea ! The calm is o'er ; 
 The wanton water leaps in sport, 
 And rattles down the pebbly shore ; 
 
 The dolphin wheels, the sea-cows snort, 
 And unseen mermaids' pearly song 
 Comes bubbling up the weeds among. 
 Fling broad the sail, dip deep the oar : 
 To sea, to sea ! The calm is o'er. 
 
A CRY FROM THE SHORE. 247 
 
 To sea, to sea ! Our white-winged bark 
 Shall billowing cleave its watery way, 
 
 And with its shadow, fleet and dark, 
 Break the caved Triton's azure day, 
 
 Like mountain eagle soaring light 
 
 O'er antelopes on Alpine height. 
 
 The anchor heaves, the ship swings free, 
 
 Our sails swell full : to sea, to sea ! 
 
 THOMAS LOVELL BEUDOES. 
 
 A CRY FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 down, ye graybeard mariners, 
 Unto the wasting shore ! 
 The morning winds are up. The gods 
 
 Bid me to dream no more. 
 Come, tell me whither I must sail, 
 
 What peril there may be, 
 
 Before I take my life in hand, 
 
 And venture out to sea." 
 
 " We may not tell thee where to sail, 
 
 Nor what the dangers are : 
 Each sailor soundeth for himself, 
 
 Each hath a separate star. 
 Each sailor soundeth for himself: 
 
 And on the awful sea 
 W 7 hat we have learned is ours alone j 
 
 We may not tell it thee." 
 
 " Come back, O ghostly mariners, 
 
 Ye who have gone before ! 
 I dread the dark, impetuous tides : 
 
 I dread the farther shore. 
 
248 POOR JACK. 
 
 Tell me the secret of the waves ; 
 
 Say what my fate shall be 
 Quick ! for the mighty winds are up, 
 
 And will not wait for me." 
 
 " Hail and farewell, O voyager ! 
 
 Thyself must read the waves : 
 What we have learned of sun and storm 
 
 Lies with us in our graves ; 
 What we have learned of sun and storm 
 
 Is ours alone to know. 
 The winds are blowing out to sea, 
 
 Take up thy life and go ! " 
 
 ELLEN MACKAY HUTCHINSON. 
 
 POOR JACK. 
 
 I. 
 
 GO patter to lubbers and swabs, d'ye see, 
 'Bout danger and fear and the like : 
 A tight water-boat and a good sea-room give me, 
 And t'ent to a little I'll strike. 
 
 Though the tempest topgallant-masts smack smooth 
 
 should smite, 
 
 And shiver each splinter of wood, 
 Clear the wreck, stow the yards, and bowse every thing 
 
 tight, 
 And under reefed foresail we'll scud. 
 
 Avast ! nor don't think me a milk-sop so soft, 
 
 To be taken for trifles aback ; 
 For they say there's a Providence sits up aloft 
 
 To keep watch for the life of poor Jack. 
 
POOR JACK. 249 
 
 II. 
 
 I heard our good chaplain palaver one day 
 
 About souls, heaven, mercy, and such ; 
 And, my timbers ! what lingo he'd coil and belay ! 
 
 Why, 'twas just all as one as High Dutch. 
 
 He said how a sparrow can't founder, d'ye see, 
 
 Without orders that came down below ; 
 And many fine things, that proved clearly to me 
 
 That Providence takes us in tow. 
 
 For says he, do you mind me, let storms e'er so oft 
 
 Take the topsails of sailors aback, 
 There's a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft 
 
 To keep watch for the life of poor Jack. 
 
 in. 
 
 I said to our Poll, for, d'ye see, she would cry 
 
 When last we weighed anchor for sea, 
 "What argufies snivelling, and piping your eye? 
 
 Why, what a damned fool you must be ! 
 
 "Can't you see, the world's wide, and there's room for 
 us all, 
 
 Both for seamen, and lubbers ashore ? 
 And if to old Davy I should go, friend Poll, 
 
 You never will hear of me more. 
 
 " What then ? All's a hazard : come, don't be so soft ; 
 
 Perhaps I may laughing come back ; 
 For d'ye mind, there's a cherub sits smiling aloft 
 
 To keep watch for the life of poor Jack." 
 
250 THE SEA-MAID. 
 
 IV. 
 D'ye mind me, a sailor should be every inch 
 
 All as one as a piece of his ship, 
 And with her brave the world, without offering to flinch 
 
 For the moment the anchor's a-trip. 
 
 As for me, in all weathers, all times, sides, and ends, 
 Nought's a trouble from duty that springs ; 
 
 For my heart is my Poll's, and my rhino's my friend's, 
 And, as for my life, 'tis the king's. 
 
 Even when my time comes, ne'er believe me so soft 
 
 As for grief to be taken aback ; 
 For the same little cherub that sits up aloft 
 
 Will look out a good berth for poor Jack. 
 
 CHARLES DIBDIN. 
 
 THE SEA-MAID. 
 
 A MAIDEN came gliding o'er the sea 
 In a boat as light as boat could be ; 
 And she sang, in tones so sweet and free, 
 " Oh ! where is the youth that will follow me ? " 
 
 Her forehead was white as the pearly shell, 
 And in flickering waves her ringlets fell ; 
 Her bosom heaved with a gentle swell, 
 And her voice was a distant vesper-bell. 
 
 And still she sang, while the western light 
 Fell on her figure so soft and bright, 
 " Oh ! where shall I find the brave young sprite 
 That will follow the track of my skiff to-night?" 
 
SAILING BEYOND SEAS. 251 
 
 To the strand the youths of the village run, 
 When the witching song has scarce begun ; 
 And, ere the set of that evening sun, 
 Fifteen bold lovers the maid has won. 
 
 They hoisted the sail, and they plied the oar, 
 And away they went from their native shore, 
 While the damsel's pinnace flew fast before ; 
 But never, oh, never, we saw them more ! 
 
 JOHN STERLING. 
 
 SAILING BEYOND SEAS. 
 
 METHOUGHT the stars were blinking bright, 
 And the old brig's sails unfurled : 
 I said, " I will sail to my love this night, 
 
 At the other side of the world." 
 I stepped aboard : we sailed so fast 
 The sun shot up from the bourn ; 
 But a dove that perched upon the mast 
 Did mourn, and mourn, and mourn. 
 O fair dove ! O fond dove ! 
 
 And dove with the white fair breast ! 
 Let me alone, the dream is my own, 
 And my heart is full of rest. 
 
 My true love fares on this great hill, 
 
 Feeding his sheep for aye : . 
 I looked in his hut, but all was still ; 
 
 My love was gone away. 
 I went to gaze in the forest-creek, 
 
 And the dove mourned on apace : 
 No flame did flash, no fair blue reek 
 
 Rose up to show me his place. 
 
252 THE STEAMBOAT. 
 
 O last love ! O first love ! 
 
 My love with the true heart ! 
 To think I have come to this your home, 
 
 And yet we are apart ! 
 
 My love ! He stood at my right hand : 
 
 His eyes were grave and sweet. 
 Methought he said, " In this fair land 
 
 Oh ! is it thus we meet? 
 Ah ! maid most dear, I am not here : 
 
 I have no place, no part, 
 No dwelling more by sea or shore, 
 But only in thy heart." 
 
 O fair dove ! O fond dove ! 
 
 Till night rise over the bourn, 
 The dove on the mast, as we sailed fast, 
 Did mourn, and mourn, and mourn. 
 
 JEAN INGELOW. 
 
 THE STEAMBOAT. 
 
 SEE how yon flaming herald treads 
 The ridged and rolling waves, 
 As, crashing o'er their crested heads, 
 
 She bows her surly slaves ! 
 With foam before, and fire behind, 
 
 She rends the clinging sea, 
 That flies before the roaring wind, 
 Beneath her hissing lee. 
 
 The morning spray, like sea-born flowers, 
 
 With heaped and glistening bells, 
 Falls round her fast, in ringing showers, 
 
 With every wave that swells ; 
 
THE STEAMBOAT. 253 
 
 And burning o'er the midnight deep, 
 
 In lurid fringes thrown, 
 The living gems of ocean sweep 
 
 Along her flashing zone. 
 
 With clashing wheel, and lifting keel, 
 
 And smoking torch on high, 
 When winds are loud, and billows reel, 
 
 She thunders foaming by ; 
 When seas are silent and serene, 
 
 With even beam she glides, 
 The sunshine glimmering through the green 
 
 That skirts her gleaming sides. 
 
 Now like & wild nymph, far apart 
 
 She veils her shadowy form, 
 The beating of her restless heart 
 
 Still sounding through the storm ; 
 Now answers, like a courtly dame, 
 
 The reddening surges o'er, 
 With flying scarf of spangled flame, 
 
 The pharos of the shore. 
 
 To-night yon pilot shall not sleep 
 
 Who trims his narrowed sail ; 
 To-night yon frigate scarce shall keep 
 
 Her broad breast to the gale ; 
 And many a foresail, scooped and strained, 
 
 Shall break from yard and stay, 
 Before this smoky wreath has stained 
 
 The rising mist of day. 
 
254 A TUNE ON THE WATER. 
 
 Hark, hark ! I hear yon whistling shroud ; 
 
 I see yon quivering mast : 
 The black throat of the hunted cloud 
 
 Is panting forth the blast ! 
 An hour, and, whirled like winnowing chaff, 
 
 The giant surge shall fling 
 His tresses o'er yon pennon-staff 
 
 White as the sea-bird's wing ! 
 
 Yet rest, ye wanderers of the deep ; 
 
 Nor wind nor wave shall tire 
 Those fleshless arms whose pulses leap 
 
 With floods of living fire : 
 Sleep on, and when the morning light 
 
 Streams o'er the shining bay, 
 Oh, think of those for whom the night 
 
 Shall never wake in day ! 
 
 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 
 
 A TUNE ON THE WATER. 
 
 OH, what a thing 
 Tis for you and for me, 
 On an evening in spring, 
 To sail in the sea ! 
 The little fresh airs 
 Spread their silver wings 
 And o'er the blue pavement ; 
 Dance love-makings : 
 
 To the tune of the waters, and tremulous glee, 
 They strike up a dance to people at sea. 
 
 FRANCESCO REDI. 
 
 TRANSLATION OF LEIGH HUNT. 
 
THE OLD SEAMAN. 255 
 
 THE OLD' SEAMAN. 
 
 YOU ask me why mine eyes are bent 
 So darkly on the sea, 
 While others watch the azure hills 
 That lengthen on the lea. 
 
 The azure hills, they soothe the sight 
 
 That fails along the foam ; . 
 And those may hail their nearing height 
 
 Who there have hope or home. 
 
 But I a loveless path have trod, 
 
 A beaconless career : 
 My hope hath long been all with God ; 
 
 And all my home is here. 
 
 rv. 
 
 The deep by day, the heaven by night, 
 Roll onward swift and dark, 
 
 Nor leave my soul the dove's delight 
 Of olive-branch or ark. 
 
 v. 
 
 For more. than gale, or gulf, or sand, 
 I've proved that there may be 
 
 Worse treachery on the steadfast land 
 Than variable sea ; 
 
256 THE OLD SEAMAN. 
 
 VI. 
 A danger worse than bay or beach, 
 
 A falsehood more unkind, 
 The treachery of a governed speech, 
 
 And an ungoverned mind ; 
 
 VII. 
 
 The treachery of the deadly mart 
 Where human souls are sold ; 
 
 The treachery of the hollow heart 
 That crumbles as we hold. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Those holy hills and quiet lakes 
 Ah ! wherefore should I find 
 
 This weary fever-fit, that shakes 
 Their image in my mind? 
 
 rx. 
 The memory of a streamlet's din 
 
 Through meadows daisy-drest 
 Another might be glad therein, 
 
 And yet I cannot rest. 
 
 x. 
 
 I cannot rest, unless it be 
 
 Beneath the churchyard yew ; 
 
 But God, I think, hath yet for me 
 More earthly work to do. 
 
 XI. 
 
 And therefore with a quiet will 
 
 I breathe the ocean air, 
 And bless the voice that calls me still 
 
 To wander and to bear. 
 
THE SEA-SHELL. 257 
 
 XII. 
 
 Let others seek their native sod 
 
 Who there have hearts to cheer : 
 My soul hath long been given to God, 
 
 And all my home is here. 
 
 JOHN RUSKIN. 
 
 THE SEA-SHELL. 
 
 " T ISTEN, darling, and tell to me 
 
 \^j What the murmurer says to thee, 
 Murmuring 'twixt a song and a moan, 
 Changing neither tune nor tone." 
 
 " Yes, I hear it far and faint, 
 Like thin-drawn prayer or drowsy saint, 
 Like the falling of sleep on a weary brain 
 When the fevered heart is quiet again." 
 
 " By smiling lip and fixed eye, 
 You are hearing more than song or sigh : 
 The wrinkled thing has curious ways 
 I want to know what word it says." 
 
 " I hear a wind on a boatless main 
 
 Sigh like the last of a vanishing pain ; 
 
 On the dreaming waters dreams the moon : 
 
 But I hear no words in their murmured tune." 
 
 " If it does not say that I love thee well, 
 Tis a senseless, ill-curved, worn-out shell : 
 If it is not of love, why sigh or sing? 
 'Tis a common, mechanical, useless thing." 
 
258 FROM "HANDY ANDY." 
 
 " It whispers of love, 'tis a prophet-shell, 
 Of a peace that comes, and all shall be well : 
 It speaks not a word of your love to me, 
 But it tells me to love you eternally." 
 
 GEORGE MACDOXALD. 
 
 FROM " HANDY ANDY." 
 
 " T T /"HAT will you do, love, when I am going, 
 VV With white sail flowing, 
 
 The seas beyond? 
 What will you do, love, when waves divide us, 
 
 And friends may chide us 
 
 For being fond? " 
 
 " Though waves divide us, and friends be chiding, 
 
 In faith abiding, 
 
 I'll still be true ; 
 And I'll pray for thee on the stormy ocean, 
 
 In deep devotion : 
 
 That's what I'll do." 
 
 " What would you do, love, if distant tidings 
 
 Thy fond confidings 
 
 Should undermine, 
 And I, abiding 'neath sultry skies, 
 
 Should think other eyes 
 
 Were as bright as thine ? " 
 
 " Oh, name it not ! Though guilt and shame 
 Were on thy name, 
 I'd still be true ; 
 
SONG. 259 
 
 But that heart of thine should another share it, 
 I could not bear it : 
 What would I do ? " 
 
 " What would you do, love, when home returning, 
 With hopes high burning, 
 With wealth for you, 
 If my bark that bounded on foreign foam 
 Should be lost near home : 
 Ah ! what would you do ? " 
 
 " So thou wert spared, I'd bless the morrow 
 
 In want and sorrow 
 
 That left me you ; 
 And I'd welcome thee from the wasting billow, 
 
 My heart thy pillow : 
 
 That's what I'd do." 
 
 SAMUEL LOVER. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 COOL wind, sweet wind, blowing off the sea, 
 Have you brought from Adelaide the kiss she sent 
 
 to me? 
 
 Adelaide's a little maid, fair as summer skies, 
 All the dew, and all the blue of April, in her eyes. 
 Red her lips like strawberies, or cherries cleft in two ; 
 But never fruit from any root such heavenly sweetness 
 
 drew : 
 
 I who stole a kiss from them, and not so long ago 
 Cool wind, sweet wind, oughtn't I to know? 
 
260 A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA. 
 
 Cool wind, sweet wind, flutter far away ! 
 
 I would rather see the gale that sweeps across the bay ; 
 
 Rather greet snow and sleet, and sullen winter rain, 
 
 Than all the bloom and perfume that follow in your train ; 
 
 For when the winds of winter blow over land and sea, 
 
 Adelaide the little maid, she will marry me : 
 
 Merrily the marriage-bells will sound across the bay 
 
 Cool wind, sweet wind, flutter far away ! 
 
 MARY E. BRADLEY. 
 
 A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA. 
 
 A WET sheet and a flowing sea, 
 A wind that follows fast, 
 And fills the white and rustling sail, 
 
 And bends the gallant mast ; 
 And bends the gallant mast, my boys, 
 
 While, like the eagle free, 
 Away the good ship flies, and leaves 
 Old England on our lee. 
 
 " Oh for a soft and gentle wind ! " 
 
 I heard a fair one cry ; 
 But give to me the snoring breeze, 
 
 And white waves heaving high ; 
 And white waves heaving high, my boys, 
 
 The good ship tight and free : 
 The world of waters is our home, 
 
 And merry men are we. 
 
 There's tempest in yon horned moon, 
 
 And lightning in yon cloud; 
 And hark, the music, mariners ! 
 
 The wind is piping loud ; 
 
THE FISHER'S WEDDING. 261 
 
 The wind is piping loud, my boys, 
 
 The lightning flashes free, 
 The hollow oak our palace is, 
 
 Our heritage the sea. 
 
 ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 THE FISHER'S WEDDING. 
 
 ! heard ye not the wild, wild cry 
 Of the sea-gull flying o'er? 
 And saw ye not the eagle's eye 
 
 Bent seaward from the shore ? 
 Oh ! launch not thou the fishing-boat 
 
 Upon the white-capped sea, 
 But in the harbor safely float, 
 And whisper love to me. 
 
 " Oh ! leave the nets adown the bay ; 
 
 Cast not the boat adrift ; 
 The sea-birds round the mast may play, 
 
 Nor thou the anchor lift." 
 " Nay, Mary, let the waves run high, 
 
 And let the breakers roar ; 
 But I the fisher's craft must ply, 
 
 Nor lag upon the shore." 
 
 Like egg-shell tossed the little bark, 
 
 Like seaman brave toiled he : 
 Down came the tempest fierce and dark, 
 
 Ingulfing land and sea. 
 " O sailor dear ! " sweet Mary cried, 
 
 " In life, in death, I'm thine ; 
 In life or death thy own true bride, 
 
 I pledge this hand of mine. 
 
262 MOUNTAIN AND SEA. 
 
 " I will not sleep in bridal bed, 
 
 No kiss my lips shall know, 
 Till my true lover me shall wed 
 
 In earth or sea below." 
 The reef roared loud ; the storm is past ; 
 
 The drift weed heaped the sand ; 
 The waning moon a pale light cast 
 
 Upon the wreck-strewn strand. 
 
 There came a boat to Mary's feet : 
 
 A net hung round the keel, 
 The mildew clung to riven sheet, 
 
 And rust was on the steel. 
 " My faithful Mary, winsome bride, 
 
 Thus thou shalt wed with me ; " 
 And 'neath the cold moon, side by side, 
 
 They drifted out to sea. 
 
 And ever since, whene'er is heard 
 
 The breaker's muffled roar, 
 A light skiff like a flying bird 
 
 Puts out from off the shore ; 
 And ever since, beneath the sail, 
 
 Two lovers hand in hand, 
 With unreefed canvas bide the gale, 
 
 And never come to land. 
 
 ELIZABETH OAKES SMITH. 
 
 MOUNTAIN AND SEA. 
 
 WHEN gazing on a summer sea 
 Beneath a purple sky, 
 It oft hath seemed a mountain ridge 
 Far rising blue and high. 
 
FROM " LALLA ROOKIL" 263 
 
 Now, gazing inland and afar, 
 
 The thought still comes to me, 
 How much yon distant mountain line 
 
 Is like the dim blue sea. 
 
 When thou art seated by my side 
 
 Loved memories ever rise ; 
 When thou art gone, up swells the tide 
 
 Of those sweet sea-blue eyes. 
 
 CHARLES GODFREY LELAND. 
 
 FROM "LALLA ROOKH." 
 (THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS.) 
 
 T^AREWELL, farewell, to thee, ARABY'S daughter ! 
 \_ (Thus warbled a PERI beneath the dark sea,) 
 No pearl ever lay under OMAN'S green water 
 More pure in its shell than thy spirit in thee. 
 
 Oh ! fair as the sea-flower close to thee growing, 
 How light was thy heart till love's witchery came, 
 
 Like the wind of the south o'er a summer lute blowing, 
 And hushed all its music, and withered its frame ! 
 
 But long upon ARABY'S green, sunny highlands 
 Shall maids and their lovers remember the doom 
 
 Of her who lies sleeping among the Pearl Islands, 
 With nought but the sea-star to light up her tomb. 
 
 And still, when the merry date-season is burning, 
 And calls to the palm-groves the young and the old, 
 
 The happiest there, from their pastime returning 
 At sunset, will weep when thy story is told. 
 
264 SONG. 
 
 The young village-maid, when with flowers she dresses 
 Her dark flowing hair for some festival day, 
 
 Will think of thy fate, till, neglecting her tresses, 
 She mournfully turns from the mirror away. 
 
 Farewell ! be it ours to embellish thy pillow 
 
 With every thing beauteous that grows in the deep : 
 
 Each flower of the rock and each gem of the billow 
 Shall sweeten thy bed, and illumine thy sleep. 
 
 Around thee shall glisten the loveliest amber 
 That ever the sorrowing sea-bird has wept ; 
 
 With many a shell in whose hollow-wreathed chamber 
 We Peris of ocean by moonlight have slept. 
 
 We'll dive where the gardens of coral lie darkling, 
 And plant all the rosiest stems at thy head ; 
 
 We'll seek where the sands of the Caspian are sparkling, 
 And gather their gold to strew over thy bed. 
 
 Farewell, farewell ! until pity's sweet fountain 
 Is lost in the hearts of the fair and the brave, 
 
 They'll weep for the chieftain who died on that mountain, 
 They'll weep for the maiden who sleeps in this wave. 
 
 THOMAS MOORE. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 MY oars keep time to half a rhyme 
 That slips and slides away from me ; 
 Across my mind, like idle wind, 
 A lost thought beateth lazily. 
 
THE NIGHT-BIRD. 265 
 
 Adream, afloat, my little boat 
 
 And I alone steal out to sea : 
 One vanished year, O Lost and Dear ! 
 
 You rowed the little boat for me. 
 
 Ah ! who can sing of any thing 
 With none to listen lovingly ? 
 
 Or who can time the oars to rhyme 
 When left to row alone to sea ? 
 
 ANONYMOUS. 
 
 FROM "LOVE'S WORLD." 
 
 THE sea's my mind, which calm would be, 
 Were it from winds, my passions, free ; 
 But, out alas ! no sea, I find, 
 Is troubled like a lover's mind. 
 Within it rocks and shallows be, 
 Despair and fond credulity. 
 
 SIR JOHN SUCKLING. 
 
 THE NIGHT-BIRD. 
 
 A -FLOATING, a-floating, 
 Across the sleeping sea, 
 All night I heard a singing-bird 
 Upon the topmast-tree. 
 
 " Oh ! came you off the isles of Greece ? 
 
 Or off the banks of Seine ? 
 Or off some tree in forests free 
 
 Which fringe the western main ? " 
 
266 BLACK-EYED SUSAN. 
 
 " I came not off the Old World, 
 
 Nor yet from off the New ; 
 But I am one of the birds of God 
 
 Which sing the whole night through." 
 
 " Oh, sing, and wake the dawning ! 
 
 Oh, whistle for the wind ! 
 The night is long, the current strong : 
 
 My boat it lags behind." 
 
 " The current sweeps the Old World ; 
 
 The current sweeps the New : 
 The wind will blow, the dawn will glow, 
 
 Ere thou hast sailed them through." 
 
 CHARLES KINGSLEY. 
 
 SWEET WILLIAM'S FAREWELL TO BLACK-EYED 
 SUSAN. 
 
 \ LL in the Downs the fleet was moored, 
 _JT\. The streamers waving in the wind, 
 When black-eyed Susan came aboard : 
 
 " Oh ! where shall I my true love find ? 
 Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true, 
 If my sweet William sails among the crew." 
 
 William, who high upon the yard 
 
 Rocked with the billow to and fro, 
 Soon as her well-known voice he heard, 
 
 He sighed, and cast his eyes below. 
 The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands, 
 And quick as lightning on the deck he stands. 
 
BLACK-EYED SUSAN. 267 
 
 So the sweet lark, high poised in air, 
 
 Shuts close his pinions to his breast 
 If chance his mate's shrill call he hear, 
 
 And drops at once into her nest. 
 The noblest captain in the British fleet 
 Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet. 
 
 " O Susan, Susan, lovely dear ! 
 
 My vows shall ever true remain ; 
 Let me kiss oft" that falling tear : 
 
 We only part to meet again. 
 Change as ye list, ye winds, my heart shall be 
 The faithful compass that still points to thee. 
 
 " Believe not what the landmen say 
 
 Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind : 
 
 They'll tell thee, sailors, when away, 
 In every port a mistress find. 
 
 Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so ; 
 
 For thou art present wheresoe'er I go. 
 
 " If to far India's coast we sail, 
 
 Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright, 
 
 Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale, 
 Thy skin is ivory so white : 
 
 Thus every beauteous object that I view 
 
 Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue. 
 
 " Though battle call me from thy arms, 
 
 Let not my pretty Susan mourn : 
 Though cannons roar, yet, safe from harms, 
 
 William shall to his dear return. 
 Love turns aside the balls that round me fly, 
 Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye." 
 
268 SUMMER LONGINGS. 
 
 The boatswain gave the dreadful word, 
 The sails their swelling bosom spread : 
 
 No longer must she stay aboard. 
 
 They kissed, she sighed, he hung his head. 
 
 Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land : 
 
 " Adieu ! " she cries, and waved her lily hand. 
 
 JOHN GAY. 
 
 SUMMER LONGINGS. 
 
 DOWN by the sea, down by the sea, 
 A cool sandy beach lies waiting for me. 
 The waves they may plash, 
 The surf it may dash ; 
 
 Be it sunshine or storm, for my coming they wait : 
 Star-fish and mussel, and sweet-smiling skate 
 All things of the sea 
 Are waiting for me. 
 
 Down by the sea, down by the sea, 
 A breezy piazza, is waiting for me : 
 
 Or iced lemonade, 
 
 Croquet in the shade, 
 
 Or music at nightfall, with lamps on the lawn, 
 Or the surf rolling madly from midnight till dawn 
 
 All joys of the sea 
 
 Are waiting for me. 
 
 Down by the sea, down by the sea, 
 A beautiful maiden is waiting for me : 
 
 I know not her name, 
 
 Nor wherefore she came ; 
 
THE SEA. 269 
 
 But I know by the moon overhead that it shines 
 On the shore where a lady fair wanders and pines, 
 
 (The maiden, you see, 
 
 Who's waiting for me.) 
 
 Down by the sea, down by the sea, 
 
 The morrow shall find me if morrow there be. 
 
 I'll stay there a while, 
 
 And live in her smile ; 
 Enjoy the piazza., the surf, and the plash ; 
 Be happy, so happy ! then, quite out of cash, 
 
 Come back from the shore 
 
 To the dusty old store, 
 
 And see her no more. 
 Heigho ! 
 
 ANONYMOUS. 
 
 THE SEA. 
 (THE LOVER.) 
 
 YOU stooped, and picked a red-lipped shell 
 Beside the shining sea : 
 " This little shell, when I am gone, 
 
 Will whisper still of me." 
 I kissed your hands upon the sands, 
 For you were kind to me. 
 
 I hold the shell against my ear, 
 
 And hear its hollow roar : 
 It speaks to me about the sea, 
 
 But speaks of you no more. 
 I pace the sands, and wring my hands, 
 
 For you are kind no more. 
 
 RICHARD HENRY STODDARD. 
 
270 THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS. 
 
 THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS. 
 
 THIS is the shij^of pearl, which, poets feign, 
 Sails the unshadowed main, 
 The venturous bark that flings 
 On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings 
 In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings, 
 
 And coral-reefs lie bare, 
 Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair. 
 
 Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl : 
 
 Wrecked is the ship of pearl ! 
 
 And every chambered cell, 
 Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell, 
 As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell, 
 
 Before thee lies revealed, 
 Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed. 
 
 Year after year beheld the silent toil 
 That spread his lustrous coil. 
 Still, as the spiral grew, 
 He left the past year's dwelling for the new, 
 Stole with soft step its shining archway through, 
 
 Built up its idle door, 
 
 Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no 
 more. 
 
 Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, 
 
 Child of the wandering sea, 
 
 Cast from her lap forlorn ! 
 From thy dead lips a clearer note is born 
 Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn. 
 
THE LONG WHITE SEAM. 271 
 
 While on mine ear it rings, 
 
 Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that 
 sings : 
 
 " Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul ! 
 
 As the swift seasons roll ; 
 
 Leave thy low-vaulted past ! 
 Let each new temple, nobler than the last, 
 Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, 
 
 Till thou at length art free, 
 Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea ! " 
 
 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 
 
 THE LONG WHITE SEAM. 
 
 AS I came round the harbor-buoy, 
 The lights began to gleam ; 
 No wave the land-locked harbor stirred ; 
 
 The crags were white as cream ; 
 And I marked my love by candle-light 
 Sewing her long white seam. 
 
 It's aye sewing ashore, my dear, 
 
 Watch and steer at sea ; 
 It's reef and furl and haul the line, 
 Set sail, and think of thee. 
 
 I climbed to reach her cottage -door : 
 
 Oh, sweetly my love sings ; 
 Like a shaft of light her voice breaks forth ; 
 
 My soul to meet it springs, 
 As the shining water leaped of old 
 
 When stirred by angel wings. 
 
272 THE WAVES. 
 
 Aye longing to list anew, 
 Awake and in my dream ; 
 
 But never a song she sang like this, 
 Sewing her long white seam. 
 
 Fair fall the lights, the harbor-lights, 
 
 That brought me in to thee ; 
 And peace drop down on that low roof 
 
 For the sight that I did see, 
 And the voice, my dear, that rang so clear, 
 All for the love of me. 
 
 For oh, for oh ! with brows bent low, 
 
 By the candle's flickering gleam, 
 Her wedding-gown it was she wrought, 
 Sewing the long white seam. 
 
 JEAN INGELOW. 
 
 THE WAVES. 
 
 CHILDREN are we 
 Of the restless sea : 
 Swelling in anger, or sparkling in glee, 
 We follow our race, 
 In shifting chase, 
 Over the boundless ocean-space. 
 Who hath beheld where the race begun? 
 Who shall behold it run? 
 Who shall behold it run? 
 
 When the smooth airs keep 
 Their noontide sleep, 
 We dimple the cheek of the dreaming deep 
 
O _ 
 
 3 
 
 A B: 
 
 1 I 
 
 n crq 
 
THE WAVES. 273 
 
 When the rough winds come 
 
 From their cloudy home 
 At the tap of the hurricane's thunder-drum, 
 Deep are the furrows of wrath we plough, 
 
 Ridging his darkened brow, 
 
 Ridging his darkened brow. 
 
 Over us born, 
 
 The unclouded Morn 
 Trumpets her joy with the Triton's horn, 
 
 And sun and star 
 
 By the thousand are 
 Orbed in our glittering near and far ; 
 And the splendor of heaven, the pomp of day, 
 
 Shine in our laughing spray, 
 
 Shine in our laughing spray. 
 
 We murmur our spell 
 
 Over sand and shell ; 
 We girdle the reef with a combing swell ; 
 
 And, bound in the vise 
 
 Of the arctic ice, 
 
 We build us a palace of grand device, 
 Walls of crystal, and splintered spires, 
 
 Flashing with diamond fires, 
 
 Flashing with diamond fires. 
 
 In the endless round 
 
 Of our motion and sound 
 The fairest dwelling of beauty is found ; 
 
 And, with voice of strange 
 
 And solemn change, 
 The elements speak in our world-wide range, 
 
274 THE SEA. 
 
 Harping the terror, the might, the mirth, 
 Sorrows and hopes of earth, 
 Sorrows and hopes of earth. 
 
 BAYARD TAYLOR. 
 
 THE SEA. 
 
 r I A HE sea is a jovial comrade : 
 
 JL He laughs wherever he goes ; 
 And the merriment shines in the dimpling lines 
 
 That wrinkle his hale repose. 
 He lays himself down at the feet of the sun, 
 
 And shakes all over with glee ; 
 And the broad-backed billows fall faint on the shore 
 
 In the mirth of the mighty sea. 
 
 But the wind is sad and restless, 
 
 And cursed with an inward pain : 
 You may hark as you will, by valley or hill, 
 
 But you hear him still complain. 
 'He sobs in the barren mountains, 
 
 And wails on the wintry sea ; 
 He shrieks in the cedar, and moans in the pine, 
 
 And shudders all over the aspen-tree. 
 
 Welcome are both their voices ! 
 
 And I know not which is best, 
 The laughter that slips from ocean's lips, 
 
 Or the comfortless wind's unrest. 
 There's a pang in all rejoicing, 
 
 A joy in the heart of pain ; 
 And the wind that saddens, the sea that gladdens, 
 
 Are singing the selfsame strain. 
 
 " BARKY CORNWALL." 
 
THE STANDING TOAST. 275 
 
 THE STANDING TOAST. 1 
 
 THE moon on the ocean was dimmed by a ripple, 
 Affording a checkered delight ; 
 The gay, jolly tars passed the word for the tipple 
 
 And the toast, for 'twas Saturday night ; 
 Some sweetheart or wife that he loved as his life 
 
 Each drank, while he wished he could hail her : 
 But the standing toast that pleased the most 
 
 Was, The wind that blows, the ship that goes, 
 And the lass that loves a sailor ! 
 
 n. 
 
 Some drank the king and his brave ships ; 
 
 And some, the constitution ; 
 Some, May our foes, and all such rips, 
 
 Own English resolution ! 
 That fate might bless some Poll or Bess, 
 
 And that they soon might hail her : 
 But the standing toast, etc. 
 
 in. 
 
 Some drank our queen ; and some, our land, 
 
 Our glorious land of freedom ; 
 Some, that our tars may never stand 
 
 For heroes brave to lead 'em ; 
 That beauty in distress might find 
 
 Such friends as ne'er would fail her : 
 But the standing toast, etc. 
 
 CHARLES DIBDIN. 
 1 The last song .written by Mr. Dibdin. 
 
276 THE MERMAIDEN. 
 
 THE MERMAIDEN. 
 
 HE was a prince with golden hair, 
 (In a palace beside the sea,) 
 And I but a poor mermaiden ; 
 And how should he care for me ? 
 
 Last summer I came, in the long blue nights, 
 
 To sit in the cool sea- caves : 
 Last summer he came to count the stars 
 
 From his terrace above the waves. 
 
 There's nothing so fair in the sea down there 
 
 As the light on his golden tresses : 
 There's nothing so sweet as his voice, ah ! nothing 
 
 So warm as the warmth of his kisses. 
 
 I could not help but love him, love him, 
 
 Till my love grew pain to me ; 
 And to-morrow he weds the princess 
 
 In that palace beside the sea. 
 
 " OWEN MKKKIMTH." 
 
 FOUR SONGS TO THE SEA. 
 
 I SANG a song in my childish glee 
 To the shining sea, beautiful sea. 
 Barefoot running in the sand, 
 Tossing pebbles on the strand, 
 This is the song I sang to the sea ; 
 This is the answer that came to me. 
 
FOUR SONGS TO THE SEA. 277 
 
 " Send rippling waves to kiss my feet, 
 And I will give a kiss to thee : 
 I know that you will gladly greet 
 A happy little child like me." 
 
 " I'll send the softest waves with joy, 
 And music sweet by breezes fanned; 
 For the rough sea of life, my boy, 
 Hath depths you cannot understand." 
 
 I sang in youth a song to the sea, 
 To the restless sea, the changing sea. 
 
 Listening to the dashing waves, 
 
 Echoing from ocean-caves, 
 This is the reckless song that I sang ; 
 This is the answer that ever rang. 
 
 " Thy angry waves bare rocks may beat, 
 The cold shore lash, till time shall end, 
 Wreck on thy reefs an hundred fleet, 
 If fortune's ship to me you'll send." 
 
 " I'll send the ship you ask of me, 
 With treasures from an unseen land. 
 The sea of life disturbeth thee : 
 Its depths youth cannot understand." 
 
 Again I sang a song to the sea, 
 To the raging sea, the terrible sea. 
 Listening to the thundering tide, 
 Wrecks and death on every side, 
 I madly sang a song to the sea : 
 This quieting answer came to me. 
 
278 SONG. 
 
 " Where is my ship, O treacherous main? 
 My brain is wild in life's mad race : 
 I call to thee, false sea, again ; 
 I turn in anger from thy face." 
 
 " Thy ship will come as I have told ; 
 Impatience only sorrow brings : 
 Pray listen to the story old, 
 Celestial treasures have not wings." 
 
 An aged man I sang to the sea, 
 The peaceful sea, the wonderful sea. 
 
 Standing on the shore alone, 
 
 Listening to the undertone, 
 My farewell song I sang to the sea : 
 This comforting answer came to me. 
 
 " The ship you promised long ago 
 I dimly see now coming in ; 
 Fair winds at length propitious blow : 
 I wonder where my ship has been." 
 
 " The pearls of wisdom, virtues rare, 
 Love and trust that God has given, 
 Your worn, long-coming life-ship bear : 
 These are your passport into heaven." 
 
 HENRY C. HAYDEN. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 (FROM "THE TEMPEST.") 
 
 FULL fathom five thy father lies ; 
 Of his bones are coral made ; 
 Those are pearls that were his eyes : 
 Nothing of him that doth fade, 
 
THE STORM. 279 
 
 But doth suffer a sea-change 
 Into something rich and strange. 
 Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell : 
 
 Ding-dong. 
 Hark ! now I hear them ding-dong bell. 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 THE STORM. 
 
 HE tempest rages wild and high ; 
 1 The waves lift up their voice, and cry 
 Fierce answers to the angry sky 
 
 Miserere Dotnine. 
 
 Through the black night and driving rain 
 A ship is struggling, all in vain, 
 To live upon the stormy main 
 
 Miserere Domine. 
 
 The thunders roar, the lightnings glare ; 
 Vain is it now to strive or dare : 
 A cry goes up of great despair 
 
 Miserere Dotnine. 
 
 The stormy voices of the main, 
 The moaning winds and pelting rain, 
 Beat on the nursery window-pane 
 
 Miserere Domine. 
 
 Warm-curtained was the little bed, 
 Soft-pillowed was the little head : 
 "The storm will wake the child," they said 
 Miserere Domine. 
 
280 OVER THE SEA. 
 
 Cowering among his pillows white, 
 
 He prays, his blue eyes dim with fright, 
 
 " Father, save those at sea to-night ! " 
 
 Miserere Do mine. 
 
 The morning shone, all clear and gay, 
 On a ship at anchor in the bay, 
 And on a little child at play 
 
 Gloria tibi Domine. 
 
 ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER. 
 
 OVER THE SEA. 
 
 OVER the sea, over the sea ; 
 Oh, but my heart is over the sea ! 
 Northern wind, northern wind, oh, might I be 
 Borne on thy shrilling blast 
 Over the sea ! 
 
 Over the sea, over the sea ; 
 
 Oh, but her heart is over the sea ! 
 Northward the white sails go, northward to me. 
 
 Oh, but she longs to fly 
 Over the sea ! 
 
 WILLIAM C. BENNETT. 
 
 THE SEA. 
 
 OSEA ! in evening's glow, 
 Upon thy tranquil breast, 
 After long storm and woe, 
 I breathe a heavenly rest. 
 
THE SAILORS WIFE. 281 
 
 Thy troubled heart forgets 
 
 The weary war of yore : 
 Its moans and drear regrets 
 
 Are melody once more. 
 
 Barely one voiceless thought 
 
 May through the spirit float, 
 As on the silent sea 
 
 A solitary boat. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN. 
 
 TRANSLATED BY M. C. PIKE. 
 
 THE SAILOR'S WIFE. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 T'VE a letter from thy sire, 
 JL Baby mine, baby mine ! 
 I can read and never tire, 
 
 Baby mine ! 
 
 He is sailing o'er the sea, 
 He is coming back to thee, 
 He is coming home to me, 
 
 Baby mine ! 
 
 He's been parted from us long, 
 Baby mine, baby mine ! 
 
 But if hearts be true and strong, 
 Baby mine ! 
 
 They shall brave misfortune's blast, 
 
 And be overpaid at last 
 
 For all pain and sorrow passed, 
 Baby mine ! 
 
282 THE SAILOR'S WIFE. 
 
 Oh, I long to see his face, 
 
 Baby mine, baby mine ! 
 In his old accustomed place, 
 
 Baby mine ! 
 
 Like the rose of May in bloom, 
 Like a star amid the gloom, 
 Like the sunshine in the room, 
 Baby mine ! 
 
 Thou wilt see him and rejoice, 
 Baby mine, baby mine ! 
 Thou wilt know him by his voice, 
 
 Baby mine ! 
 
 By his love-looks that endear, 
 By his laughter ringing clear, 
 By his eyes that know not fear, 
 Baby mine ! 
 
 I'm so glad, I cannot sleep, 
 
 Baby mine, baby mine ! 
 I'm so happy, I could weep, 
 
 Baby mine ! 
 
 He is sailing o'er the sea, 
 He is coming home to me, 
 He is coming back to thee, 
 Baby mine ! 
 
 PART ir. 
 
 O'er the blue ocean gleaming 
 
 She sees a distant ship, 
 As small to view 
 As the white sea-mew 
 
 Whose wings the billows dip. 
 
THE SAILOR'S WIFE. 283 
 
 " Blow, favoring gales, in her answering sails, 
 
 Blow steadily and free ! 
 
 Rejoicing, strong, 
 
 Sing a song 
 
 Her rigging and her spars among, 
 And waft the vessel in pride along, 
 That bears my love to me." 
 
 Nearer ! still nearer driving, 
 The white sails grow and swell ; 
 
 Clear to her eyes 
 
 The pennant flies, 
 And the flag she knows so well. 
 " Blow, favoring gales, in her answering sails ! 
 
 Waft him, O gentle sea ! 
 
 And still, O heart ! 
 
 Thy fluttering start : 
 
 Why throb and beat as thou wouldst part, 
 When all so happy and blessed thou art ? 
 
 He comes again to thee ! " 
 
 The swift ship drops her anchor; 
 A boat puts off for shore ; 
 
 Against its prow 
 
 The ripples flow 
 
 To the music of the oar. 
 " And art thou here, my own, my dear, 
 Safe from the perilous sea? 
 
 Safe, safe at home, 
 
 No more to roam ! 
 
 Blow tempests blow, my love has come, 
 And sprinkle the clouds with your dashing foam : 
 He shall part no more from me." 
 
 CHARLES MACKAY. 
 
284 THE BO ATI E ROWS. 
 
 THE BOATIE ROWS. 
 
 OH ! weel may the boatie row, 
 And better may she speed, 
 And lissome may the boatie row, 
 That wins the bairnies' bread. 
 The boatie rows, the boatie rows, 
 
 The boatie rows indeed ; 
 And weel may the boatie row 
 That wins the bairnies' bread ! 
 
 I coost my line in Largo Bay, 
 
 And fishes I catched nine : 
 'Twas three to boil, and three to fry, 
 
 And three to bait the line. 
 The boatie rows, the boatie rows, 
 
 The boatie rows indeed ; 
 And happy be the lot o' a' 
 
 Wha wishes her to speed ! 
 
 Oh ! weel may the boatie row 
 
 That fills a heavy creel, 
 And deeds us a' frae tap to tae, 
 
 And buys our parritch-meal. 
 The boatie rows, the boatie rows, 
 
 The boatie rows indeed ; 
 And happy be the lot o' a' 
 
 That wish the boatie speed ! 
 
 When Jamie vowed he wad be mine, 
 And wan frae me my heart, 
 
 Oh ! muckle lighter grew my creel : 
 He swore we'd never part. 
 
A SEA-SONG. 285 
 
 The boatie rows, the boatie rows, 
 
 The boatie rows fu' weel ; 
 And muckle lighter is the load 
 
 When love bears up the creel. 
 
 My kurtch I put upo' my head, 
 
 And dressed myseF fu' braw : 
 I trow my heart was dough and wae 
 
 When Jamie gade awa'. 
 But weel may the boatie row, 
 
 And lucky be her part ; 
 And lightsome be the lassie's care 
 
 That yields an honest heart ! 
 
 UNKNOWN. 
 
 A SEA-SONG. 
 
 , make for me a little song," 
 'Twas so a spirit said to me, 
 "And make it just four verses long, 
 And make it sweet as it can be, 
 And make it all about the sea. 
 
 " Sing me about the wild, waste shore, 
 Where, long and long ago, with me 
 
 You watched the silver sails that bore 
 The great, strong ships across the sea, 
 The blue, the bright, the boundless sea. 
 
 " Sing me about the plans we planned, 
 How one of those good ships should be 
 
 My way to find some flowery land 
 Away beyond the misty sea, 
 Where always you should live with me. 
 
286 5 TORM- WA VES. 
 
 " Sing, lastly, how our hearts were caught 
 Up into heaven, because that we 
 
 Knew not the flowery land we sought 
 Lay all beyond that other sea, 
 That soundless, sailless, solemn sea." 
 
 ALICE GARY. 
 
 STORM-WAVES. 
 
 WITH thunderous voice, and grand, unflinching 
 might, 
 
 The huge foam-crested surges beat the shore : 
 Far inland sounds their deep, sonorous roar, 
 A fitting music for the storm-filled night. 
 Their phosphor fires shine out with lurid light, 
 As on the reef in giant troops they pour, 
 Making grand echoes, that majestic soar 
 Through wind-tossed glooms, in wide extended flight. 
 A palpitant darkness fills the depths of space ; 
 And ships speed by, their wet and straining sails 
 Throwing grim shadows where the beacon's flare 
 Through driving sprays holds a fantastic chase ; 
 And vague heard meanings of long-vanished gales 
 With their weird murmurs freight the writhing air. 
 
 THOMAS S. COLLIER. 
 
 THE VARIOUS ASPECTS OF THE SEA. 
 (FROM "THE BOROUGH.") 
 
 TURN to the watery world ! but who to thee 
 (A wonder yet unviewed) shall paint the sea? 
 Various and vast, sublime in all its forms, 
 When lulled by zephyrs, or when roused by storms, 
 
YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND. 287 
 
 Its colors changing, when from clouds and sun 
 
 Shades after shades upon the surface run ; 
 
 Imbrowned and horrid now, and now serene 
 
 In limpid blue and evanescent green ; 
 
 And oft the foggy banks on ocean lie, 
 
 Lift the fair sail, and cheat the experienced eye. 
 
 Be it the summer noon : a sandy space 
 The ebbing tide has left upon its place ; 
 Then just the hot and stony beach above, 
 Like twinkling streams in bright confusion move ; 
 (For, heated thus, the warmer air ascends, 
 And with the cooler in its fall contends ;) 
 Then the broad bosom of the ocean keeps 
 An equal motion, swelling as it sleeps, 
 Then slowly sinking ; curling to the strand, 
 Faint, lazy waves o'ercreep the ridgy sand, 
 Or tap the tarry boat with gentle blow, 
 And back return in silence, smooth and slow. 
 Ships in the calm seem anchored ; for they glide 
 On the still sea, urged solely by the tide. 
 Art thou not present, this calm scene before, 
 Where all beside is pebbly length of shore, 
 And far as eye can reach, it can discern no more ? 
 
 GEORGE CRABBE. 
 
 YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND. 
 
 YE mariners of England, 
 That guard our native seas, 
 Whose flag has braved a thousand years 
 The battle and the breeze, 
 Your glorious standard launch again 
 To match another foe, 
 
288 YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND. 
 
 As ye sweep through the deep 
 While the stormy winds do blow ; 
 While the battle rages loud and long, 
 And the stormy winds do blow. 
 
 The spirits of your fathers 
 
 Shall start from every wave ; 
 
 For the deck it was their field of fame, 
 
 And ocean was their grave : 
 
 Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell, 
 
 Your manly hearts shall glow, 
 
 As ye sweep through the deep 
 
 While the stormy winds do blow ; 
 
 While the battle rages loud and long, 
 
 And the stormy winds do blow. 
 
 Britannia needs no bulwarks, 
 
 No towers along the steep : 
 
 Her march is o'er the mountain waves, 
 
 Her home is on the deep. 
 
 With thunders from her native oak 
 
 She quells the floods below, 
 
 As they roar on the shore, 
 
 When the stormy winds do blow ; 
 
 When the battle rages loud and long, 
 
 And the stormy winds do blow. 
 
 The meteor flag of England 
 Shall yet terrific burn, 
 Till danger's troubled night depart, 
 And the star of peace return. 
 Then, then, ye ocean warriors, 
 Our song and feast shall flow 
 
THE OLD COMMODORE. 289 
 
 To the fame of your name, 
 When the storm has ceased to blow ; 
 When the fiery fight is, heard no more, 
 And the storm has ceased to blow. 
 
 THOMAS CAMPBELL. 
 AT SEA. 
 
 THE sea is like a mirror far and near, 
 And ours a prosperous voyage, safe from harms ; 
 Yet may the thought that everlasting arms 
 Are round us and about us, be as dear 
 Now, when no sight of danger doth appear, 
 As though our vessel did its blind way urge 
 Mid the long weltering of the dreariest surge 
 Through which a perishing bark did ever steer. 
 Lord of the calm and tempest, be it ours, 
 Poor mariners ! to pay due vows to thee, 
 Though not a cloud on all the horizon lowers 
 Of all our life ; for even this way shall we 
 Have greater boldness toward thee when indeed 
 The storm is up, and there is earnest need. 
 
 ARCHBISHOP TRENCH. 
 
 THE OLD COMMODORE. 
 
 'T^HE gallant frigate that bore his flag 
 _L When storm and battle were wild and strong, 
 At her heavy moorings doth stoutly drag, 
 
 As tides go sweeping her sides along : 
 Her hull is battered, her spars a-wreck, 
 
 Her stranded cordage flies in the breeze ; 
 The splintered planks of her oaken deck 
 
 Are fragrant with sprays from many seas. 
 
290 CALM AND COLD. 
 
 Her tall masts point to the purple sky, 
 
 Nor bow to the rush of passing years ; 
 Through her open ports the low winds sigh, 
 
 And mourn for the cannon's roar, the cheers, 
 The clashing of blades, the thud of shot, 
 
 The tempest surging amid the shrouds, 
 The glory of battles now forgot, 
 
 And the fading dark of vanished clouds. 
 
 Ah, the Commodore is gray and old, 
 
 Like the ship whose fame is growing dim ; 
 And evening's treasure of flame and gold, 
 
 And its rest and quiet, are given him. 
 But his spirit still the old time craves, 
 
 The cyclone's breath on the southern sea, 
 And the roar of phosphor-gleaming waves, 
 
 Where rocks gloomed under a brave ship's lee. 
 
 Now three lines tell of his famous fight, 
 
 Once blazoned broad on many a page ; 
 But his eye still shows the victor's light, 
 
 Though white his hair with the snow of age ; 
 And should the foe, with his iron ships, 
 
 Bear fiercely down on our native shore, 
 None would front their cannons' frowning lips 
 
 With braver cheer than the Commodore. 
 
 THOMAS S. COLLIER. 
 
 CALM AND COLD. 
 
 BREAK into spray, and fly, and fill the air 
 With ghastly mist that freezes ere it falls, 
 O struggling waves ! whom not the wind appalls, 
 Nor all the wrestling tempests overbear, 
 
A TROPICAL MORNING AT SEA. 291 
 
 But secret fear, lest, pausing weary there, 
 
 Instead of peace, renewing whom it calls, 
 
 The subtle cold, that levels and inthralls, 
 
 Should creep and find, and bind you unaware. 
 
 And what were worse, than, smoothly calm and cold, 
 
 Wrapt in false peace, to fancy strife is o'er, 
 
 Forget the woes that all the winds deplore, 
 
 Forget the cares that all the clouds infold, 
 
 And watch, nor wait for changes as of old, 
 
 And feel the movement of the world no more ! 
 
 ROBERT K. WEEKS. 
 
 A TROPICAL MORNING AT SEA. 
 
 SKY in its lucent splendor lifted 
 Higher than cloud can be ; 
 Air with no breath of earth to stain it, 
 Pure on the perfect sea ; 
 
 Crests that touch and tilt each other, 
 
 Jostling as they comb ; 
 Delicate crash of tinkling water, 
 
 Broken in pearling foam. 
 
 Flashings, or is it the pine- wood's whispers, 
 
 Babble of brooks unseen, 
 Laughter of winds when they find the blossoms, 
 
 Brushing aside the green ? 
 
 Waves that dip and dash and sparkle ; 
 
 Foam-wreaths slipping by, 
 Soft as a snow of broken roses 
 
 Afloat over mirrored sky. 
 
292 A TROPICAL MORNING AT SEA. 
 
 Off to the east the steady sun-track 
 
 Golden meshes fill, 
 Webs of fire, that lace and tangle, 
 
 Never a moment still. 
 
 Liquid palms but clap together ; 
 
 Fountains, flower-like, grow 
 Limpid bells on stems of silver 
 
 Out of a slope of snow ; 
 
 Sea-depths, blue as the blue of violets, 
 
 Blue as a summer sky 
 When you blink at its arch sprung over 
 
 Where in the grass you lie. 
 
 Dimly an orange bit of rainbow 
 Burns where the low west clears, 
 
 Broken in air, like a passionate promise 
 Born of a moment's tears. 
 
 Thinned to amber, rimmed with silver, 
 Clouds in the distance dwell, 
 
 Clouds that are cool, for all their color, 
 Pure as a rose-lipped shell. 
 
 Fleets of wool in the upper heavens 
 
 Gossamer wings unfurl ; 
 Sailing so high they seem but sleeping 
 
 Over yon bar of pearl. 
 
 What would the great world lose, I wonder 
 Would it be missed, or no 
 
 If we staid in the opal morning, 
 Floating forever so ? 
 
SONG. 293 
 
 Swung to sleep by the swaying water, 
 
 Only to dream all day 
 Blow, salt wind from the north up-starting, 
 
 Scatter such dreams away. 
 
 E. R. SILL. 
 AT SEA. 
 
 WIDE sweeps of gold, that stream along the sea 
 To where blue water meets the azure sky, 
 
 And break in radiant gems, that flashing lie 
 Upon the waves ; a bird that flies a-lee, 
 With all the ocean's vastness to him free ; 
 
 A tall white sail, telling the searching eye 
 
 Of fellow-mortals who are passing by ; 
 And crested waves, whereof the sun is free ; 
 And in the west a mass of clouds, that rise 
 
 Fringed with the amber light that through their rifts 
 
 Comes in broad columns ; while, like shadows dark, 
 The seaweed, from some reef that far off lies, 
 Through the cool silence of the water drifts 
 
 Fathoms below the swift keel of our bark. 
 
 THOMAS S. COLLIER. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 LIKE a fettered boat that pants and pulls, 
 And struggles to be free, 
 When the wind is up, and the whirling gulls 
 Are wild with ecstasy, 
 Is my heart apart from thee. 
 
 Like a boat that leans, that leaps, that flies, 
 
 That sings along the sea, 
 
 With a sunny shower of drops that rise 
 
294 FAREWELL. 
 
 And fall melodiously, 
 
 Is my heart, sweetheart, is my heart, 
 
 Is my heart approaching thee. 
 
 ROBERT K. WEEKS. 
 
 FAREWELL. 
 
 FAREWELL, farewell ! Her vans the vessel tries, 
 His iron might the potent engine plies : 
 Haste, winged words, and, ere 'tis useless, tell, 
 Farewell, farewell, yet, once again, farewell. 
 
 The docks, the streets, the houses, past us fly ; 
 Without a strain the great ship marches by : 
 Ye fleeting banks, take up the words we tell, 
 And say for us yet once again, Farewell. 
 
 The waters widen : on without a strain 
 
 The strong ship- moves upon the open main ; 
 
 She knows the seas, she hears the true waves swell, 
 
 She seems to say, Farewell, again, farewell. 
 
 The billows whiten, and the deep seas heave : 
 Fly once again, sweet words, to her I leave ; 
 With winds that blow return, and seas that swell, 
 Farewell, farewell, say, once again, farewell. 
 
 Fresh in my face, and rippling to my feet, 
 
 The winds and waves an answer soft repeat : 
 
 In sweet, sweet words, far brought, they seem to tell, 
 
 Farewell, farewell, yet, once again, farewell. 
 
 Night gathers fast. Adieu, thou fading shore 1 
 The land we look for next must lie before : 
 
'A DEPARTING SHIP. 295 
 
 Hence, foolish tears ! weak thoughts, no more rebel 
 Farewell, farewell, a last, a last farewell. 
 
 Yet not, indeed, ah ! not till more than sea, 
 And more than space, divide my love and me, 
 Till more than winds and waves between us swell, 
 Farewell, a last, indeed a last farewell. 
 
 ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH. 
 A DEPARTING SHIP. 
 
 A COOL, wide stretch of ocean lies 
 Along the sunlit, shining land ; 
 And cloudless depths of purple skies 
 Bend down on either hand. 
 
 Dim woods show dark on yonder height, 
 And gray rocks crown a rugged steep ; 
 
 And, glowing in the golden light, 
 A ship sails o'er the deep. 
 
 I sit and wonder of her fate, 
 
 To what far country is she bound, 
 If favoring winds will for her wait, 
 
 Or storms surge wildly round. 
 
 I gaze upon the tropic sea 
 
 That parts before her rapid way ; 
 I hear the cyclones whistle free 
 
 Among the driving spray. 
 
 Far off, where burns the Southern Cross, 
 She rounds a tempest-haunted cape ; 
 
 Black waves against its masses toss ; 
 Black clouds its cold rocks drape. 
 
296 MUSIC IN THE AIR. 
 
 Palm-crowned the distant islands lie ; 
 
 The murmurous waves sing soft and low, 
 As, while the fragrant winds sweep by, 
 
 They slowly ebb and flow. 
 
 The shores are rich with radiant blooms ; 
 
 And vague and deep the coral- sprays 
 Amid the silent opal-glooms 
 
 Their snowy whiteness raise. 
 
 Here, like a misty cloud that pales 
 
 When morning's glory through the night 
 
 Sends far its amber beams, her sails 
 Pass utterly from sight. 
 
 The lonely water sinks and swells ; 
 
 The gray gulls linger near the shore ; 
 Their low cries sound like sad farewells, 
 
 Will she come back no more ? 
 
 THOMAS S. COLLIER. 
 
 MUSIC IN THE AIR. 
 
 OH, listen to the howling sea 
 That beats on the remorseless shore ! 
 Oh, listen ! for that sound shall be 
 
 When our wild hearts shall beat no more. 
 
 Oh, listen well, and listen long ! 
 
 For, sitting folded close to me, 
 You could not hear a sweeter song 
 
 Than that hoarse murmur of the sea. 
 
 GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS. 
 
THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. 297 
 
 THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. 
 
 LONG time ago, from Amsterdam a vessel sailed 
 away, 
 
 As fair a ship as ever flung aside the laughing spray. 
 Upon the shore were tearful eyes, and scarfs were in the 
 
 air, 
 As to her, o'er the Zuyder Zee, went fond adieu and 
 
 prayer ; 
 
 And brave hearts, yearning shoreward from the outward- 
 going ship, 
 
 Felt lingering kisses clinging still to tear-wet cheek and lip. 
 She steered for some far eastern clime; and, as she 
 
 skimmed the seas, 
 
 Each taper mast was bending like a rod before the breeze. 
 Her captain was a stalwart man, an iron heart had he ; 
 From childhood's days he sailed upon the rolling Zuyder 
 
 Zee: 
 He nothing feared upon the earth, and scarcely Heaven 
 
 feared ; 
 He would have dared and done whatever mortal man 
 
 had dared. 
 
 He looked aloft, where high in air the pennant cut the blue, 
 And every rope and spar and sail was firm and strong 
 
 and true. 
 He turned him from the swelling sail to gaze upon the 
 
 shore ; 
 Ah ! little thought the skipper then, 'twould meet his eye 
 
 no more : 
 He dreamt not that an awful doom was hanging o'er his 
 
 ship ; 
 That Vanderdecken's name would yet make pale the 
 
 speaker's lip. 
 
298 THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. 
 
 The vessel bounded on her way, and spire and dome 
 
 went down : 
 Ere darkness fell, beneath the wave had sunk the distant 
 
 town. 
 No more, no more, ye hapless crew, shall Holland meet 
 
 your eye. 
 In lingering hope and keen suspense, maid, wife, and 
 
 child shall die. 
 
 Away, away, the vessel speeds, till sea and sky alone 
 Are round her, as her course she steers across the torrid 
 
 zone, 
 Away, until the North Star fades, the Southern Cross is 
 
 high, 
 And myriad gems of brightest beam are sparkling in the 
 
 sky. 
 The tropic winds are left behind ; she nears the Cape of 
 
 Storms, 
 
 Where awful Tempest ever sits enthroned in wild alarms ; 
 Where Ocean in his anger shakes aloft his foamy crest, 
 Disdainful of the weakly toys that ride upon his breast. 
 Fierce swell the winds and waters round the Dutchman's 
 
 gallant ship ; 
 But to their rage, defiance rings from Vanderdecken's 
 
 lip: 
 Impotent they to make him swerve ; their might he dares 
 
 despise, 
 As straight he holds his onward course, and wind and 
 
 wave defies. 
 For days and nights he struggles in the weird, unearthly 
 
 fight. 
 His brow is bent, his eye is fierce, but looks of deep 
 
 affright 
 
THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. 299 
 
 Amongst the mariners go round, as hopelessly they steer : 
 
 They do not dare to murmur, but they whisper what they 
 fear. 
 
 Their black-browed captain awes them : 'neath his dark- 
 ened eye they quail, 
 
 And in grim and sullen mood their bitter fate bewail. 
 
 As some fierce rider ruthless spurs a timid, wavering 
 horse, 
 
 He drives his shapely vessel, and they watch the reckless 
 course, 
 
 Till once again their skipper's laugh is flung upon the 
 blast : 
 
 The placid ocean smiles beyond, the dreaded Cape is 
 passed. 
 
 Away across the Indian main the vessel northward glides ; 
 A thousand murmuring ripples break along her graceful 
 
 sides ; 
 The perfumed breezes fill her sails ; her destined port she 
 
 nears ; 
 The captain's brow has lost its frown, the mariners their 
 
 fears. 
 " Land ho ! " at length the welcome sound the watchful 
 
 sailor sings ; 
 
 And soon within an Indian bay the ship at anchor swings. 
 Not idle, then, the busy crew : ere long, the spacious 
 
 hold 
 Is emptied of its western freight, and stored with silk and 
 
 gold. 
 Again the ponderous anchor's weighed ; the shore is left 
 
 behind ; 
 The snowy sails are bosomed out before the favoring 
 
 wind. 
 
300 THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. 
 
 Across the warm, blue Indian Sea the vessel southward 
 flies, 
 
 And once again the North Star fades, and Austral bea- 
 cons rise. 
 
 For home she steers : she seems to know and answer to 
 the word, 
 
 And swifter skims the burnished deep, like some fair 
 ocean-bird. 
 
 " For home ! for home ! " the merry crew with gladsome 
 voices cry, 
 
 And dark-browed Vanderdecken has a mild light in his 
 eye. 
 
 But once again the Cape draws near, and furious billows 
 rise, 
 
 And still the daring Dutchman's laugh the hurricane defies. 
 
 But wildly shrieked the tempest ere the scornful sound 
 had died, 
 
 A warning to the daring man to curb his impious pride. 
 
 A crested mountain struck the ship, and like a frighted 
 bird 
 
 She trembled 'neath the awful shock. Then Vander- 
 decken heard 
 
 A pleading voice within the gale his better angel spoke, 
 
 But fled before his scowling look, as mast-high mountains 
 broke 
 
 Around the trembling vessel, till the crew with terror paled ; 
 
 But Vanderdecken never flinched, nor 'neath the thun- 
 ders quailed. 
 
 With folded arms and stern-pressed lips, dark anger in 
 his eye, 
 
 He answered back the threatening frown that lowered 
 o'er the sky. 
 
THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. 301 
 
 With fierce defiance in his heart, and scornful look of flame, 
 He spoke, and thus with impious voice blasphemed God's 
 
 holy name : 
 " Howl on, ye winds ! ye tempests, howl ! your rage is 
 
 spent in vain : 
 Despite your strength, your frowns, your hate, I'll ride 
 
 upon the main. 
 
 Defiance to your idle shrieks ! I'll sail upon my path. 
 I cringe not for thy Maker's smile, I care not for his 
 
 wrath ! " 
 
 He ceased. An awful silence fell : the tempest and the sea 
 Were hushed in sudden stillness by the Ruler's dread 
 
 decree. 
 
 The ship was riding motionless within the gathering gloom ; 
 The Dutchman stood upon the poop, and heard his 
 
 dreadful doom. 
 The hapless crew were on the deck in swooning terror 
 
 prone : 
 
 They, too, were bound in fearful fate. In angered thun- 
 der-tone 
 The judgment words swept o'er the sea : " Go, wretch, 
 
 accursed, condemned ! 
 Go sail forever on the deep, by shrieking tempests 
 
 hemmed ! 
 No home, no port, no calm, no rest, no gentle favoring 
 
 breeze, 
 Shall ever greet thee. Go, accurst ! and battle with the 
 
 seas; 
 Go, braggart ! struggle with the storm, nor ever cease to 
 
 live, 
 But bear a million times the pangs that death and fear 
 
 can give. 
 
302 THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. 
 
 Away ! and hide thy guilty head, a curse to all thy kind 
 
 Who ever see thee struggling, wretch, with ocean and 
 with wind. 
 
 Away, presumptuous worm of earth ! Go teach thy 
 fellow-worms 
 
 The awful fate that waits on him who braves the King of 
 storms ! " 
 
 'Twas o'er. A lurid lightning-flash lit up the sea and 
 sky 
 
 Around and o'er the fated ship ; then rose a wailing cry 
 
 From every heart within her, of keen anguish and de- 
 spair ; 
 
 But mercy was for them no more it died away in air. 
 
 Once more the lurid light gleamed out the ship was 
 still at rest, 
 
 The crew were standing at their posts : with arms across 
 his breast 
 
 Still stood the captain on the poop, but, bent and crouch- 
 ing now, 
 
 He bowed beneath that fiat dread, and o'er his swarthy 
 brow 
 
 Swept lines of anguish, as if he a thousand years of pain 
 
 Had lived and suffered. Then across the heaving, angry 
 main 
 
 The tempest shrieked triumphant, and the angry waters 
 hissed 
 
 Their vengeful hate against the toy they oftentimes had 
 kissed. 
 
 And ever through the midnight storm that hapless crew 
 must speed : 
 
 They try to round the stormy Cape, but never can suc- 
 ceed. 
 
THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. 303 
 
 And oft when gales are wildest, and the lightning's vivid 
 
 sheen 
 Flashes back the ocean's anger, still the Phantom Ship 
 
 is seen, 
 Ever sailing to the southward in the fierce tornado's 
 
 swoop, 
 With her ghostly crew and canvas, and her captain on 
 
 the poop, 
 
 Unrelenting, unforgiven ; and 'tis said that every word 
 Of his blasphemous defiance still upon the gale is heard. 
 But Heaven help the ship near which the dismal sailor 
 
 steers ! 
 The doom of those is sealed to whom that Phantom Ship 
 
 appears : 
 They'll never reach their destined port, they'll see their 
 
 homes no more : 
 They who see the Flying Dutchman never, never, reach 
 
 the shore. 
 
 JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY. 
 
URF-EDGES. 
 
 " No more, no more, no more " 
 (Such language holds the solemn sea 
 To the sands upon the shore.) 
 
 EDGAR ALLAN POE: To One in Paradise, St. iii. 
 
SURF. 
 
 OPLENDORS of morning the billow-crests brighten, 
 O Lighting and luring them on to the land, 
 Far-away waves where the wan vessels whiten, 
 
 Blue rollers breaking in surf where we stand. 
 Curved like the necks of a legion of horses, 
 
 Each with his froth-gilded mane flowing free, 
 Hither they speed in perpetual courses, 
 
 Bearing thy riches, O beautiful sea ! 
 
 Strong with the striving of yesterday's surges, 
 
 Lashed by the wanton winds leagues from the shore, 
 Each, driven fast by its follower, urges 
 
 Fearlessly those that are fleeting before : 
 How they leap over the ridges we walk on, 
 
 Flinging us gifts from the depths of the sea, 
 Silvery fish for the foam -haunting falcon, 
 
 Palm-weed and pearls for my darling and me ! 
 
 Light falls her foot where the rift follows after, 
 Finer her hair than your feathery spray, 
 
 Sweeter her voice than your infinite laughter. 
 Hist ! ye wild couriers, list to my lay ! 
 
 307 
 
308 AFTER THE STORM. 
 
 Deep in the chambers of grottos auroral 
 
 Morn laves her jewels, and bends her red knee : 
 
 Thence to my dear one your amber and coral 
 Bring for her dowry, O beautiful sea ! 
 
 EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN. 
 
 AFTER THE STORM. 
 
 " QWEETHEART, the storm is over, 
 O Come watch the waves with me : " 
 
 So I said to my baby-lover, 
 And led him down to the sea. 
 
 There the wild sea surged in fury 
 
 As far as sight could reach, 
 While the breakers hurled their passion 
 
 In white foam on the beach. 
 
 And the ceaseless song that the waters 
 
 Are sounding night and day 
 Was blent with the shriek of the tempest 
 
 And the dashing of the spray. 
 
 But the warrior-sun, victorious 
 
 At the portals of the night, 
 Wide flinging his crimson banners, 
 
 Had whelmed the storm with light. 
 
 A sight sublime and solemn, 
 
 As stern and glad as life : 
 So I bade the child be silent, 
 
 To watch the dying strife. 
 
AFTER THE STORM. 309 
 
 For I thought, " Our heavenly Father 
 
 Now speaks to man, his child. 
 Not only in calm and sunshine, 
 
 But in flood and tempest wild, 
 
 " His love has its lesson for us, 
 
 Our waiting hearts to cheer : 
 Blest are the eyes that see him ; 
 
 Blest are the ears that hear ! " 
 
 So I lost myself in dreaming, 
 
 With eyes on the sea's blue rim ; 
 But the child, with his soft child-fingers, 
 
 Drew down my face to him ; 
 
 And prattled the baby-nonsense 
 
 That is more than sense to the wise, 
 
 With only a glance for the ocean, 
 A.nd a smile for the burning skies. 
 
 " Yes, darling," I said, " but listen ; 
 
 The night is too grand for speech : 
 Hark to the voice of the waters, 
 
 And learn the wonders they teach." 
 
 But ever the dainty fingers 
 
 Were busy with my face ; 
 And the brook-like murmur paused not 
 
 In its quaint, bewitching grace. 
 
 Vainly I turned to seaward ; 
 
 For all that I could hear 
 Was the sweet voice, saying, " I love you ; " 
 
 Then I bowed to the word in fear, 
 
310 THE SEA. 
 
 In fear lest the earthly grandeur, 
 
 And clouds in sunset piled, 
 Had dimmed for me the glory 
 
 That shone in the heart of the child. 
 
 " Darling," I cried, " I yield me ! 
 
 Ah-, dull and deaf and blind, 
 To turn to nature's beauty, 
 
 From the blessing of my kind ! 
 
 " God's love, in truth, is in all things, 
 
 But most in the soul of man ; 
 And one smile of your eyes is better 
 
 Than the. best that the cold earth can ! " 
 
 MARION L. PELTON. 
 
 THE SEA. 
 
 FOR, lo ! the Sea that fleets about the land, 
 And like a girdle clips her solid waist, 
 Music and measure both doth understand ; 
 
 For his great crystal eye is always cast 
 Up to the Moon, and on her fixed fast. 
 And as she danceth in her pallid sphere, 
 
 So danceth he about the centre here. 
 
 
 
 Sometimes his proud green waves, in order set, 
 
 One after other flow into the shore, 
 Which when they have with many kisses wet, 
 
 They ebb away in order, as before ; 
 And, to make known his courtly love the more, 
 He oft doth lay aside his three-forkt mace, 
 And with his arms the timorous Earth embrace. 
 
 JOHN DAVIES. 
 
THE SAILORS WIFE. 311 
 
 THE SAILOR'S WIFE. 
 
 AND are ye sure the news is true ? 
 And are ye sure he's weel? 
 Is this a time to think o' wark? 
 
 Ye jades, lay by your wheel ! 
 Is this the time to spin a thread, 
 
 When Colin's at the door? 
 Reach down my cloak : I'll to the quay, 
 
 And see him come ashore. 
 For there's nae luck about the house, 
 
 There's nae luck at a', 
 There's little pleasure in the house, 
 
 When our gudeman's awa'. 
 
 And gie to me my bigonet, 
 
 My bishop's-satin gown ; 
 For I maun tell the baillie's wife 
 
 That Colin's in the town. 
 My Turkey slippers maun gae on, 
 
 My stockin's pearly blue : 
 It's a' to pleasure our gudeman, 
 
 For he's baith leal and true. 
 
 Rise, lass, and mak' a clean fireside ; 
 
 Put on the muckle pot ; 
 Gie little Kate her button-gown, 
 
 And Jock his Sunday coat ; 
 And make their shoon as black as slaes, 
 
 Their hose as white as snaw : 
 It's a' to please my ain gudeman, 
 
 For he's been long awa'. 
 
312 THE SAILORS WIFE. 
 
 There's twa fat hens upo' the coop 
 
 Been fed this month and mair ; 
 Mak' haste and thraw their necks about, 
 
 That Colin weel may fare ; 
 And spread the table neat and clean, 
 
 Gar ilka thing look braw ; 
 For wha can tell how Colin fared 
 
 When he was far awa' ? 
 
 Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech, 
 
 Hrs breath like caller air ; 
 His very foot has music in't 
 
 As he comes up the stair. 
 And will I see his face again ? 
 
 And will I hear him speak? 
 I'm downright? dizzy wi' the thought : 
 
 In troth, I'm like to greet. 
 
 If Colin's weel, and weel content, 
 
 I hae nae mair to crave ; 
 And, gin I live to keep him sae, 
 
 I'm blest aboon the lave. 
 And will I see his face again? 
 
 And will I hear him speak? 
 I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought : 
 
 In troth, I'm like to greet. 
 For there's nae luck about the house, 
 
 There's nae luck at a', 
 There's little pleasure in the house, 
 
 When our gudeman's awa'. 
 
 WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE. 
 
THE SIRENS. 3 T 3 
 
 THE SIRENS. 
 
 THE sea is lonely, the sea is dreary, 
 The sea is restless and uneasy ; 
 Thou seekest quiet, thou art weary, 
 Wandering thou knowest not whither ; 
 Our little isle is green and breezy : 
 Come rest thee ! Oh ! come hither ; 
 Come to this peaceful home of ours, 
 
 Where evermore 
 
 The low west wind creeps panting up the shore, 
 To be at rest among the flowers ; 
 Full of rest, the green moss lifts, 
 
 As the dark waves of the sea 
 Draw in and out of rocky rifts, 
 
 Calling solemnly to thee 
 With voices deep and hollow, 
 
 " To the shore 
 Follow, oh, follow ! 
 To be at rest forevermore 
 Forevermore." 
 
 Look how the gray old Ocean 
 From the depth of his heart rejoices, 
 Heaving with a gentle motion, 
 When he hears our restful voices ; 
 List how he sings in an undertone, 
 Chiming in with our melody ; 
 And all sweet sounds of earth and air 
 Melt into one low voice alone, 
 That murmurs over the weary sea, 
 And seems to sing from everywhere, 
 " Here mayst thou harbor peacefully ; 
 
314 THE SIRENS. 
 
 Here mayst thou rest from the aching oar ; 
 
 Turn thy curved prow ashore, 
 And in our green isle rest forevermore 
 
 Forevermore." 
 
 And Echo half wakes in the wooded hill, 
 And, to her heart so calm and deep, 
 Murmurs over in her sleep, 
 Doubtfully pausing and murmuring still, 
 " Evermore." 
 Thus on life's weary sea 
 Heareth the marinere 
 Voices sweet, from far and near, 
 Ever singing low and clear, 
 Ever singing longingly. 
 
 Is it not better here to be 
 Than to be toiling late and soon ? 
 In the dreary night to see 
 Nothing but the blood-red moon 
 Go up and down into the sea ; 
 Or in the loneliness of day 
 
 To see the still seals only 
 Solemnly lift their faces gray, 
 
 Making it yet more lonely ? 
 Is it not better than to hear 
 Only the sliding of the wave 
 Beneath the plank, and feel so near 
 A cold and lonely grave, 
 A restless grave, where thou shalt lie 
 Even in death imquietly ? 
 Look down beneath thy wave-worn bark ; 
 
 Lean over the sea, and see 
 
THE SIRENS. 315 
 
 The leaden eye of the sidelong shark 
 
 Upturned patiently, 
 Ever waiting there for thee : 
 Look down and see those shapeless forms 
 Which ever keep their dreamless sleep 
 Far down within the gloomy deep, 
 And only stir themselves in storms, 
 Rising like islands from beneath, 
 And snorting through the angry spray, 
 As the frail vessel perisheth 
 In the whirls of their unwieldy play : 
 
 Look down, look down ! 
 Upon the seaweed, slimy and dark, 
 That waves its arms so lank and brown, 
 
 Beckoning for thee \ 
 
 Look down beneath thy wave-worn bark 
 Into the cold depth of the sea : 
 Look down, look down ! 
 
 Thus on life's lonely sea 
 Heareth the marinere 
 Voices sad, from far and near, 
 Ever singing, full of fear, 
 Ever singing drearfully. 
 
 Here all is pleasant as a dream : 
 The wind scarce shaketh down the dew ; 
 The green grass floweth like a stream 
 Into the ocean's blue : 
 
 Listen, oh, listen ! 
 Here is a gush of many streams, 
 
 A song of many birds, 
 And every wish and longing seems 
 Lulled to a numbered flow of words, 
 
316 THE SAILOR'S MOTHER. 
 
 Listen, oh, listen ! 
 
 Here ever hum the golden bees 
 
 Underneath full-blossomed trees, 
 
 At once with glowing fruit and flowers crowned. 
 
 The sand is so smooth, the yellow sand, 
 
 That thy keel will not grate as it touches the land ; 
 
 All around, with a slumberous sound, 
 
 The singing waves slide up the strand ; 
 
 And there, where the smooth wet pebbles be, 
 
 The waters gurgle longingly, 
 
 As if they fain would seek the shore, 
 
 To be at rest from the ceaseless roar, 
 
 To be at rest, forevermore 
 Forevermore. 
 Thus on life's gloomy sea, 
 Heareth the marinere 
 Voices sweet, from far and near, 
 Ever singing in his ear, 
 " Here is rest and peace for thee." 
 
 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
 
 o 1 
 
 THE SAILOR'S MOTHER. 
 
 k NE morning (raw it was and wet, 
 
 A foggy day in winter-time), 
 A woman on the road I met, 
 Not old, though something past her prime ; 
 Majestic in her person, tall and straight ; 
 And like a Roman matron's was her mien and gait. 
 
 The ancient spirit is not dead : 
 
 Old times, thought I, are breathing there. 
 
THE SAILOR'S MOTHER. 317 
 
 Proud was I that my country bred 
 Such strength, a dignity so fair. 
 She begged an alms, like one in poor estate : 
 I looked at her again, nor did my pride abate. 
 
 When from those lofty thoughts I woke, 
 "What is it," said I, "that you bear 
 Beneath the covert of your cloak, 
 Protected from this cold, damp air ?" 
 She answered, soon as she the question heard, 
 "A simple burthen, sir, a little singing-bird." 
 
 And, thus continuing, she said, 
 " I had a son, who many a day 
 Sailed on the seas ; but he is dead. 
 In Denmark he was cast away ; 
 And I have travelled weary miles to see 
 If aught which he had owned might still remain for me. 
 
 " The bird and cage, they both were his : 
 Twas my son's bird ; and neat and trim 
 He kept it. Many voyages 
 The singing-bird had gone with him : 
 When last he sailed, he left the bird behind, 
 From bodings, as might be, that hung upon his mind. 
 
 " He to a fellow-lodger's care 
 Had left it, to be watched and fed, 
 And pipe its song in safety : there 
 I found it when my son was dead. 
 And now God help me for my little wit ! 
 I bear it with me, sir, he took so much delight in it." 
 
 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 
 
31 8 THE SONG OF THE SEA. 
 
 THE SONG OF THE SEA. 
 
 I HAVE heard the awful song 
 Which the Sea is ever singing ; 
 The tender, merciless song 
 
 Which to all the lands is ringing : 
 " Come unto me," 
 Saith the awful Sea, 
 " And I will give you rest. 
 It is better to die than to live ; 
 It is sweeter to sleep than to grieve : 
 
 So come and sleep on my breast." 
 The faces under the earth and sea 
 Seem more patient, and joyful too, to me, 
 Than those that dwell on the smiling earth, 
 And sail on the smiling sea. 
 " Come unto me," 
 Saith the awful Sea, 
 " And I will give you rest. 
 A little struggle at first, of course, 
 A little gasping for one more breath, 
 A little agony, nothing worse, 
 
 And then the long, sweet sleep of death." 
 
 n. 
 
 This is the awful song 
 
 Which the Sea is ever singing ; 
 The tender, merciless song 
 
 Which to all the lands is ringing. 
 Oh ! the Ocean murdereth tenderly 
 
 With soft blue waves which a child might love ; 
 
THE SONG OF THE SEA. 319 
 
 Only they creep so very near, 
 
 And close so strong above ; 
 Gently forcing the struggles by, 
 
 Gently stealing away the breath, 
 Gently closing the mouth and eye, 
 
 Till the struggling face grows white in death. 
 And then, when the strong and terrible Sea 
 
 Hath wrought its awful will, 
 It catcheth the poor form to its breast, 
 
 And husheth it very still ; 
 In the winding water's waving flow, 
 Swaying it softly to and fro 
 As the smiles of the great Sea come and go, 
 With a hushing, tender, motherly motion, 
 The awful, tender, merciless Ocean, 
 
 And singing the old, old song 
 
 Which the Sea hath chanted long : 
 " It is better to die than to live, 
 It is sweeter to sleep than to grieve : 
 
 So death is the kiss I give." 
 
 in. 
 
 And thus when we sail on the sounding sea, 
 
 Far out of sight of land, 
 And on the gray watch-towers in the sky 
 
 The stars come out to stand, 
 In the quiet, waving motion we feel 
 That the dead people lying far under the keel 
 
 Are swaying softly to and fro 
 
 As the smiles of the great Sea come and go. 
 Very quiet and glad they must be, 
 Cradled so deep in the gentle sea ; 
 
320 ON THE CLIFF. 
 
 For no man ever goes down in wrath, 
 By the wandering, waving, shifting path, 
 
 To trouble them in their home ; 
 Only sometimes a quiet drowned guest 
 Comes slowly down to share their rest. 
 
 For in answer to the song 
 
 Which the Sea has chanted long, 
 Sailors and women silently come 
 
 Through the winding waters now and then ; 
 
 And the great Sea murmurs, " Amen, amen ! " 
 In the pauses of its song. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The faces under the earth and sea 
 
 Are more patient, and joyful too, than we : 
 
 For the grace of Christ on many a face 
 
 Maketh a light in the dim death-place ; 
 
 And swaying softly to and fro 
 
 As the smiles of the great Sea come and go, 
 
 Lies a fairer smile on the white, locked face, 
 
 As if it, in some matchless mystery, 
 Were 'ware of the spirit standing high 
 Above all waves in the starry sky, 
 
 On the silent crystal sea. 
 
 MRS. B. McANDREW. 
 
 ON THE CLIFF. 
 
 SEE where the crest of the long promontory, 
 Decked by October in crimson and brown, 
 Lies like the scene of some fairy-land story, 
 Over the sands to the deep sloping down ; 
 
THE TIDE-ROCK. 321 
 
 See the white mist on the hidden horizon 
 Hang like the folds of the curtain of fate ; 
 
 See where yon shadow the green water flies on, 
 Cast from a cloud for the conclave too late. 
 
 See the small ripples in curving ranks chasing 
 
 Every light breeze running out from the shore, 
 Gleeful as children when merrily racing, 
 
 Hand interlocked, o'er a wide meadow-floor ; 
 See round the pier how the tossing wave sparkles, 
 
 Bright as the hope in a love-lighted breast ; 
 See the one sail in the sunlight that darkles, 
 
 Laboring home from the lands of the west. 
 
 See the low surf where it restlessly tumbles, 
 
 Swiftly advancing, and then in retreat ; 
 See how the tall cliff yields slowly, and crumbles, 
 
 Sliding away to the gulfs at our feet. 
 Sure is thy victory, emblem of weakness ; 
 
 Certain thine overthrow, ponderous wall : 
 Brittle is sternness, but mighty is meekness, 
 
 O wave that will conquer ! O cliff that must fall ! 
 
 ROSSITER JOHNSON. 
 
 THE TIDE-ROCK. 
 
 HOW sleeps yon rock, whose half-day's bath is done, 
 With broad bright side beneath the broad bright sun, 
 Like sea-nymph tired, on cushioned mosses sleeping ! 
 Yet nearer draw : beneath her purple tresses 
 From drooping brows we find her slowly weeping. 
 
 CHARLES KINGSLEY. 
 
322 FROM "DRIFT: 
 
 FROM "DRIFT." 
 
 THE breakers come and the breakers go 
 Along the silvery sand, 
 With a changing line of feathery snow 
 Between the water and the land. 
 
 Seaweeds gleam in the sunset light, 
 
 On the ledges of wave-worn stone, 
 Orange and crimson, purple and white, 
 
 In regular windrows strewn. 
 
 The waves grow calm in the dusk of eve, 
 When the wind goes down with the sun : 
 
 So fade the smiles of those who deceive 
 When the coveted heart is won. 
 
 The seaweed wreath that hangs on the wall, 
 
 She twined one day by the sea : 
 Of the weeds, and the waves, and her love, it is all 
 
 That the past has left to me ! 
 
 GEORGE ARNOLD. 
 
 EBB AND FLOW. 
 
 I WALKED beside the evening sea, 
 And dreamed a dream that could not be 
 The waves that plunged along the shore 
 Said only, " Dreamer, dream no more." 
 
 But still the legions charged the beach; 
 And rang their battle-cry, like speech : 
 But changed was the imperial strain ; 
 It murmured, " Dreamer, dream again." 
 
FROM " LUCILE." 323 
 
 I homeward turned from out the gloom : 
 That sound I heard not in my room, 
 But suddenly a sound that stirred 
 Within my very breast I heard. 
 
 It was my heart, that like a sea 
 
 Within my breast beat ceaselessly ; 
 
 But, like the waves along the shore, 
 
 It said, " Dream on ! " and " Dream no more ! " 
 
 GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS. 
 
 FROM "LUCILE." 
 (PART n. CANTO 6.) 
 
 MARK yon ship far away, 
 Asleep on the wave, in the last light of day, 
 With all its hushed thunders shut up ! Would you know 
 A thought which came to me a few days ago, 
 Whilst watching those ships ? . . . When the great Ship 
 
 of Life, 
 
 Surviving, though shattered, the tumult and strife 
 Of earth's angry element, masts broken short, 
 Decks drenched, bulwarks beaten, drives safe into port ; 
 When the Pilot of Galilee, seen on the strand, 
 Stretches over the waters a welcoming hand ; 
 When, heeding no longer the sea's baffled roar, 
 The mariner turns to his rest evermore, 
 What will then be the answer the helmsman must give ? 
 Will it be? " Lo, our log-book ! Thus once did we live 
 In the zones of the South ; thus we traversed the seas 
 Of the Orient ; there dwelt in the Hesperides ; 
 Thence followed the west wind ; here eastward we turned ; 
 The stars failed us there ; just here land we discerned 
 
324 BABETTE. 
 
 On our lee ; there the storm overtook us at last ; 
 That day went the bowsprit, the next day, the mast ; 
 There the mermen came round us, and there we saw bask 
 A siren." The Captain of port, will he ask 
 Any one of such questions ? I cannot think so. 
 But " What is the last bill of health you can show? " 
 Not, "How fared the soul through the trials she passed? " 
 But, " What is the state of that soul at the last ? " 
 
 OWEN MEREDITH. 
 
 BABETTE. 
 
 ALONE ; and the golden waters 
 Are rippling to the west ; 
 And the chime from St. Roch's belfry 
 
 Dies on the ocean's breast ; 
 And the dimpled waves are rocking 
 The fishers' barks to rest. 
 
 " Babette, Babette ! " the mother calls, 
 
 Far up above the strand, 
 " Bring in your father's nets, my child, 
 
 And lend your little hand 
 To turn the wheel ; nor linger there 
 
 So long upon the strand." 
 
 The sun is sinking in the sea 
 In crimson robes and gold : 
 
 A chilly breath the ocean stirs, 
 And roughs her ringlets gold ; 
 
 It feels to her like a farewell kiss 
 From lips now dead and cold. 
 
BABETTE. 325 
 
 The yellow light is on the wall, 
 
 The sea-wall old, and gray 
 With weed and lichen, mantled all 
 
 In sober-hued array. 
 The children on the pier above 
 
 Are laughing in their play. 
 
 The quaint old red-roofed clustered town 
 
 Looks downward on the wave ; 
 That sea from which her wistful eye 
 
 Some answer seems to crave ; 
 That sea which took her love away, 
 
 And gave her back a grave. 
 
 Oh, eyes that once so lightly laughed ! 
 
 Oh, sad, sweet lips apart, 
 Once crushed with passionate kisses when 
 
 He held her on his heart ! 
 That day she stood this wall beneath 
 
 To see her lover start ; 
 
 To say again the last " God speed ! " 
 
 And wave her 'kerchief white, 
 And smile in hope. Ah ! God, who raised 
 
 Those breakers wild and white, 
 And bade the tempest to arise 
 
 And rage that livelong night, 
 
 And smote the little quivering bark, 
 
 And tore the planks in twain, 
 Deal gently with the broken heart 
 
 Of her, who all in vain 
 Poured out her soul in fervent prayer 
 
 Her love to see again. 
 
326 THE MAID OF ISLA. 
 
 No, not in vain. The morning dawned, 
 
 The sunshine glittered fair, 
 And bathed in light a battered corpse, 
 
 A gleam of golden hair : 
 God only heard the cry of her 
 
 Who found him lying there. 
 
 ANONYMOUS. 
 
 THE MAID OF ISLA. 
 
 OMAID of Isla ! from the cliff 
 That looks on troubled wave and sky, 
 Dost thou not see yon little skiff 
 Contend with ocean gallantly? 
 Now beating 'gainst the breeze and surge, 
 And steeped her leeward deck in foam, 
 Why does she war unequal urge ? 
 O Isla's maid ! she seeks her home. 
 
 O Isla's maid ! yon sea-bird mark : 
 
 Her white wing gleams through mist and spray 
 Against the storm-cloud, lowering dark, 
 
 As to the rock she wheels away : 
 Where clouds are dark, and billows rave, 
 
 Why to the shelter should she come 
 Of cliff exposed to wind and wave? 
 
 O maid of Isla ! 'tis her home. 
 
 As breeze and tide to yonder skiff, 
 Thou'rt adverse to the suit I bring, 
 
 And cold as is yon wintry cliff, 
 
 Where sea-birds close their wearied wing. 
 
THE DEAD HAND. 327 
 
 Yet cold as rock, unkind as wave, 
 Still, Isla's maid, to thee I come ; 
 
 For in thy love, or in his grave, 
 Must Allan Vourich find his home. 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 THE DEAD HAND. 
 
 E witch-ladye walked along the strand, 
 Heard a roaring of the sea ; 
 On the edge of a pool saw a dead man's hand, 
 Good for a witch-ladye. 
 
 Light she stepped across the rocks, 
 
 Came where the dead man lay : 
 " Now, maiden fair, with your merry mocks, 
 
 Now I shall have my way." 
 
 On his finger gleamed a sapphire blue : 
 " Oh, that's my ring ! " she said ; 
 
 " And back I take my promise true, 
 For the old love is dead." 
 
 She took the dead hand in the live, 
 
 And at the ring drew she ; 
 But the dead hand closed witli its fingers five, 
 
 And they held the witch-ladye. 
 
 Cold, cold, with death, came up the tide, 
 
 In no manner of haste ; 
 Up to her knees, and up to her side, 
 
 Up to her wicked waist. 
 
328 SKIPPER BEN. 
 
 And over the blue sea went the bride, 
 
 All in her true love's ship ; 
 And up and up came the blue tide 
 
 Over the witch's lip. 
 
 For the hand of the dead and the heart of the dead 
 
 Are strong hasps they to hold : 
 The new love went with the fair, fair maid, 
 
 And left the witch with the old. 
 
 GEORGE MACDONALD. 
 
 SKIPPER BEN. 
 
 SAILING away ! 
 Losing the breath of the shores in May, 
 Dropping down from the beautiful bay, 
 Over the sea-slope vast and gray. 
 And the skipper's eyes with a mist are blind ; 
 For a vision comes on the rising wind, 
 Of a gentle face that he leaves behind, 
 And a heart that throbs through the fog-bank dim, 
 Thinking of him. 
 
 Far into night 
 
 He watches the gleam of the lessening light 
 Fixed on the dangerous island height 
 That bars the harbor he loves from sight. 
 And he wishes, at dawn, he could tell the tale 
 Of how they had weathered the south-west gale, 
 To brighten the cheek that had grown so pale 
 With a wakeful night among spectres grim, 
 
 Terrors for him. 
 
SKIPPER BEN. 329 
 
 Yo-heave-yo ! 
 
 Here's the Bank where the fishermen go. 
 Over the schooner's side they throw 
 Tackle and bait to the deeps below. 
 And Skipper Ben in the water sees, 
 When its ripples curl to the light land-breeze, 
 Something that stirs like his apple-trees, 
 And two soft eyes that beneath them swim, 
 
 Lifted to hirn. 
 
 Hear the wind roar, 
 
 And the rain through the slit sails tear and pour ! 
 " Steady ! we'll scud by the Cape Ann shore, 
 Then hark to the Beverly bells once more ! " 
 And each man worked with the will of ten ; 
 While up the rigging, now and then, 
 The lightning glared in the face of Ben, 
 Turned to the black horizon's rim, 
 
 Scowling on him. 
 
 Into his brain 
 
 Burned with the iron of hopeless pain, 
 Into thoughts that grapple, and eyes that strain, 
 Pierces the memory, cruel and vain. 
 Never again shall he walk at ease 
 Under the blossoming apple-trees 
 That whisper and sway in the sunset breeze, 
 While the soft eyes float where the sea-gulls skim, 
 
 Gazing with him. 
 
 How they went down 
 Never was known in the still old town. 
 Nobody guessed how the fisherman brown, 
 With the look of despair that was half a frown, 
 
330 THE WATCH OF BOON ISLAND. 
 
 Faced his fate in the furious night, 
 Faced the mad billows with hunger white, 
 Just within hail of the beacon-light 
 That shone on a woman sweet and trim, 
 \Taiting for him. 
 
 Beverly bells, 
 
 Ring to the tide as it ebbs and swells ! 
 His was the anguish a moment tells, 
 The passionate sorrow death quickly knells. 
 But the wearing wash of a lifelong woe 
 Is left for the desolate heart to know, 
 Whose tides with the dull years come and go, 
 Till hope drifts dead to its stagnant brim, 
 
 Thinking of him. 
 
 LUCY LARCOM. 
 
 THE WATCH OF BOON ISLAND. 
 
 THEY crossed the lonely and lamenting sea : 
 Its moaning seemed but singing. " Wilt thou 
 dare," 
 
 He asked her, " brave the loneliness with me ? " 
 "What loneliness," she said, "if thou art there?" 
 
 Afar and cold on the horizon's rim 
 
 Loomed the tall lighthouse, like a ghastly sign : 
 They sighed not as the shore behind grew dim ; 
 
 A rose of joy they bore across the brine. 
 
 They gained the barren rock, and made their home 
 Among the wild waves and the sea-birds wild : 
 
 The wintry winds blew fierce across the foam, 
 But in each other's eyes they looked and smiled. 
 
THE WATCH OF BOON ISLAND. 331 
 
 Aloft the lighthouse sent its warnings wide, 
 
 Fed by their faithful hands ; and ships in sight 
 
 With joy beheld it ; and on land men cried, 
 
 " Look, clear and steady burns Boon-Island Light ! " 
 
 And while they trimmed the lamp with busy hands, 
 "Shine far and through the dark, sweet light," they 
 cried ; 
 
 " Bring safely back the sailors from all lands 
 To waiting love, wife, mother, sister, bride ! " 
 
 No tempest shook their calm, though many a storm 
 Tore the vexed ocean into furious spray ; 
 
 No chill could find them in their Eden waim, 
 And gently time lapsed onward day by day. 
 
 Said I no chill could find them? There is one 
 Whose awful footfalls everywhere are known, 
 
 With echoing sobs who chills the summer sun, 
 And turns the happy heart of youth to stone, 
 
 Inexorable Death, a silent guest 
 
 At every hearth, before whose footsteps flee 
 
 All joys ; who rules the earth, and without rest 
 Roams the vast shuddering spaces of the sea. 
 
 Death found them ; turned his face, and passed her by, 
 
 But laid a finger on her lover's lips ; 
 And there was silence. Then the storm ran high, 
 
 And tossed and troubled sore the distant ships. 
 
 Nay, who shall speak the terrors of the night, 
 The speechless sorrow, the supreme despair? 
 
 Still like a ghost she trimmed the waning light, 
 Dragging her slow weight up the winding stair. 
 
33 2 THE WATCH OF BOON ISLAND. 
 
 With more than oil the saving lamp she fed, 
 
 While lashed to madness the wild sea she heard : 
 
 She kept her awful vigil with the dead, 
 And God's sweet pity still she ministered. 
 
 O sailors, hailing loud the cheerful beam, 
 
 Piercing so far the tumult of the dark, 
 A radiant star of hope, you could not dream 
 
 What misery there sat cherishing that spark ! 
 
 Three times the night, too terrible to bear, 
 Descended, shrouded in the storm. At last 
 
 The sun rose clear and still on her despair, 
 And all her striving to the winds she cast, 
 
 And bowed her head, and let the light die out, 
 For the wide sea lay calm as her dead love. 
 
 When evening fell, from the far land, in doubt, 
 Vainly to find that faithful star men strove. 
 
 Sailors and landsmen, and women's eyes, 
 For pity ready, search in vain the night ; 
 
 And wondering neighbor unto neighbor cries, 
 
 " Now what, think you, can ail Boon-Island Light ? " 
 
 Out from the coast, toward her high tower, they sailed : 
 They found her watching, silent, by her dead, 
 
 A shadowy woman, who nor wept nor wailed, 
 But answered what they spake, till all was said. 
 
 They bore the dead and living both away : 
 
 With anguish time seemed powerless to destroy 
 
 She turned, and back ward ^azed across the bay 
 Lost in the sad sea lay her rose of joy. 
 
 CELIA THAXTER. 
 
THE FISHERMAN. 333 
 
 THE FISHERMAN. 
 
 THE waters rushed, the waters rose ; 
 A fisherman sat by, 
 While on his line in calm repose 
 
 He cast his patient eye : 
 And as he sat and hearkened there, 
 
 The flood was cleft in twain, 
 And, lo ! a dripping mermaid fair 
 Sprang from the troubled main. 
 
 She sang to him, and spake the while : 
 
 " Why lurest thou my brood, 
 With human wit and human guile, 
 
 From out their native flood ? 
 Oh ! couldst thou know how gladly dart 
 
 The fish across the sea, 
 Thou wouldst descend, e'en as thou art, 
 
 And truly happy be. 
 
 "Do not the sun and moon with grace 
 
 Their forms in ocean lave ? 
 Shines not with twofold charms their face 
 
 When rising from the wave ? 
 The deep, deep heavens, then lure thee not ; 
 
 The moist yet radiant blue ; 
 Not thine own form, to tempt thy lot 
 
 Midst this eternal dew? " 
 
 The waters rushed, the waters rose, 
 
 Wetting his naked feet : 
 As if his true love's words were those, 
 
 His heart with longing beat. 
 
334 THE FISHER-MAID. 
 
 She sang to him, to him spake she ; 
 
 His doom was fixed, I ween : 
 Half drew she him, and half sank he, 
 
 And ne'er again was seen. 
 
 JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE. 
 TRANSLATION OF E. A. BOWRING. 
 
 THE FISHER-MAID. 
 
 F I were a noble lady, 
 And he a peasant born, 
 With nothing but his good right hand 
 
 Twixt him and the world's scorn, 
 Oh ! I would speak so humble, 
 
 And I would smile so meek, 
 And cool with tears this fierce, hot flush 
 
 He left upon my cheek. 
 Sing heigh, sing ho, my bonnie, bonnie boat, 
 
 Let's watch the anchor weighed ; 
 For he is a great sea-captain, 
 
 And I a fisher-maid. 
 
 " If I were a royal princess, 
 
 And he a captive poor, 
 I would cast down these steadfast eyes 
 
 Under the bolted door, 
 And, walking brave in all men's sight, 
 
 Low at his feet would fall : 
 Sceptre and crown and womanhood, 
 
 My love should take them all. 
 Sing heigh, sing ho, my bonnie, bonnie boat, 
 
 Alone by the sea and sky ; 
 For he is a bold sea-captain, 
 
 A fisher-maiden I. 
 
FROM "A LIFE DRAMA." 335 
 
 " If I were a saint in heaven, 
 
 And he a sinner pale, 
 Whom good men passed with face avert, 
 
 And left him to his bale, 
 Mine eyes they should weep rivers, 
 
 My voice reach that great Throne, 
 Beseeching, ' Oh, be merciful ! 
 
 Make Thou mine own Thine own ! ' 
 Sing heigh, sing ho, my bonnie, bonnie boat : 
 
 Love only cannot fade, 
 Though he be a bold sea-captain, 
 
 And I a fisher-maid." 
 
 Close stood the young sea-captain ; 
 
 His tears fell fast as rain : 
 " If I have sinned, I'll sin no more 
 
 God judge between us twain ! " 
 The gold ring flashed in sunshine, 
 
 The small waves laughing curled 
 " Our ship rocks at the harbor-bar, 
 
 Away to the under- world." 
 " Farewell, farewell, my bonnie, bonnie boat ! 
 
 Now Heaven us bless and aid ; 
 For my lord is a great sea-captain, 
 
 And I was a fisher-maid." 
 
 DINAH MARIA MULOCH. 
 FROM "A LIFE DRAMA." 
 
 (SCENE VII.) 
 
 THE lark is singing in the blinding. sky, 
 Hedges are white with May. The bridegroom Sea 
 Is toying with the Shore, his wedded bride, 
 And in the fulness of his marriage-joy 
 
336 BY THE SEA. 
 
 He decorates her tawny brow with shells, 
 Retires a space to see how fair she looks, 
 Then proud runs up to kiss her. All is fair, 
 All glad, from grass to sun. 
 
 ALEXANDER SMITH. 
 
 BY THE SEA. 
 
 UPON the lonely shore I lie : 
 The wind is faint, the tide is low ; 
 Some way there seems a human sigh 
 In the great waves that inward flow, 
 
 As if all love and loss and pain 
 That ever swept their shining track 
 
 Had met within the caverned main, 
 And, rising, meaningly come back. 
 
 Upon the lonely shore I lie, 
 And gaze along its level sands : 
 
 Still from the sea steals out the cry 
 I left afar in crowded lands. 
 
 Upon the sea-beach, cool and still, 
 I press my cheek ; and yet I hear 
 
 The jar of earth, and catch the thrill 
 Of human effort, hot and near. 
 
 Come, peace of nature ! Lone I lie 
 Within the calm midsummer noon : 
 
 All human want I fain would fly, 
 Sing, summer sea, in silvery croon ! 
 
SONG. 337 
 
 In noon's great gladness hush thy moan, 
 
 In vast possession unbereft : 
 No music, haunting all thy tone, 
 
 Can make me want the world I've left. 
 
 MARY CLEMMER. 
 
 A BARREN STRETCH THAT SLANTS TO THE SALT 
 SEA'S GRAY. 
 
 A BARREN stretch that slants to the salt sea's gray, 
 Rock- strewn, and scarred by fire, and rough with 
 
 stubble, 
 
 With here and there a bold, bright touch of color, 
 Berries and yellow leaves, that make the dolor 
 More dolorous still. Above, a sky of trouble. 
 
 But now a light is lifted in the air ; 
 
 And though the sky is shadowed, fold on fold, 
 By clouds that have the lightnings in their hold, 
 That western gleam makes all the dim earth fair : 
 
 The sun shines forth, and the gray sea is gold. 
 
 RICHARD WATSON GILDER. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 T) USHES lean over the water, 
 JA^ Shells lie on the shore ; 
 And thou, the blue Ocean's daughter, 
 Sleep'st soft in the song of its roar. 
 
 Clouds sail over the ocean ; 
 
 White gusts fleck its calm : 
 But never its wildest motion 
 
 Thy beautiful rest should harm. 
 
338 SHELLS ON THE SEASHORE. 
 
 White feet on the edge of the billow 
 Mock its smooth-seething cream ; 
 
 Hard ribs of beach-sand thy pillow, 
 And a noble lover thy dream. 
 
 Like tangles of seaweed streaming 
 
 Over a perfect pearl, 
 Thy fair hair fringes thy dreaming, 
 
 O sleeping Lido girl ! 
 
 GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS. 
 
 SHELLS ON THE SEASHORE. 
 
 A YELLOW stretch of rippling sand 
 _L\_ Curved by the bay to two gold lips : 
 
 Ah, look ! the blue sea slyly slips, 
 Faint, frothing up the shingly strand, 
 Just takes the kiss, and then, for fear, 
 Reflows, but ebbs to re-appear. 
 
 The sea-shells strewn around sing low 
 The secret sea-things that they know. 
 
 WILLIAM SHARP. 
 
 THE FORSAKEN MERMAN. 
 
 COME, dear children, let us away ; 
 Down and away below ! 
 Now my brothers call from the bay, 
 Now the great winds shoreward blow, 
 Now the salt tides seaward flow, 
 Now the wild white horses play, 
 Champ and chafe and toss in the spray. 
 
THE FORSAKEN MERMAN. 339 
 
 Children dear, let us away ; 
 This way, this way ! 
 
 Call her once before you go, 
 
 Call once yet, 
 
 In a voice that she will know : 
 
 " Margaret, Margaret ! " 
 
 Children's voices should be dear 
 
 (Call once more) to a mother's ear ; 
 
 Children's voices, wild with pain 
 
 Surely she will come again ! 
 
 Call her once, and come away ; 
 
 This way, this way ! 
 
 " Mother dear, we cannot stay : 
 
 The wild white horses foam and fret." 
 
 Margaret, Margaret ! 
 
 Come, dear children, come away down ; 
 
 Call no more : 
 
 One last look at the white-walled town, 
 
 And the little gray church on the windy shore ; 
 
 Then come down. 
 
 She will not come, though you call all day : 
 
 Come away, come away ! 
 
 Children dear, was it yesterday 
 
 We heard the sweet bells over the bay, 
 
 In the caverns where we lay, 
 
 Through the surf, and through the swell, 
 
 The far-off sound of a silver bell ? 
 
 Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep, 
 
 Where the winds are all asleep ; 
 
 Where the spent lights quiver and gleam ; 
 
 Where the salt weed sways in the stream ; 
 
340 THE FORSAKEN MERMAN. 
 
 Where the sea-beasts, ranged all around, 
 Feed in the ooze of their pasture-ground ; 
 Where the sea-snakes coil and twine, 
 Dry their mail, and bask in the brine ; 
 Where great whales come sailing by, 
 Sail and sail, with unshut eye, 
 Round the world forever and aye ? 
 When did music come this way? 
 .Children dear, was it yesterday? 
 
 Children dear, was it yesterday 
 
 (Call yet once) that she went away? 
 
 Once she sate with you and me, 
 
 On a red gold throne in the heart of the sea, 
 
 And the youngest sate on her knee. 
 
 She combed its bright hair, and she tended it well, 
 
 When down swung the sound of a far-off bell. 
 
 She sighed, she looked up through the clear green sea ; 
 
 She said, " I must go, for my kinsfolk pray 
 
 In the little gray church on the shore to-day. 
 
 'Twill be Easter-time in the world ah, me ! 
 
 And I lose my poor soul, merman, here with thee." 
 
 I said, " Go up, dear heart, through the waves, 
 
 Say thy prayer, and come back to the kind sea-caves." 
 
 She smiled, she went up through the surf in the bay. 
 
 Children dear, was it yesterday? 
 
 Children dear, were we long alone ? 
 
 " The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan : 
 
 Long prayers," I said, " in the world they say. 
 
 Come ! " I said. And we rose through the surf in the bay. 
 
 We went up the beach, by the sandy down 
 
 Where the sea-stocks bloom, to the white-walled town ; 
 
THE FORSAKEN MERMAN. 341 
 
 Through the narrow paved streets, where all was still ; 
 
 To the little gray church on the windy hill. 
 
 From the church came a murmur of folk at their prayers, 
 
 But we stood without in the cold blowing airs. 
 
 We climbed on the graves, on the stones worn with rains ; 
 
 And we gazed up the aisle through the small leaded panes. 
 
 She sate by the pillar ; we saw her clear : 
 
 " Margaret, hist ! come quick, we are here ! 
 
 Dear heart," I said, " we are long alone : 
 
 The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan." 
 
 But, ah ! she gave me never a look, 
 
 For her eyes were sealed to the holy book. 
 
 Loud prays the priest ; shut stands the door. 
 
 Come away, children ; call no more ! 
 
 Come away, come down ; call no more ! 
 
 Down, down, down, 
 
 Down to the depths of the sea ! 
 
 She sits at her wheel in the humming town, 
 
 Singing most joyfully. 
 
 Hark what she sings : " O joy, O joy, 
 
 For the humming street, and the child with its toy, 
 
 For the priest, and the bell, and the holy well, 
 
 For the wheel when I spun, 
 
 And the blessed light of the sun ! " 
 
 And so she sings her fill, 
 
 Singing most joyfully, 
 
 Till the spindle drops from her hand, 
 
 And the whizzing wheel stands still. 
 
 She steals to the window, and looks at the sand, 
 
 And over the sand at the sea ; 
 
 And her eyes are set at a stare. 
 
 And anon there breaks a sigh, 
 
342 THE FORSAKEN MERMAN. 
 
 And anon there drops a tear, 
 
 From a sorrow-clouded eye 
 
 And a heart sorrow-laden, 
 
 A long, long sigh, 
 
 For the cold, strange eyes of a little mermaiden, 
 
 And the gleam of her golden hair. 
 
 Come away, away, children ! 
 Come, children, come down ! 
 The hoarse wind blows colder ; 
 Lights shine in the town. 
 She will start from her slumber 
 When gusts shake the door ; 
 She will hear the winds howling, 
 Will hear the waves roar. 
 We shall see, while above us 
 The waves roar and whirl, 
 A ceiling of amber, 
 A pavement of pearl. 
 Singing : " Here came a mortal, 
 But faithless was she ; 
 And alone dwell forever 
 The kings of the sea." 
 
 But, children, at midnight, 
 When soft the winds blow, 
 When clear falls the moonlight, 
 When spring-tides are low, 
 W T hen sweet airs come seaward 
 From heaths starred with broom, 
 And high rocks throw wildly 
 On the blanched sands a gloom,' 
 Up the still, glistening beaches, 
 
PARTING AT MORNING. 343 
 
 Up the creeks, we will hie, 
 
 Over banks of bright seaweed 
 
 The ebb-tide leaves dry. 
 
 We will gaze from the sand-hills 
 
 At the white, sleeping town, 
 
 At the church on the hillside, 
 
 And then come back down, 
 
 Singing, " There dwells a loved one ; 
 
 But cruel is she : 
 
 She left lonely forever 
 
 The kings of the sea." 
 
 MATTHEW ARNOLD. 
 
 IT IS A BEAUTEOUS EVENING. 
 
 IT is a beauteous evening, calm and free ; 
 The holy time is quiet as a nun 
 Breathless with adoration ; the broad sun 
 Is sinking down in its tranquillity. 
 The gentleness of Heaven broods o'er the sea ; 
 Listen ! the mighty Being is awake, 
 And doth with his eternal motion ma^e 
 A sound like thunder everlastingly. 
 
 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 
 
 PARTING AT MORNING. 
 
 ROUND the cape of a sudden came the sea, 
 And the sun looked over the mountain's rim, 
 And straight was a path of gold for him, 
 And the need of a world of men for me. 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
344 WHAT THE SHORE SAYS TO THE SEA. 
 
 o 1 
 
 WHAT THE SHORE SAYS TO THE SEA. 
 (EBB-TIDE.) 
 
 k LD, old, 
 
 Centuries old, 
 How old a love is who can say? 
 It is an ancient day 
 
 Since thou and I wert wed. 
 The orbed sky bent down 
 A fiery, scornful crown, 
 Not craven pale as now, 
 Live-red to bind thy brow, 
 Crested red and lovely, 
 
 Only 
 To coronet thy head. 
 
 Thou, I, 
 
 Beneath His eye, 
 Existed solitary, grand. 
 Oh, only life the life of sea and land ! 
 
 All puny heritage 
 Of puny love and loss 
 Carffe mimic after us. 
 Our mighty wedlock meant 
 More than their supplement. 
 Ere these, we perfect were 
 
 And are 
 In pain and privilege. 
 
 My own true-hearted, 
 Since first He parted 
 Thee from me, 
 Behold and see 
 
WHAT THE SEA SAYS TO THE SHORE. 345 
 
 How dreary, mute, 
 
 Bound hand and foot, 
 
 Stretched, starved, I lie ! 
 
 I hear thee stepping by, 
 And weep to see 
 Thee yearn to me. 
 
 Bound by an awful Will, 
 Forever and forever thou dost move 
 
 An awful errand on. 
 
 O Love ! 
 
 Steal up and say, is there below, above, 
 In height or depth, or choice or unison 
 Of woes, a woe like mine, 
 To lie so near to thine, 
 And yet forever and forever to lie still ! 
 
 ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS. 
 
 WHAT THE SEA SAYS TO THE SHORE. 
 (FLOOD-TIDE.) 
 
 SWEET! 
 I kiss thy feet. 
 It is permitted me 
 So much to keep of thee, 
 So much to give to thee. 
 
 Reverently 
 
 I touch thy dusky garments' hem. 
 Thy dazzling feet lie bare ; 
 But now the moonlit air, 
 In hurrying by, did gaze at them. 
 
 Who can guess 
 
 The temper of a love denied ? 
 See ! to my lips I press, 
 
346 WHAT THE SEA SAYS TO THE SHORE. 
 
 I press and hide 
 
 Thy sweet 
 Sad feet, 
 And cover them from sight of all the world. 
 
 Till thou and I were riven apart, 
 Never was it known 
 By any one 
 
 That storms could tear an ocean's heart ; 
 Nor shall it be again 
 That storms can cause an ocean pain. 
 
 But when He said, 
 " No farther, thus far, shalt thou go, 
 And here, 
 .In fear, 
 
 Shall thy proud waves be stayed," 
 Raging, rebel, and afraid, 
 What could shore or ocean do ? 
 
 Fling down thy long, loose hair 
 
 For a little share 
 Of the little kiss I still may bring to thee. 
 
 O Love ! turn to me. 
 The hours are short that I may be 
 
 Rich, though so scantily, 
 Blest, although so broken-hearted. 
 
 Sweet, my Love ! when we are parted, 
 When unheard orders bid me go, 
 Obedient to an unknown Wijl, 
 The pain of pains selects me so, 
 
 That I must go, and thou lie still, 
 While yet my lips may hunger near thy feet. 
 Turn to me, Sweet ! 
 
 ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS. 
 
HILDA, SPINNING. 347 
 
 HILDA, SPINNING. 
 
 SPINNING, spinning, by the sea, 
 All the night ! 
 
 On a stormy, rock-ribbed shore, 
 Where the north winds downward pour, 
 And the tempests fiercely sweep 
 From the mountains to the deep, 
 Hilda spins beside the sea, 
 All the night. 
 
 Spinning at her lonely window 
 
 By the sea ! 
 
 With her candle burning clear 
 Every night of all the year, 
 And her sweet voice crooning low 
 Quaint old songs of love and woe, 
 Spins she at her lonely window 
 
 By the sea. 
 
 On a bitter night in March, 
 
 Long ago, 
 
 Hilda, very young and fair, 
 With a crown of golden hair, 
 Watched the tempest raging wild, 
 Watched the roaring sea, and smiled 
 Through that woful night in March, 
 
 Long ago. 
 
 What though all the winds were out 
 
 In their might? 
 
 Richard's boat was tried and true ; 
 Stanch and brave his hardy crew ; 
 
34 8 HILDA, SPINNING. 
 
 Strongest he to do or dare. 
 Said she, breathing forth a prayer, 
 " He is safe, though winds are out 
 In their 
 
 But at length the morning dawned 
 
 Still and clear. 
 Calm, in azure splendor, lay 
 All the waters of the bay ; 
 And the ocean's angry moans 
 Sank to solemn undertones, 
 As at last the morning dawned, 
 
 Still and clear. 
 
 With her waves of golden hair 
 
 Floating free, 
 Hilda ran along the shore, 
 Gazing off the waters o'er ; 
 And the fishermen replied, 
 " He will come in with the tide," 
 As they saw her golden hair 
 
 Floating free. 
 
 Ah ! he came in with the tide 
 
 Came alone. 
 
 Tossed upon the shining sands, 
 Ghastly face and clutching hands, 
 Seaweed tangled in his hair, 
 Bruised and torn his forehead fair 
 Thus he came in with the tide 
 
 All alone. 
 
HILDA, SPINNING. 349 
 
 Hilda watched beside her dead 
 
 Day and night. 
 
 Of those hours of mortal woe 
 Human ken may never know : 
 She was silent ; and his ear 
 Kept the secret, close aiid dear, 
 Of her watch beside her dead 
 
 Day and night. 
 
 What she promised in the darkness, 
 
 Who can tell ? 
 
 But upon that rock-ribbed shore 
 Burns a beacon evermore, 
 And beside it, all the night, 
 Hilda guards the lonely light ; 
 Though what vowed she in the darkness, 
 
 None may tell. 
 
 Spinning, spinning, by the sea, 
 
 All the night. 
 
 While her candle, gleaming wide 
 O'er the restless, rolling tide, 
 Guides with steady, changeless ray, 
 The lone fisher up the bay, 
 Hilda spins beside the sea 
 
 Through the night. 
 
 Fifty years of patient spinning 
 
 By the sea ; 
 
 Old and worn, she sleeps to-day, 
 While the sunshine gilds the bay. 
 
350 A GREYPORT LEGEND. 
 
 But her candle, shining clear 
 Every night of all the year, 
 Still is telling of her spinning 
 By the sea. 
 
 JL-LJA C. R. DORR. 
 
 A GREYPOET LEGEND. 
 (I797-) 
 
 THEY ran through the streets of the seaport town ; 
 They peered from the decks of the ships where they 
 
 lay : 
 
 The cold sea-fog that came whitening down 
 Was never as cold or white as they. 
 
 " Ho, Starbuck and Pinckney and Tenterden ! 
 Run for your shallops, gather your men, 
 Scatter your boats on the lower bay ! " 
 
 Good cause for fear ! In the thick mid-day, 
 
 The hulk that lay by the rotting pier, 
 Filled with children in happy play, 
 
 Parted its moorings, and drifted clear, 
 
 Drifted clear beyond reach or call : 
 Thirteen children there were in all 
 All adrift in the lower bay ! 
 
 Said a hard-faced skipper, " God help us all ! 
 
 She will not float till the turning tide." 
 Said his wife, " My darling will hear my call, 
 Whether in sea or heaven she bide." 
 
 And she lifted a quavering voice and high, 
 Wild and strange as a sea-bird's cry, 
 
 Till they shuddered and wondered at her side. 
 
EBB-TIDE. 351 
 
 The fog drove down on each laboring crew, 
 
 Veiled each from each, and the sky and shore : 
 There was not a sound but the breath they drew, 
 And the lap of water and creak of oar ; 
 
 And they felt the breath of the downs, fresh blown 
 O'er leagues of clover and cold gray stone, 
 But not from the lips that had gone before. 
 
 They came no more. But they tell the tale, 
 
 That, when fogs are thick on the harbor-reef, 
 The mackerel-fishers shorten sail ; 
 
 For the signal they know will bring relief: 
 
 For the voices of children still at play 
 In a phantom hulk that drifts alway 
 
 Through channels whose waters never fail. 
 
 It is but a foolish shipman's tale, 
 
 A theme for a poet's idle page ; 
 But still, when the mists of doubt prevail, 
 
 And we lie becalmed by the shores of age, 
 We hear from the misty, troubled shore, 
 The voices of children gone before, 
 Drawing the soul to its anchorage. 
 
 BRET HARTE. 
 
 EBB-TIDE. 
 
 WITH her white face full of agony, 
 Under her dripping locks, 
 I hear the wretched, restless Sea 
 Complaining to the rocks. 
 
352 FROM "EACH AND ALL." 
 
 Helplessly in her great despair 
 
 She shudders on the sand, 
 The bright weeds dropping from her hair, 
 
 And the pale shells from her hand. 
 
 Tis pitiful thus to see her lie 
 
 With her beating, heaving breast, 
 Here, where she fell when cast aside, 
 
 Sobbing herself to rest. 
 
 Alas, alas for the foolish Sea ! 
 
 Why was there none to say, 
 " The wave that strikes on the heartless stone 
 
 Must break, and fall away "? 
 
 Why could she not have known that this 
 
 Would be her fate at length ? 
 For the hand unheld must slip at last, 
 
 Though it cling with love's own strength. 
 
 PHCEBE GARY. 
 
 FROM "EACH AND ALL." 
 
 THE delicate shells lay on the shore ; 
 The bubbles of the latest wave 
 Fresh pearls to their enamel gave ; 
 And the bellowing of the savage sea 
 Greeted their safe escape to me. 
 I wiped away the weeds and foam, 
 I fetched my sea-born treasures home ; 
 But the poor, unsightly, noisome things 
 Had left their beauty on the shore, 
 With the sun and the sand, and the wild uproar. 
 
 RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 
 
THE LADY OF CASTELNORE. 353 
 
 THE LADY OF CASTELNORE 
 
 T)RETAGNE had not her peer. In the province far 
 
 J3 or near 
 
 There were never such brown tresses, such a faultless 
 
 hand : 
 She had youth, and she had gold; she had jewels all 
 
 untold ; 
 And many a lover bold wooed the Lady of the Land. 
 
 n. 
 
 But she with queenliest grace bent low her pallid face, 
 And "Woo me not, for Jesus' sake, fair gentlemen," she 
 
 said. 
 If they wooed, then with a frown she would strike their 
 
 passion down : 
 She might have wed a crown to the ringlets on her head. 
 
 in. 
 From the dizzy castle-tips, hour by hour she watched the 
 
 ships, 
 
 Like sheeted phantoms coming and going evermore, 
 While the twilight settled down on the sleepy seaport town, 
 On gables peaked and brown, that had sheltered kings 
 
 of yore. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Dusky belts of cedar-wood partly clasped the widening 
 
 flood ; 
 
 Like a knot of daisies lay the hamlets on the hill ; 
 In the hostlery below sparks of light would come and go, 
 And faint voices, strangely low, from the garrulous old 
 
 mill. 
 
354 THE LADY OF CASTELNORE. 
 
 V. 
 
 Here the land in grassy swells gently broke ; there sunk 
 
 in dells 
 With mosses green and purple, and prongs of rock and 
 
 peat; 
 Here, in statue-like repose, an old wrinkled mountain 
 
 rose, 
 With its hoary head in snows, and wild-roses at its feet. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And so oft she sat alone in the turret of gray stone, 
 And looked across the moorland, so woful, to the sea, 
 That there grew a village-cry, how her cheek did lose its 
 
 dye 
 As a ship, once sailing by, faded on the sapphire lea. 
 
 vrr. 
 
 Her few walks led all one way, and all ended at the 
 
 gray 
 
 And ragged, jagged rocks that fringe the lonely beach : 
 There she would stand, the Sweet, with the white surf at 
 
 her feet, 
 While above her wheeled the fleet sparrow-hawk with 
 
 startling screech. 
 
 vm. 
 
 And she ever loved the sea, with its haunting mystery, 
 Its whispering, weird voices, its never-ceasing roar ; 
 And 'twas well, that, when she died, they made her a grave 
 
 beside 
 The blue pulses of the tide, by the towers of Castelnore. 
 
IS MY LOVER ON THE SEA? 355 
 
 IX. 
 
 Now, one chill November morn, many russet autumns 
 
 gone, 
 
 A strange ship with folded wings lay dozing off the lea : 
 It had lain throughout the night, with its wings of murky 
 
 white 
 Folded, after weary flight, the worn nursling of the sea. 
 
 x. 
 
 Crowds of peasants flocked the sands ; there were tears 
 and clasping hands ; 
 
 And a sailor from the ship stalked through the church- 
 yard gate. 
 
 Then, amid the grass that^ crept, fading, over her who 
 slept, 
 
 How he hid his face, and wept, crying, "Late, alas ! too 
 late!" 
 
 XI. 
 
 And they called her cold. God knows. . . . Underneath 
 
 the winter snows 
 
 The invisible hearts of flowers grow 'ripe for blossoming. 
 And the lives that look so cold, if their stories could be 
 
 told, 
 Would seem cast in gentler mould, would seem full of 
 
 love and spring. 
 
 THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH. 
 
 IS MY LOVER ON THE SEA? 
 
 IS my lover on the sea, 
 Sailing east, or sailing west? 
 Mighty Ocean, gentle be j 
 Rock him into rest ! 
 
356 A WIND FROM THE SEA. 
 
 Let no angry wind arise, 
 
 Nor a wave with whitened crest ; 
 
 All be gentle as his eyes 
 When he is caressed ! 
 
 Bear him (as the breeze above 
 Bears the bird unto his nest) 
 
 Here, unto his home of love, 
 And then bid him rest ! 
 
 BRYAN WALLER PROCTER. 
 
 A WIND FROM THE SEA. 
 
 THE wind from the sea was blowing, 
 My face was wet with the spray : 
 It kept the tears from showing ; 
 
 So I let them have their way. 
 Oh ! they were salt and bitter ; 
 
 But it mattered nothing to you. 
 When the foam, with its rainbow glitter, 
 
 Crested the hills of blue, 
 And the white sails, spread for flying, 
 
 Beckoned your restless mind, 
 What was the idle crying 
 
 Of a girl that must stay behind? 
 
 I knew that your heart was leaping 
 Like the flame of a kindling fire ; 
 
 But mine in its depths was keeping 
 One passionate, dumb desire, 
 
 Oh that a bolt from heaven 
 
A WIND FROM THE SEA. 357 
 
 Two at a blow would smite ! 
 Oh that the earth were riven, 
 
 To bury us both out of sight ! 
 For what was the light and splendor 
 
 Of summer skies to me ? 
 And what could the green earth render 
 
 In recompense for the sea? 
 
 You sailed away in the morning, 
 
 And your heart was light as air : 
 It was full of a merry scorning 
 
 For my unconcealed despair. 
 Easy for you to kiss me, 
 
 To swear that my fears were vain, 
 And your fond desire would miss me 
 
 Till the hour when you came again. 
 But I perfectly comprehended 
 
 The things that you never said, 
 And I knew the story was ended 
 
 As surely as if you were dead. 
 
 It is long since we two parted, 
 
 With kisses, upon the shore ; 
 And lonely and broken-hearted, 
 
 I knew you would come no more. 
 Time has brought tender healing 
 
 For the bitter grief gone by, 
 With a gradual, sweet revealing 
 
 Of love that was not a lie. 
 Yet none the less I remember ; 
 
 And still a wind from the sea 
 Rekindles the smouldering ember 
 
 Of passionate pain in me. 
 
 MARY E. BRADLEY. 
 
358 THE PIMPERNEL. 
 
 THE PIMPERNEL. 
 
 SHE walks beside the silent shore : 
 The tide is high, the breeze is still ; 
 No ripple breaks the ocean-floor, 
 The sunshine sleeps upon the hill. 
 
 The turf is warm beneath her feet, 
 
 Bordering the beach of stone and shell ; 
 
 And thick about her path the sweet 
 Red blossoms of the pimpernel. 
 
 " Oh, sleep not yet, my flower ! " she cries, 
 " Nor prophesy of storm to come : 
 
 Tell me that under steadfast skies 
 
 Fair winds shall bring my lover home." 
 
 She stoops to gather flower and shell ; 
 
 She sits, and smiling, studies each ; 
 She hears the full tide rise and swell, 
 
 And whisper softly on the beach. 
 
 Waking, she dreams a golden dream, 
 Remembering with what still delight, 
 
 To watch the sunset's fading gleam, 
 
 Here by the waves they stood last night. 
 
 She leans on that encircling arm, 
 Divinely strong with power to draw 
 
 Her nature, as the moon doth charm 
 The swaying sea with heavenly law. 
 
 All lost in bliss the moments glide ; 
 She feels his whisper, his caress : 
 
THE PIMPERNEL. 359 
 
 The murmur of the mustering tide 
 Brings her no presage of distress. 
 
 What breaks her dream ? She lifts her eyes, 
 
 Reluctant to destroy the spell : 
 The color from her bright cheek dies 
 
 Close folded is the pimpernel. 
 
 With rapid glance she scans the sky ; 
 
 Rises a sudden wind, and grows, 
 And, charged with storm, the cloud-heaps lie 
 
 Well may the scarlet blossoms close ! 
 
 A touch, and bliss is turned to bale ; 
 
 Life only keeps the sense of pain : 
 The world holds nought save one white sail 
 
 Flying before the wind and rain. 
 
 Broken upon the wheel of fear, 
 
 She wears the storm-vexed hour away ; 
 
 And now in gold and fire draws near 
 The sunset of her troubled day. 
 
 But to her sky is yet denied 
 
 The sun that lights the world for her : 
 
 She sweeps the rose-flushed ocean wide 
 With eager eyes the quick tears blur ; 
 
 And lonely, lonely, all the space 
 
 Stretches, with never sign of sail ; 
 And sadder grows her wistful face, 
 
 And all the sunset splendors fail. 
 
360 SONNET. 
 
 And cold and pale, in still despair, 
 
 With heavier grief than tongue can tell, 
 
 She sinks, upon her lips a prayer, 
 Her cheek against the pimpernel. 
 
 Bright blossoms wet with showery tears 
 On her shut eyes their droplets shed ; 
 
 Only the wakened waves she hears, 
 That singing drown his rapid tre'ad. 
 
 " Sweet, I am here ! " Joy's gates swing wide, 
 And heaven is theirs, and all is well ; 
 
 And left beside the ebbing tide, 
 Forgotten, is the pimpernel. 
 
 CELIA THAXTER. 
 
 SONNET. 
 (SEA-SHELL MURMURS.) 
 
 THE hollow sea-shell, which for years hath stood 
 On dusty snelves, when held against the ear 
 Proclaims its stormy parent, and we hear 
 The faint, far murmur of the breaking flood. 
 We hear the sea. The sea? It is the blood 
 In our own veins, impetuous and near, 
 And pulses keeping pace with hope and fear, 
 And with our feelings' ever shifting mood. 
 Lo ! in my heart I hear, as in a shell, 
 The murmur of a world beyond the grave, 
 Distinct, distinct, though faint and far it be. 
 Thou fool ! this echo is a cheat as well, 
 The hum of earthly instincts ; and we crave 
 A world unreal as the shell-heard sea. 
 
 EUGENE LEE HAMILTON. 
 
THE SEA-LIMITS. 361 
 
 THE SEA-LIMITS. 
 
 /CONSIDER the sea's listless chime : 
 V_y Time's self it is made audible, 
 The murmur of the earth's own shell. 
 Secret continuance sublime 
 Is the sea's end : our sight may pass 
 No furlong farther. Since time was, 
 This sound hath told the lapse of time. 
 
 No quiet, which is death's, it hath 
 The mournfulness of ancient life, 
 Enduring always at dull strife. 
 As the world's heart of rest and wrath, 
 Its painful pulse is in the sands. 
 Last utterly, the whole sky stands, 
 Gray and not known, along its path. 
 
 Listen alone beside the sea, 
 
 Listen alone among the woods : 
 
 Those voices of twin-solitudes 
 
 Shall have one sound alike to thee. 
 
 Hark where the murmurs of thronged men 
 
 Surge and sink back, and surge again, 
 
 Still the one voice of wave and tree. 
 
 Gather a shell from the strown beach, 
 And listen at its lips : they sigh 
 The same desire and mystery, 
 The echo of the whole sea's speech. 
 And all mankind is thus at heart 
 Not any thing but what thou art ; 
 And earth, sea, man, are all in each. 
 
 DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI. 
 
362 THE MARINER'S CAVE. 
 
 THE MARINER'S CAVE. 
 
 ONCE on a time there walked a mariner, 
 That had been shipwrecked, on a lonely shore ; 
 And the green water made a restless stir, 
 
 And a great flock of mews spread on before. 
 He had nor food nor shelter ; for the tide 
 Rose on the one, and cliffs on the other side. 
 
 Brown cliffs they were : they seemed to pierce the sky, 
 That was an awful deep of empty blue, 
 
 Save that the wind was in it, and on high 
 
 A wavering skein of wild-fowl tracked it through. 
 
 He marked them not, but went with movement slow, 
 
 Because his thoughts were sad, his courage low. 
 
 His heart was numb : he neither wept nor sighed, 
 
 But wearifully lingered by the wave, 
 Until at length it chanced that he espied, 
 
 Far up, an opening in the cliff, a cave, 
 A shelter where to sleep in his distress, 
 And lose his sorrow in forgetfulness. 
 
 With that he clambered up the rugged face 
 Of that steep cliff that all in shadow lay ; 
 
 And, lo ! there was a dry and homelike place, 
 Comforting refuge for the castaway ; 
 
 And he laid down his weary, weary head, 
 
 And took his fill of sleep till dawn waxed red. 
 
 When he awoke, warm stirring from the south 
 Of delicate summer air did sough and flow : 
 
 He rose, and, wending to the cavern's mouth, 
 He cast his eyes a little way below, 
 
THE MARINER'S CAVE. 363 
 
 Where, on the narrow ledges, sharp and rude, 
 Preening their wings, the blue rock-pigeons cooed. 
 
 Then he looked lower, and saw the lavender 
 And sea-thrift blooming in long crevices ; 
 
 And the brown wall-flower, April's messenger, 
 The wall-flower marshalled in her companies. 
 
 Then lower yet he looked adown the steep, 
 
 And sheer beneath him lapped the lovely deep, 
 
 The laughing deep ; and it was pacified 
 As if it had not raged that other day ; 
 
 And it went murmuring in the morning-tide 
 Innumerable flatteries on its way, 
 
 Kissing the cliffs, and whispering at their feet 
 
 With exquisite advancement and retreat. 
 
 This when the mariner beheld, he sighed, 
 And thought on his companions lying low. 
 
 But while he gazed, with eyes unsatisfied, 
 On the fair reaches of their overthrow, 
 
 Thinking it strange he only lived of all, 
 
 But not returning thanks, he heard a call, 
 
 A soft sweet call, a voice of tender ruth : 
 
 He thought it came from out the cave. And, lo ! 
 
 It whispered, " Man, look up ! " But he, forsooth, 
 Answered, " I cannot ; for the long waves flow 
 
 Across my gallant ship, where sunk she lies 
 
 With all my riches and my merchandise. 
 
364 THE MARINERS CAVE. 
 
 " Moreover, I am heavy for the fate 
 
 Of these my mariners drowned in the deep : 
 
 I must lament me for their sad estate 
 
 Now they are gathered in their last long sleep. 
 
 Oh, the unpitying heavens upon me frown ! 
 
 Then how should I look up? I must look down." 
 
 And he stood yet watching the fair green sea 
 Till hunger reached him ; then he made a fire, 
 
 A driftwood fire, and wandered listlessly, 
 And gathered many eggs at his desire, 
 
 And dressed them for his meal ; and then he lay 
 
 And slept, and woke upon the second day. 
 
 When as he said, " The cave shall be my home : 
 None will molest me, for the brown cliffs rise 
 
 Like castles of defence behind, the foam 
 Of the remorseless sea beneath me lies ; 
 
 Tis-easy from the cliff my food to win, 
 
 The nations of the rock-dove breed therein. 
 
 " For fuel, at the ebb yon fair expanse 
 
 Is strewed with driftwood by the breaking wave, 
 
 And in the sea is fish for sustenance. 
 I will build up the entrance to the cave, 
 
 And leave therein a window and a door, 
 
 And here will dwell, and leave it nevermore." 
 
 Then even so he did ; and when his task, 
 Many long days being over, was complete, 
 
 When he had eaten, as he sat to bask 
 In the red firelight glowing at his feet, 
 
 He was right glad of shelter, and he said, 
 
 " Now for my comrades am I comforted." 
 
THE MARINER'S CAVE. 365 
 
 Then did the voice awake, and speak again : 
 
 It murmured, " Man, look up." But he replied, 
 
 " I cannot. Oh ! mine eyes, mine eyes are fain 
 Down on the red-wood ashes to abide, 
 
 Because they warm me." Then the voice was still, 
 
 And left the lonely mariner to his will. 
 
 And soon it came to pass that he got gain. 
 
 He had great flocks of pigeons which he fed, 
 And drew great store of fish from out the main, 
 
 And down from eider-ducks ; and then he said, 
 " It is not good that I should lead my life 
 In silence : I will take to me a wife." 
 
 He took a wife, and brought her home to him ; 
 
 And he was good to her, and cherished her, 
 So that she loved him ; then, when light waxed dim, 
 
 Gloom came no more ; and she would minister 
 To all his wants ; while he, being well content, 
 Counted her company right excellent. 
 
 But once as on the lintel of the door 
 
 She leaned to watch him while he put to sea, 
 
 This happy wife, down-gazing at the shore, 
 Said sweetly, " It is better now with me 
 
 Than it was lately when I used to spin 
 
 In my old father's house beside the lin." 
 
 And then the soft voice of the cave awoke, 
 The soft voice which had haunted it erewhile, 
 
 And gently to the wife it also spoke, 
 
 "Woman, look up ! " But she, with tender guile, 
 
 Gave it denial, answering, " Nay, not so ; 
 
 For all that I should look on lieth below. 
 
366 THE MARINER'S CAVE. 
 
 " The great sky overhead is not so good 
 For my two eyes as yonder stainless sea, 
 
 The source and yielder of our livelihood, 
 Where rocks his little boat that loveth me." 
 
 This when the wife had said, she moved away, 
 
 And looked no higher than the wave all day. 
 
 Now when the year ran out, a child she bore, 
 And there was such rejoicing in the cave 
 
 As surely never had there been before 
 
 Since God first made it. Then full, sweet, and grave, 
 
 The voice, " God's utmost blessing brims thy cup : 
 
 O father of this child, look up, look up ! " 
 
 " Speak to my wife," the mariner replied. 
 
 " I have much work, right welcome work, 'tis true, 
 Another mouth to feed." And then it sighed, 
 
 " Woman, look up ! " She said, " Make no ado ; 
 For I must needs look down on anywise : 
 My heaven is in the blue of these 4ear eyes." 
 
 The seasons of the year did swiftly whirl ; 
 
 They measured time by one small life alone : 
 On such a day the pretty pushing pearl 
 
 That mouth they loved to kiss had sweetly shown ; 
 That smiling mouth, and it had made essay 
 To give them names on such another day. 
 
 And afterward his infant history, 
 
 Whether he played with bawbles on the floor, 
 
 Or crept to pat the rock-doves pecking nigh, 
 And feeding on the threshold of the door, 
 
 They loved to mark, and all his marvellings dim, 
 
 The mysteries that beguiled and baffled him. 
 
THE MARINER'S CAYE. 367 
 
 He was so sweet, that oft his mother said, 
 " O child ! how was it that I dwelt content 
 
 Before thou earnest ? Blessings on thy head ! 
 Thy pretty talk it is so innocent, 
 
 That oft, for all my joy, though it be deep, 
 
 When thou art prattling, I am like to weep." 
 
 Summer and winter spent themselves again ; 
 
 The rock-doves in their season bred ; the cliff 
 Grew sweet, for every cliff would entertain 
 
 Its tuft of blossom ; and the mariner's skiff, 
 Early and late, would linger in the bay, 
 Because the sea was calm, and winds away. 
 
 The little child, about that rocky height 
 
 Led by her loving hand who gave him birth, 
 
 Might wander in the clear, unclouded light, 
 And take his pastime in the beauteous earth, 
 
 Smell the fair flowers in stony cradles swung, 
 
 And see God's happy creatures feed their young. 
 
 And once it came to pass, at eventide 
 
 His mother set him in the cavern-door, 
 And filled his lap with grain, and stood aside 
 
 To watch the circling rock-doves soar and soar, 
 Then dip, alight, and run in circling bands 
 To take the barley from his open hands. 
 
 And even while she stood and gazed at him, 
 And his grave father's eyes upon him dwelt, 
 
 They heard the tender voice, and it was dim, 
 And seemed full softly in the air to melt : 
 
 " Father," it murmured, " mother," dying away, 
 
 " Look up while yet the hours are called to-day." 
 
368 THE MARINER'S CAVE. 
 
 " I will," the father answered, " but not now : " 
 The mother said, " Sweet voice, oh, speak to me 
 
 At a convenient season ! " And the brow 
 Of the cliff began to quake right fearfully : 
 
 There was a rending crash, and there did leap 
 
 A riven rock, and plunge into the deep. 
 
 They said, " A storm is coming ; " but they slept 
 
 That night in peace, and thought the storm had passed, 
 
 For there was not a cloud to intercept 
 The sacred moonlight on the cradle cast ; 
 
 And to his rocking boat, at dawn of day, 
 
 With joy of heart the manner took his way. 
 
 But when he mounted up the path at night, 
 Foreboding not of trouble or mischance, 
 
 His wife came out into the fading light, 
 And met him with a serious countenance ; 
 
 And she broke out in tears and sobbings thick, 
 
 "The child is sick, my little child is sick." 
 
 They knelt beside him in the sultry dark ; 
 
 And when the moon looked in, his face was pale ; 
 And when the red sun, like a burning bark, 
 
 Rose in a fog at sea, his tender wail 
 Sank deep into their hearts, and piteously 
 They fell to chiding of their destiny. 
 
 The doves unheeded cooed that livelong day, 
 Their pretty playmate cared for them no more ; 
 
 The sea-thrift nodded, wet with glistening spray, 
 None gathered it ; the long wave washed the shore. 
 
 He did not know, nor lift his eyes to trace 
 
 The new-fallen shadow in his dwelling-place. 
 
THE MARINERS CAVE. 369 
 
 The sultry sun beat on the cliffs all day, 
 
 And hot, calm airs slept on the polished sea : 
 
 The mournful mother wore her time away, 
 Bemoaning of her helpless misery, 
 
 Pleading and plaining, till the day was done, 
 
 " Oh, look on me, my love, my little one ! 
 
 " What aileth thee, that thou dost lie and moan ? 
 
 Ah, would that I might bear it in thy stead ! " 
 The father made not his forebodings known, 
 
 But gazed, and in his secret soul he said, 
 " I may have sinned, on sin waits punishment ; 
 But as for him, sweet blameless innocent, 
 
 " What has he' done that he is stricken down ? 
 
 Oh ! it is hard to see him sink and fade, 
 When I, that counted him my dear life's crown, 
 
 So willingly have worked while he has played ; 
 That he might sleep, have risen, come storm, come heat, 
 And thankfully would fast, that he might eat." 
 
 My God, how short our happy days appear ! 
 
 How long the sorrowful ! They thought it long, 
 The sultry morn that brought such evil cheer, 
 
 And sat, and wished, and sighed for even-song : 
 It came, and cooling wafts about him stirred ; 
 Yet when they spoke he answered not a word. 
 
 " Take heart ! " they cried ; but their sad hearts sank low 
 When he would moan, and turn his restless head ; 
 
 And wearily the lagging morns would go, 
 
 And nights, while they sat watching by his bed, 
 
 Until a storm came up with wind and rain, 
 
 And lightning ran along the troubled main. 
 
37 THE MARINERS CATE. 
 
 Over their heads the mighty thunders brake, 
 Leaping and tumbling down from rock to rock, 
 
 Then burst anew, and made the cliffs to quake 
 As they were living things, and felt the shock ; 
 
 The waiting sea to sob as if in pain, 
 
 And all the midnight vault to ring again. 
 
 A lamp was burning in the mariner's cave, 
 But the blue lightning-flashes made it dim ; 
 
 And, when the mother heard those thunders rave, 
 She took her little child to cherish him ; 
 
 She took him in her arms, and on her breast 
 
 Full wearily she courted him to rest, 
 
 And soothed him long until the storm was spent, 
 And the last thunder-peal had died away, 
 
 And stars were out in all the firmament ; 
 
 Then did he cease to moan, and slumbering lay, 
 
 While in the welcome silence, pure and deep, 
 
 The care-worn parents sweetly fell asleep. 
 
 And in a dream inwrought with fancies thick, 
 
 The mother thought she heard the rock-doves coo, 
 
 *(She had forgotten that her child was sick,) 
 
 And she went forth their morning meal to strew ; 
 
 Then over all the cliff with earnest care 
 
 She sought her child ; and, lo ! he was not there. 
 
 But she was not afraid, though long she sought, 
 And climbed the cliff, and set her feet in grass, 
 
 Then reached a river, broad and full, she thought ; 
 And at its brink he sat. Alas, alas ! 
 
 For one stood near him, fair and undefiled, 
 
 An innocent, a marvellous man-child. 
 
THE MARINERS CAVE. 371 
 
 In garments white as wool, and, oh ! most fair, 
 A rainbow covered him with mystic light ; 
 
 Upon the warmed grass his feet were bare, 
 And as he breathed, the rainbow in her sight 
 
 In passions of clear crimson trembling lay, 
 
 With gold and violet mist made fair the day. 
 
 Her little life ! she thought his little hands 
 W T ere full of flowers that he did play withal ; 
 
 But when he saw the boy o' the golden lands, 
 And looked him in the face, he let them fall, 
 
 Held, through a rapturous pause, iii wistful wise 
 
 To the sweet strangeness of those keen child-eyes. 
 
 " Ah, dear and awful God, who chastenest me ! 
 
 How shall my soul to this be reconciled ? 
 It is the Saviour of the world," quoth she ; 
 
 "And to my child he cometh as a child." 
 Then on her knees she fell by that vast stream 
 Oh, it was sorrowful, this woman's dream. 
 
 For, lo ! that Elder Child drew nearer now, 
 Fair as the light, and purer than the sun. 
 
 The calms of heaven were brooding on his brow, 
 And in his arms he took her little one, 
 
 Her child, that knew her, but with sweet demur 
 
 Drew back, nor held his hands to come to her. 
 
 With that in mother-misery sore she wept, 
 " O Lamb of God, I love my child so MUCH ! 
 
 He stole away to thee while we two slept, 
 But give him back, for thou hast many such ; 
 
 And as for me I have but one. Oh ! deign, 
 
 Dear pity of God, to give him me again." 
 
372 THE MARINER'S CAVE. 
 
 His feet were on the river. Oh ! his feet 
 
 Had touched the river now, and it was great ; 
 
 And yet he hearkened when she did entreat, 
 And turned in quietness, as he would wait, 
 
 Wait till she looked upon him, and, behold ! 
 
 There lay a long way off a city of gold. 
 
 Like to a jasper and a sardine stone, 
 
 Whelmed in the rainbow, stood that fair man-child, 
 Mighty and innocent, that held her own, 
 
 And, as might be his manner at home, he smiled ; 
 Then, while she looked and looked, the vision brake, 
 And, all amazed, she started up awake. 
 
 And, lo ! her little child was gone indeed. 
 
 The sleep that knows no waking he had slept, 
 Folded to heaven's own heart ; in rainbow brede 
 
 Clothed and made glad, while they two mourned and 
 
 wept ; 
 
 But in the drinking of their bitter cup 
 The sweet voice spoke once more, and sighed, "Look 
 up ! " 
 
 They heard, and straightway answered, " Even so, 
 For what abides that we should look on here ? 
 
 The heavens are better than this earth below : 
 They are of more account, and far more dear. 
 
 We will look up ; for all most sweet and fair, 
 
 Most pure, most excellent, is garnered there." 
 
 JEAN INGELOW. 
 
HANNAH BINDING SHOES. 373 
 
 HANNAH BINDING SHOES. 
 
 POOR lone Hannah, 
 Sitting at the window, binding shoes ! 
 Faded, wrinkled, 
 
 Sitting, stitching in a mournful muse. 
 Bright-eyed beauty once was she, 
 When the bloom was on the tree. 
 
 Spring and winter, 
 Hannah's at the window, binding shoes. 
 
 Not a neighbor 
 Passing nod or answer will refuse 
 
 To her whisper, 
 
 " Is there from the fishers any news ? " 
 Oh ! her heart's adrift, with one 
 On an endless voyage gone. 
 
 Night and morning, 
 Hannah's at her window, binding shoes. 
 
 Fair young Hannah, 
 Ben, the sunburnt fisher, gayly wooes : 
 
 Hale and clever, 
 
 For a willing heart and hand he sues. 
 May-day skies are all aglow, 
 And the waves are laughing so ! 
 
 For her wedding 
 Hannah leaves her window and her shoes. 
 
 May is passing : 
 Mid the apple-boughs a pigeon coos. 
 
 Hannah shudders ; 
 For the mild south-wester mischief brews. 
 
374 BY THE SEASIDE. 
 
 Round the rocks of Marblehead, 
 Outward bound, a schooner sped. 
 
 Silent, lonesome, 
 Hannah's at the window, binding shoes. 
 
 'Tis November ; 
 Now no tear her wasted cheek bedews. 
 
 From Newfoundland 
 Not a sail returning will she lose, 
 Whispering hoarsely, " Fishermen, 
 Have you, have you, heard of Ben ? " 
 
 Old with watching, 
 Hannah's at the window, binding shoes. 
 
 Twenty winters 
 Bleach and tear the ragged shore she views ; 
 
 Twenty seasons 
 
 Never one has brought her any news. 
 Still her dim eyes silently 
 Chase the white sails o'er the sea. 
 
 Hopeless, faithful, 
 Hannah's at the window, binding shoes. 
 
 LUCY LARCOM. 
 
 BY THE SEASIDE. 
 
 THE sun is couched, the sea-fowl gone to rest, 
 And the wild storm hath somewhere found a nest 
 Air slumbers ; wave with wave no longer strives, 
 Only a heaving of the deep survives, 
 A tell-tale motion : soon will it be laid, 
 And by the tide alone the water swayed. 
 Stealthy withdrawings, interminglings mild 
 Of light with shade in beauty reconciled, 
 
BY THE SEASIDE. 375 
 
 Such is the prospect far as sight can range, 
 
 The soothing recompense, the welcome change. 
 
 Where now the ships that drove before the blast, 
 
 Threatened by angry breakers as they passed, 
 
 And by a train of flying clouds bemocked, 
 
 Or in the hollow surge at anchor rocked, 
 
 As on a bed of death ? Some lodge in peace, 
 
 Saved by His care who bade the tempest cease ; 
 
 And some, too heedless of past danger, court 
 
 Fresh gales to waft them to the far-orT port. 
 
 But near, or hanging sea and sky between, 
 
 Not one of all those winged powers is seen, 
 
 Seen in her course, nor mid this quiet heard ; 
 
 Yet, oh ! how gladly would the air be stirred 
 
 By some acknowledgment of thanks and praise, 
 
 Soft in its temper as those vesper lays 
 
 Sung to the Virgin while accordant oars 
 
 Urge the slow bark along Calabrian shores ; 
 
 A sea-born service through the mountain felt 
 
 Till into one loved vision all things melt ; 
 
 Or like those hymns that soothe with graver sound 
 
 The gulfy coast of Norway iron-bound ; 
 
 And, from the wide and open Baltic, rise 
 
 With punctual care Lutherian harmonies. 
 
 Hush, not a voice is here ! but why repine, 
 
 Now wheWthe star of eve comes forth to shine 
 
 On British waters with that look benign ? 
 
 Ye mariners, that plough your onward way, 
 
 Or in the haven rest, or sheltering bay, 
 
 May silent thanks at least to God be given 
 
 With a full heart : " Our thoughts are heard in heaven ! " 
 
 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 
 
376 ON A BOOK OF SEA-MOSSES. 
 
 ON A BOOK OF SEA-MOSSES SENT TO AN 
 EMINENT ENGLISH POET. 
 
 TO him who sang of Venice, and revealed 
 How wealth and glory clustered in her streets, 
 And poised her marble domes with wondrous skill, 
 We send these tributes, plundered from the sea. 
 These many- colored, variegated forms 
 Sail to our rougher shores, and rise and fall 
 To the deep music of the Atlantic wave. 
 Such spoils we capture where the rainbows drop, 
 Melting in ocean. Here are broideries strange, 
 Wrought by the sea-nymphs from their golden hair, 
 And wove by moonlight. Gently turn the leaf. 
 From narrow cells scooped in the rocks, we take 
 These fairy textures, lightly moored at morn. 
 Down sunny slopes, outstretching to the deep, 
 We roam at noon, and gather shapes like these. 
 Note now the painted webs from verdurous isles, 
 Festooned and spangled in sea-caves, and say 
 What hues of land can rival tints like those, 
 Torn from the scarfs and gonfalons of kings 
 Who dwell beneath the waters. 
 
 Such our gift, 
 
 Culled from a margin of the Western World, 
 And offered unto Genius in the Old. 
 
 JAMES THOMAS FIELDS. 
 SEA-MUSIC. 
 
 IT comes to me now in the hush of the night, 
 While stars keep a guard o'er the world, 
 And snows of the winter, whose pages of white 
 Like an unwritten scroll lie unrolled. 
 
SLEEP A T SEA. 377 
 
 It seems like a sweep of invisible hands 
 O'er the harps of the loved and the lost, 
 
 The music of waves that die on the sands, 
 So weary with seas they have crossed. 
 
 And sometimes I fancy, as night settles down 
 
 On the terrible strife, and the roar 
 That breaks on the hearts and the souls of the town, 
 
 Like billows that break on the shore, 
 I hear the sweet voices call softly to me, 
 
 With music that fills me with calm, 
 Prophetic of rest, from the depths of the sea, 
 
 That pacifies life like a psalm. 
 
 O June, flinging roses all over my path, 
 
 To wither and fade, and to die ! 
 O Winter, whose beautiful purity hath 
 
 Such swift wings to leave us, and fly ! 
 From anthem to anthem, from psalm unto song, 
 
 Thy voice is eternal, O Sea ! 
 Thy beauty undying, as years glide along, 
 
 From infinity's depths unto me. 
 
 HELEN M. COOKE. 
 
 SLEEP AT SEA. 
 
 SOUND the deep waters : 
 Who shall sound that deep ? 
 Too short the plummet, 
 
 And the watchmen sleep. 
 Some dream of effort 
 
 Up a toilsome steep ; 
 Some dream of pasture-grounds 
 For harmless sheep. 
 
37$ SLEEP AT SEA. 
 
 White shapes flit to and fro 
 
 From mast to mast ; 
 They feel the distant tempest 
 
 That nears them fast : 
 Great rocks are straight ahead, 
 
 Great shoals not past ; 
 They shout to one another 
 
 Upon the blast. 
 
 Oh ! soft the streams drop music 
 
 Between the hills, 
 And musical the birds' nests 
 
 Beside those rills : 
 The nests are types of home 
 
 Love-hidden from ills : 
 The nests are types of spirits 
 
 Love-music fills. 
 
 So dream the sleepers, 
 
 Each man in his place ; 
 The lightning shows the smile 
 
 Upon each face : 
 The ship is driving, driving, 
 
 It drives apace ; 
 And sleepers smile, and spirits 
 
 Bewail their case. 
 
 The lightning glares and reddens 
 
 Across the skies; 
 It seems but sunset 
 
 To those sleeping eyes. 
 
SLEEP AT SEA. 379 
 
 When did the sun go down 
 
 On such a wise ? 
 From such a sunset 
 
 When shall day arise ? 
 
 " Wake ! " call the spirits : 
 
 But to heedless ears ; 
 They have forgotten sorrows 
 
 And hopes and fears ; 
 They have forgotten perils 
 
 And smiles and tears : 
 Their dream has held them long 
 
 Long years and years. 
 
 " Wake ! " call the spirits again ; 
 
 But it would take 
 A louder summons 
 
 To bid them awake. 
 Some dream of pleasure 
 
 For another's sake ; 
 Some dream, forgetful 
 
 Of a lifelong ache. 
 
 One by one, slowly, 
 
 Ah, how sad and slow ! 
 Wailing and praying 
 
 The spirits rise and go, 
 Clear, stainless spirits, 
 
 White, as white as snow ; 
 Pale spirits, wailing 
 
 For an overthrow. 
 
380 ' THE FLORIDA BEACH. 
 
 One by one flitting, 
 
 Like a mournful bird 
 Whose song is tired at last, 
 
 For no mate heard. 
 The loving voice is silent, 
 
 The useless word ; 
 One by one flitting, 
 
 Sick with hope deferred. 
 
 Driving and driving, 
 
 The ship drives amain ; 
 While swift from mast to mast 
 
 Shapes flit again, 
 Flit silent as the silence 
 
 Where men lie slain : 
 Their shadow cast upon the sails 
 
 Is like a stain. 
 
 No voice to call the sleepers, 
 
 No hand to raise : 
 They sleep to death in dreaming 
 
 Of length of days. 
 " Vanity of vanities," 
 
 The Preacher says : 
 Vanity is the end 
 
 Of all their ways. 
 
 CHRISTINA ROSSETTI. 
 
 THE FLORIDA BEACH. 
 
 OUR driftwood fire burns drowsily, 
 The fog hangs low afar ; 
 A thousand sea-birds, wild and free, 
 Hover above the bar ; 
 
THE FLORIDA BEACH. 381 
 
 Our boat is drawn far up the strand, 
 Beyond the tide's long reach ; 
 Like fringing to the olive land 
 Shines the silvery Florida beach. 
 
 Behind, the broad pine-barrens lie 
 
 Without a path or trail ; 
 Before, the ocean meets the sky 
 
 Without a rock or sail : 
 We call across to Africa ; 
 
 The waves from mile to mile 
 Bear on the hail from Florida, 
 And the answering cry of the Nile. 
 
 Far to the south the beach shines on, 
 Thick gemmed with giant shells, 
 
 Coral-sprays from the white reef won, 
 Radiant spiny cells, 
 
 Glass-like creatures that ride the waves 
 With azure sail and oar, 
 
 Wide-mouthed things from the deep sea-caves, 
 
 And the purple-hued drift of the shore. 
 
 Wild ducks gaze as we pass along, 
 They have not learned to fear ; 
 
 The mocking-bird keeps on his song 
 On the palmetto near ; 
 
 The slow stream from the everglade 
 Shows the alligator's track ; 
 
 The sea is reft in light and shade 
 
 By the heave of the dolphin's back. 
 
382 VOICES OF THE SEA. 
 
 The Spanish lighthouse stands in haze, 
 
 The keeper trims his lights ; 
 No sail he sees through the long, long days, 
 
 No sail through the still, still nights ; 
 But ships that pass far out at sea, 
 
 Along the warm Gulf-stream, 
 From isles of tropic Caribbee, 
 Keep a watch for his far-away gleam. 
 
 Alone, alone, we wander through 
 
 The southern winter day; 
 The ocean spreads his mighty blue, 
 
 The world seems far away : 
 The tide comes in, the birds fly low, 
 
 As if to catch our speech 
 Ah, Fate ! why must we ever go 
 Away from the Florida beach? 
 
 CONSTANCE FENIMORE WOOLSON. 
 
 VOICES OF THE SEA. 
 
 WAKEFUL I lay at night, and heard 
 The pulsings of the restless sea : 
 The morning surges 
 Sounded like dirges 
 From some far-back eternity, 
 Whose spirits from the deep are stirred. 
 
 Awaking with the morning light, 
 Again I listened to the sea ; 
 
 But with its surges 
 
 We heard no dirges, 
 But only life's activity : 
 Morning dispelled the gloom of night. 
 
MY SHIP. 383 
 
 At noon I sauntered forth to view 
 The throbbing of that living sea : 
 
 Still it was surging, 
 
 But only urging 
 
 All men to be both strong and free, 
 Strong in the soul with conscience true. 
 
 At closing day once more I stood, 
 Gazing across that mighty sea : 
 
 Far ships were sailing ; 
 
 The light was failing ; 
 Time lost in immortality 
 Was the reflection of my mood. 
 
 It is the mind, and not the place, 
 Our mood, and not a varying voice, 
 
 That fills with sadness, 
 
 Or thrills with gladness, 
 A soul whose one great ruling choice 
 Reflects in all things its own face. 
 
 ANONYMOUS. 
 
 MY SHIP. 
 
 DOWN to the wharves, as the sun goes down, 
 And the daylight's tumult and dust and din 
 Are dying away in the busy town, 
 I go to see if my ship comes in. 
 
 I gaze far over the quiet sea, 
 
 Rosy with sunset like mellow wine, 
 
 Where ships like lilies lie tranquilly, 
 Many and far but I see not mine. 
 
384 MY SHIP. 
 
 I question the sailors every night, 
 
 Who over the bulwarks idly lean, 
 Noting the sails as they come in sight : 
 
 " Have you seen my beautiful ship come in ? " 
 
 "Whence does she come?" they ask of me. 
 
 " Who was her master? and what her name? " 
 And they smile upon me pityingly 
 
 When my answer is ever and ever the same. 
 
 Oh ! mine was a vessel of strength and truth ; 
 
 Her sails were as white as a young lamb's fleece 
 She sailed long since from the port of Youth ; 
 
 Her master was Love, her name was Peace. 
 
 And, like all beloved and beauteous things, 
 She faded in distance and doubt away : 
 
 With only a tremble of snowy wings, 
 She floated swan-like adown the bay, 
 
 Carrying with her a precious freight, 
 All I had gathered by years of pain, 
 
 A tempting prize to the pirate Fate : 
 And still I watch for her back again, 
 
 Watch from the earliest morning light 
 
 Till the pale stars grieve o'er the dying day, 
 
 To catch the gleam of her canvas white 
 Among the islands which gem the bay. 
 
 But she comes not yet : she will never come 
 To gladden my eyes and my spirit more ; 
 
 And my heart grows hopeless and faint and dumb, 
 As I wait and wait on the lonesome shore, 
 
THE FISHERMAN'S WIDOW. 385 
 
 Knowing that tempest and time and storm 
 
 Have wrecked and shattered my beauteous bark : 
 
 Rank seaweeds cover her wasting form, 
 
 And her sails are tattered and stained and dark. 
 
 But the tide comes up, and the tide goes down, 
 And the daylight follows the night's eclipse \ 
 
 And still, with the sailors tanned and brown, 
 I wait on the wharves, and watch the ships. 
 
 And still, with a patience that is not hope, 
 
 For vain and empty it long hath been, 
 I sit on the rough shore's rocky slope, 
 
 And watch to see if my ship comes in. 
 
 " FLORENCE PERCY." 
 
 THE FISHERMAN'S WIDOW. 
 
 DOWN on the sands, when the tide is low, 
 I sit and dream of " the long ago ; " 
 The children play at their mother's feet, 
 And the chime of the waves is hushed and sweet 
 But a voice drifts over the quiet shore, 
 And whispers, " The sea shall be no more." 
 
 Down on the sands, when the red light pales, 
 I sit and watch for the fisherman's sails ; 
 And my heart throbs still with the old, old pain, 
 For the boat that will never come back again : 
 
 But a new world waits for my love and me, 
 
 A world of peace where is no more sea. 
 
386 MELUSINA. 
 
 For God is good, and the gift he gave 
 Is held a while by the silver wave ; 
 Not lost, but hidden : I may not weep, 
 While he is at rest in the solemn deep. 
 And the voice of an angel speaks to me 
 Of the fair new home where is no more sea. 
 
 SARAH DOUDNEY. 
 
 MELUSINA. 
 
 " T ISTEN, listen, my children ! 
 
 JL/ To the voice of the wide salt sea." 
 " Oh ! we hear it calling, calling, 
 
 And the gleam of its waves we see. 
 
 " Come up from the wild, strong water ; 
 
 We are wet and cold in the spray ; 
 And the sea it is calling, calling, 
 
 Calling our lives away. 
 
 " Oh ! sing us a song of the sunshine 
 That falls upon flowers and trees, 
 
 Until we forget the billow, 
 
 And the swell of the surging seas ; 
 
 " And loosen, loosen, your tresses 
 All yellow and shining and fair : 
 
 Oh ! sing us a song of the sunshine 
 While we tie up your shimmering hair." 
 
 The lady unfastened her tresses 
 
 Till they fell in a flood to her knee ; 
 
 But the golden hair as she loosed it 
 Fell shimmering green like the sea. 
 
SILHOUETTES. 387 
 
 The lady sang of the sunshine ; 
 
 But the children shrank from her knee, 
 For the musical sound of her singing 
 
 Was the rippling voice of the sea. 
 
 " Oh, listen, listen, my children ! 
 
 Shrink not away in fear ; 
 List to the ocean voices, 
 
 And tell me all that ye hear. 
 
 " Look over the shining water, 
 
 And tell me all that ye see. 
 Oh, kiss me, kiss me, children ! 
 
 And will ye remember me ? 
 
 " Out on the shining waters 
 
 I am going far away ; 
 For the sea is calling, calling, 
 
 To my heart, and I cannot stay." 
 
 MARY T. REILEY. 
 
 SILHOUETTES. 
 
 r T" v HE sea is flecked with bars of gray ; 
 i The dull, dead wind is out of tune ; 
 
 And, like a withered leaf, the moon 
 Is blown across the stormy bay. 
 
 Etched clear upon the pallid sand 
 The black boat lies : a sailor-boy 
 Clambers aboard in careless joy, 
 
 With laughing face and gleaming hand. 
 
388 ON THE SEASHORE. 
 
 And overhead the curlews cry, 
 
 Where, through the dusky upland grass, 
 The young brown-throated reapers pass, 
 
 Like silhouettes against the sky. 
 
 OSCAR WILDE. 
 
 ON THE SEASHORE. 
 
 light waves kiss the shifting sands, 
 \_ The deep seas kiss the sky ; 
 Oh, kiss me once, my only love, 
 And then good-by, good -by ! " 
 
 He kissed her upon cheek and chin, 
 
 And on her brow so mild ; 
 And, when he kissed her on her mouth, 
 
 Each wept like wounded child. 
 
 " Oh ! I'll go east, and I'll go west, 
 
 Far over land and sea ; 
 But never will my heart find rest 
 
 Until it rests with thee." 
 
 " And I'll sit here from year to year, 
 
 Till my life's stream runs dry ; 
 But never a face shall thine replace : 
 
 My only love, good-by ! " 
 
 He wandered east, he wandered west ; 
 
 He won gold, lands, and fame, 
 A gray head, and a weary heart 
 
 Then back to the old home came. 
 
BY THE SEA. 389 
 
 The light waves kissed the shifting sands, 
 
 And sang the selfsame song : 
 " I wonder where's the silly lass 
 
 I liked when I was young." 
 
 He found her at the cottage-door ; 
 
 She smiled the same soft smile ; 
 But when he talked of years to come 
 
 She shut her eyes the while. 
 
 He kissed her upon cheek and chin, 
 
 (They lie, saying love grows old ;) 
 But, when he kissed her on the mouth, 
 
 He shivered at the cold. 
 
 He clasped her to his lonely breast, 
 
 Beside the sunny sea ; 
 He spake a hundred passionate words 
 
 But never a word spake she. 
 
 He loosed her from his longing arms, 
 
 That empty aye must be : 
 " I'll never in this world find rest 
 
 Till I rest in earth with thee." 
 
 DINAH MARIA MULOCK. 
 
 BY THE SEA. 
 
 WHY does the Sea moan evermore ? 
 Shut out from heaven, it makes its moan, 
 It frets against the boundary shore : 
 All earth's full rivers cannot fill 
 The Sea, that drinking, thirsteth still. 
 
39 M/SSJNG. 
 
 Sheer miracles of loveliness 
 Lie hid in its unlooked-on bed : 
 Anemones, salt, passionless, 
 Blow flower-like, just enough alive 
 To blow and multiply and thrive ; 
 
 Shells quaint with curve or spot or spike ; 
 Incrusted live things, Argus-eyed, 
 All fair alike, yet all unlike, 
 Are borri without a pang, and die 
 Without a pang, and so pass by. 
 
 CHRISTINA ROSSETTI. 
 
 MISSING. 
 
 MISSING, no more : a dumb, dead wall 
 Of silence and darkness stands 
 Between us and they who left us here, 
 In the golden morning of the year, 
 With hope and promise and parting cheer, 
 Wet eyes, and waving hands. 
 
 Never an omen told our hearts 
 How fate lurked, grim and dark. 
 
 Fresh and sweet smiled the April day ; 
 
 And the treacherous waves in sunlight lay, 
 
 Kissing the sands of the sheltered bay, 
 And laughing around the bark. 
 
 Like molten silver shone her sails 
 
 As she glided from our gaze ; 
 And we turned us back to our homes again, 
 To let custom grow o'er the yearning pain, 
 And to count by the hearth ah, labor vain ! 
 
 The lonely, lingering days. 
 
MISSING. 391 
 
 Never a letter from loving hands, 
 
 Never a message, came : 
 We knew long since should the port be won ; 
 We knew what the fierce north gale had done ; 
 And slowly crept over every one 
 
 A terror we would not name. 
 
 Ah, me ! those weary mornings, 
 
 When on the great pier-head 
 We strained our sight o'er the tossing seas, 
 And studied each change in the fitful breeze, 
 And strove to answer in tones of ease 
 
 Light questions coldly said. 
 
 Ah, me ! those weary midnights, 
 
 Hearing the breakers roar ; 
 Starting from dreams of storm and death, 
 With beating pulses and catching breath, 
 To hear the white surf " call " beneath, 
 
 Along the hollow shore. 
 
 Never a flash down the wires, 
 
 Never a word from the East, 
 From the port she sailed for how long ago ! 
 Why, even a spar one would weep to know, 
 Tossed on the wild waves' ebb and flow, 
 
 Were something real at least. 
 
 Missing, missing, and silence 
 
 The great tides rise and fall ; 
 The sea lies dimpling out in the light, 
 Or dances, all living, gleaming white ; 
 Day follows day, night rolls on night 
 
 Missing, and that is all. 
 
392 STANZAS WRITTEN IN DEJECTION. 
 
 The bark crossed out in the log-book, 
 The names dropped out of the prayers ; 
 
 In many a household a vacant place ; 
 
 In many a life a vanished grace : 
 
 We know our cast in the long life-race ; 
 But only God knows theirs. 
 
 ANONYMOUS. 
 
 STANZAS WRITTEN IN DEJECTION, NEAR NAPLES. 
 
 THE sun is warm, the sky is clear, 
 The waves are dancing fast and bright, 
 Blue isles and snowy mountains wear 
 The purple noon's transparent light 
 Around its unexpanded buds. 
 Like many a voice of one delight, 
 The winds, the birds, the ocean floods, 
 The city's voice itself is soft, like Solitude's. 
 
 I see the Deep's untrampled floor, 
 
 With green and purple seaweeds strown ; 
 
 I see the waves upon the shore, 
 
 Like light dissolved in star- showers, thrown : 
 
 I sit upon the sands alone ; 
 
 The lightning of the noontide ocean 
 
 Is flashing round me, and a tone 
 
 Arises from its measured motion. 
 
 How sweet ! did any heart now share in my emotion. 
 
 Alas ! I have nor hope nor health, 
 Nor peace within, nor calm around ; 
 Nor that content, surpassing wealth, 
 The sage in meditation found, 
 
DRIFTING APART. 393 
 
 And walked with inward glory crowned ; 
 
 Nor fame, nor power, nor love, nor leisure. 
 
 Others I see whom these surround, 
 
 Smiling they live, and call life pleasure : 
 
 To me that cup has been dealt in another measure. 
 
 Yet now despair itself is mild, 
 
 Even as the winds and waters are : 
 
 I could lie down like a tired child, 
 
 And weep away the life of care 
 
 Which I have borne, and yet must bear, 
 
 Till death, like sleep, might steal on me, 
 
 And I might feel in the warm air 
 
 My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea 
 
 Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony. 
 
 Some might lament that I were cold, 
 
 As I, when this sweet day is gone, 
 
 Which my lost heart, too soon grown old, 
 
 Insults with this untimely moan. 
 
 They might lament ; for I am one 
 
 Whom men love not, and yet regret, 
 
 Unlike this day, which, when the sun 
 
 Shall on its stainless glory set, 
 
 Will linger, though enjoyed, like joy in memory yet. 
 
 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 
 
 DRIFTING APART. 
 
 OUT of sight of the heated land, 
 Over the breezy sea, 
 Into the reach of the solemn mist 
 Quietly drifted we. 
 
394 DRIFTING APART. 
 
 The sky was as blue as a baby's eye 
 When it falleth apart in sleep ; 
 
 And soft as the touch of its wandering hand, 
 The swell of the peaceful deep. 
 
 Hovered all day in our sluggish wake, 
 
 The wonderful petrel's wing, 
 Following, following, ever afar, 
 
 Like the love of a human thing. 
 
 The day crept out at the purple west, 
 
 Dowered with glories rare ; 
 Never a sight, and never a sound, 
 
 To startle the dreamy air. 
 
 The mist behind, and the mist before, 
 
 But light in the purple west ; 
 Until we wearied to turn aside, 
 
 And drift to its haunted rest. 
 
 But the mist was behind, and the mist before 
 Rose up like a changeless fate ; 
 
 And we turned our faces toward the dark, 
 And wearily said " Too late ! " 
 
 So, with foreheads fronting the far-off south, 
 
 We drifted into the mist, 
 Turning away from the glorious west's 
 
 Purple and amethyst. 
 
 For the sea and the sky met everywhere, 
 With the strength of an evil hate ; 
 
 And a thunder-cloud came out of the west, 
 And guarded the sunset gate. 
 
THE RELIC ON THE ROCKS. 395 
 
 Thou art in the royal, radiant land 
 
 That stretcheth across the sea, 
 And the drifting hours of each weary day 
 
 Take me farther from thee. 
 
 " HOWARD G LYNDON." 
 
 THE RELIC ON THE BOCKS. 
 
 THE lustrous Moon through the winterly night 
 Glides, with the stateliest pomp of a queen, 
 Over filmy cloudlets of pearly white, 
 
 And a cold calm sea of transcendent sheen : 
 The gleam of her robe is reflected there, 
 And lights up her path like a mermaid's hair ; 
 
 Sheds over the tremulous, sleeping sea 
 A vision of beauty and pure delight, 
 
 And softens with fingers of fantasy 
 
 The grim gray cliffs' inaccessible height, 
 
 Till the soul is lost in a dreamy mist, 
 
 And all seemeth lovely the Moon hath kissed. 
 
 But something hides in a rift of the rock, 
 Near a yawning cavern's ominous gloom, 
 
 Which the shimmering moonbeams dare not mock 
 With their lightsome touch j for it tells of doom, 
 
 In its silence filling the air with sound, 
 
 And the swirl of a tempest all around, 
 
 A something with ribs and a broken back, 
 Skeleton ribs, that are gaunt and grim, 
 
 Lying alone in the shadow so black, 
 A wreck nevemore to be taut and trim, 
 
396 SEASHORE. 
 
 Nevermore answer to breeze or to blast 
 With a floating pennon, or straining mast. 
 
 Lying there, rotting, by night and by day, 
 Under that cruel and pitiless crag ; 
 
 Only the curlew to watch its decay, 
 Only the seaweed for pennon and flag : 
 
 Nothing but timber and cordage, 'tis true ; 
 
 Only a boat but the boat had a crew ! 
 
 ANONYMOUS. 
 
 SEASHORE. 
 
 I HEARD, or seemed to hear, the chiding Sea 
 Say, Pilgrim, why so late and slow to come ? 
 Am I not always here, thy summer home ? 
 Is not my voice thy music, morn and eve, 
 My breath thy healthful climate in the heats, 
 My touch thy antidote, my bay thy bath ? 
 Was ever building like my terraces ? 
 Was ever couch magnificent as mine ? 
 Lie on the warm rock-ledges, and there learn 
 A little hut suffices like a town. 
 I make your sculptured architecture vain, 
 Vain beside mine. I drive my wedges home, 
 And carve the coastwise mountain into caves. 
 Lo ! here is Rome and Nineveh and Thebes, 
 Karnak and Pyramid, and Giant's Stairs, 
 Half piled or prostrate ; and my newest slab 
 Older than all thy race. 
 
 Behold the Sea ! 
 
 The opaline, the plentiful and strong, 
 Yet beautiful as is the rose in June, 
 
SEASHORE. 397 
 
 Fresh as the trickling rainbow of July ; 
 
 Sea full of food, the nourisher of kinds, 
 
 Purger of earth, and medicine of men, 
 
 Creating a sweet climate by my breath, 
 
 Washing out harms and griefs from memory, 
 
 And in my mathematic ebb and flow 
 
 Giving a hint of that which changes not. 
 
 Rich are the sea- gods : who gives gifts but they ? 
 
 They grope the sea for pearls, but more than pearls ; 
 
 They pluck force thence, and give it to the wise. 
 
 Tor every wave is wealth to Daedalus, 
 
 Wealth to the cunning artist who can work 
 
 This matchless strength. Where shall he find, O waves ! 
 
 A load your Atlas shoulders cannot lift ? 
 
 I, with my hammer pounding evermore 
 
 The rocky coast, smite Andes into dust, 
 
 Strewing my bed, and in another age 
 
 Rebuild a continent of better men. 
 
 Then I unbar the doors : my paths lead out 
 
 The exodus of nations : I disperse 
 
 Men to all shores that front the hoary main. 
 
 I, too, have arts and sorceries : 
 Illusion dwells forever with the wave. 
 I know what spells are laid. Leave me to deal 
 With credulous and imaginative man \ 
 For, though he scoop my water in his palm, 
 A few rods off he deems it gems and clouds. 
 Planting strange fruits and sunshine on the shore, 
 I make some coast alluring, some lone isle, 
 To distant men, who must go there, or die. 
 
 RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 
 
398 FOR MUSIC. 
 
 FOR MUSIC. 
 
 ALONG the shore, along the shore, 
 I see the wavelets meeting : 
 But thee I see ah, nevermore, 
 
 For all my wild heart's beating. 
 The little wavelets come and go ; 
 The tide of life ebbs to and fro, 
 
 Advancing and retreating : 
 But from the shore, the steadfast shore, 
 
 The sea is parted never, 
 And mine I hold thee evermore, 
 
 Forever and forever. 
 
 Along the shore, along the shore, 
 
 I hear the waves resounding ; 
 But thou wilt cross them nevermore 
 
 For all my wild heart's bounding. 
 The moon comes out above the tide, 
 And quiets all the waters wide 
 
 Her pathway bright surrounding : 
 While on the shore, the dreary shore, 
 
 I walk with weak endeavor, 
 I have thy light's love evermore, 
 
 Forever and foreVer. 
 
 DINAH MARIA MULOCK. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 AS by the shore, at break of day, 
 A vanquished chief expiring lay, 
 Upon the sands, with broken sword, 
 He traced his farewell to the free ; 
 And there the last unfinished word 
 He dying wrote was " Liberty ! " 
 
SITTING ON THE SHORE. 399 
 
 At night a sea-bird shrieked the knell 
 Of him who thus for freedom fell. 
 The words he wrote, ere evening came, 
 Were covered by the sounding sea : 
 So passed away the cause and name 
 Of him who died for liberty. 
 
 THOMAS MOORE. 
 
 SITTING ON THE SHORE. 
 
 E tide has ebbed away ; 
 
 No more wild.dashings 'gainst the adamant rocks, 
 Nor swayings amidst seaweed false that mocks 
 The hues of gardens gay ; 
 No laugh of little wavelets at their play ; 
 No lucid pools reflecting heaven's clear brow : 
 Both storm and calm alike are ended now. 
 
 The rocks sit gray and lone : 
 The shifting sand is spread so smooth and dry 
 That not a tide might ever have swept by 
 
 Stirring it with rude moan ; 
 
 Only some weedy fragments idly thrown 
 To rot beneath the sky, till what has been 
 But desolation's self has grown serene. 
 
 Afar the mountains rise, 
 And the broad estuary widens out, 
 All sunshine : wheeling round and round about 
 
 Seaward, a white bird flies. 
 
 A bird ? Nay, seems it rather in these eyes 
 A spirit, o'er eternity's dim sea 
 Calling, " Come thou where all we glad souls be." 
 
400 PEARLS. 
 
 O life ! O silent shore ! 
 
 Where we all sit patient ; O great sea beyond ! 
 To which we turn with solemn hope and fond, 
 
 But sorrowful no more, 
 
 A little while, and then we, too, shall soar 
 Like white-winged sea-birds into the infinite deep : 
 Till then, thou, Father, wilt our spirits keep. 
 
 DINAH MARIA MULOCK. 
 
 PEARLS. 
 
 E wave that floods the trembling shore, 
 JL And desolates the strand, 
 In ebbing leaves, mid wreck and froth, 
 A shell upon the sand. 
 
 So troubles oft o'erwhelm the soul, 
 
 And shake the constant mind, 
 That in retreating leave a pearl 
 
 Of memory behind. 
 
 ANNA KATHARINE GREEN. 
 
 A TEAR. 
 
 FROM heaven dropped a tear, which thought to be 
 Forever lost within the sea. 
 A shell enclosing it said, " Have no fear, 
 For thou shalt be my pearl, O tear ! 
 Fear not the mighty waves, but trust to me 
 To bear thee through them in security. 
 Oh, thou, my joy, of all my joys the best, 
 Thou heavenly tear within my breast ! 
 
'77S LOVE'S TO LOVE THE SEA. 401 
 
 The pearliest of thy tears thou'st given to me, 
 O Heaven ! to guard and keep for thee." 
 
 HERBERT W. BOWEN. 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF RUCKERT. 
 
 HOPES AND WAVES. . 
 
 HOPES on hopes from the bosom sever ; 
 But the heart hopes on, unchanging ever : 
 Wave after wave breaks on the shore ; 
 But the sea is as deep as it was before. 
 
 That the billows heave with a ceaseless motion 
 Is the very life of the throbbing ocean ; 
 And hopes that from day to day upstart 
 Are the swelling wave-beats of the heart. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND. 
 
 'TIS LOVE'S TO LOVE THE SEA. 
 
 LOVE launched a fairy-boat 
 To sail the wide sea over ; 
 And he laughed to lie and float 
 Beneath the white sail's cover. 
 
 His boat a sea-shell fair, 
 
 His sail a white swan's feather : 
 Love like a pearl lay there, 
 
 While all was summer weather. 
 
 'Tis Love's to love the sea 
 In soft and summer weather ; 
 
 'Tis Love's to love to be 
 With his heart's love together. 
 
402 SEA-MEWS IN WINTER TIME. 
 
 Love launched a mighty ship 
 To bear fierce storms and battle, 
 
 Tossed in the tempest's grip, 
 Rocked to the cannon's rattle. 
 
 Love stood upon the deck, 
 
 With Death around and under ; 
 
 Laughed at the rocks that wreck, 
 Laughed at battle's thunder. 
 
 'Tis Love's to love the wave, 
 With storms or battle frowning ; 
 
 'Tis Love's to love to brave 
 
 Life's worst to win Love's crowning. 
 
 F. W. BOURDILLON. 
 
 SEA-MEWS IN WINTER TIME. 
 
 I WALKED beside a dark gray sea, 
 And said, " O world, how cold thou art ! 
 Thou poor, white world, I pity thee, 
 For joy and warmth from thee depart. 
 
 " Yon rising wave licks off the snow ; 
 
 Winds on the crag each other chase, 
 In little powdery whirls they blow 
 
 The misty fragments down its face. 
 
 " The sea is cold, and dark its rim ; 
 
 Winter sits cowering on the wold ; 
 And I, beside this watery brim, 
 
 Am also lonely, also cold." 
 
SEA-MEWS IN WINTER TIME. 403 
 
 I spoke, and drew toward a rock, 
 
 Where many mews made twittering sweet ; 
 
 Their wings upreared, the clustering flock 
 Did pat the sea-grass with their feet. 
 
 A rock but half submerged, the sea 
 Ran up, and washed it while they fed : 
 
 Their fond and foolish ecstasy 
 A wondering in my fancy bred. 
 
 Joy companied with every cry, 
 Joy in their food, in that keen wind, 
 
 That heaving sea, that shaded sky, 
 And in themselves, and in their kind. 
 
 The phantoms of the deep at play : 
 
 What idless graced the twittering things ! 
 
 Luxurious paddlings in the spray, 
 And delicate lifting up of wings. 
 
 Then all at once a flight, and fast 
 
 The lovely crowd flew out to sea : 
 If mine own life had been recast, 
 
 Earth had not looked more changed to me. 
 
 " Where is the cold ? Yon clouded skies 
 Have only dropped their curtains low 
 
 To shade the old mother where she lies, 
 Sleeping a little, 'neath the snow. 
 
 " The cold is not in crag nor scar, 
 
 Not in the snows that lap the lea, 
 Not in yon wings that beat afar, 
 
 Delighting on the crested sea. 
 
404 FROM "KING RICHARD III." 
 
 " No, nor in yon exultant wind 
 
 That shakes the oak, and bends the pine : 
 
 Look near, look in, and thou shalt find 
 No sense of cold, fond fool, but thine ! " 
 
 With that I felt the gloom depart ; 
 
 And thoughts within me did unfold, 
 Whose sunshine warmed me to the heart : 
 
 I walked in joy, and was not cold. 
 
 JEAN INGELOW. 
 
 FROM "KING RICHARD III." 
 
 I SAW a thousand fearful wrecks ; 
 A thousand men that fishes gnawed upon ; 
 Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, 
 Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, 
 All scattered in the bottom of the sea. 
 Some lay in dead men's skulls ; and in those holes 
 Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept 
 (As 'twere in scorn of eyes) reflecting gems, 
 That wooed the slimy bottom of the deep, 
 And mocked the dead bones that lay scattered by. 
 
 SHAKSPEARK. 
 
 THE MERMAN. 
 I. 
 
 WHO would be 
 A merman bold, 
 Sitting alone, 
 Singing alone, 
 Under the sea, 
 With a crown of gold, 
 On a throne ? 
 
THE MERMAN. 405 
 
 n. 
 
 I would be a merman bold. 
 I would sit and sing the whole of the day ; 
 I would fill the sea-halls with a voice of power ; 
 But at night I would roam abroad, and play 
 With the mermaids in and out of the rocks, 
 Dressing their hair with the white sea-flower ; 
 And, holding them back by their flowing locks, 
 I would kiss them often under the sea, 
 And kiss them again till they kissed me 
 
 Laughingly, laughingly ; 
 And then we would wander away, away, 
 To the pale- green sea-groves straight and high, 
 
 Chasing each other merrily. 
 
 m. 
 
 There would be neither moon nor star ; 
 
 But the wave would make music above us afar, 
 
 Low thunder and light in the magic night, 
 
 Neither moon nor star. 
 We would call aloud in the dreamy dells, 
 Call to each other, and whoop and cry 
 
 All night, merrily, merrily. 
 
 They would pelt me with starry spangles and shells, 
 Laughing, and clapping their hands between, 
 
 All night, merrily, merrily ; 
 But I would throw to them back in mine 
 Turkois and agate and almondine, 
 Then, leaping out upon them unseen, 
 I would kiss them often under the sea, 
 And kiss them again till they kissed me 
 
 Laughingly, laughingly. 
 
406 THE MERMAID. 
 
 Oh ! what a happy life were mine 
 Under the hollow-hung ocean green. 
 Soft are the moss-beds under the sea : 
 We would live merrily, merrily. 
 
 ALFRED TENNYSON. 
 
 THE MERMAID. 
 
 WHO would be 
 A mermaid fair, 
 Singing alone, 
 Combing her hair 
 Under the sea, 
 In a golden curl 
 With a comb of pearl, 
 On a throne ? 
 
 n. 
 
 I would be a mermaid fair. 
 I would sing to myself the whole of the day ; 
 With a comb of pearl I would comb my hair ; 
 And still as I combed I would sing, and say, 
 " Who is it loves me? who loves not me? " 
 I would comb my hair till my ringlets would fall, 
 
 Low adown, low adown, 
 From under my starry sea-bud crown, 
 
 Low adown and around ; 
 And I should look like a fountain of gold 
 
 Springing alone 
 With a shrill inner-sound. 
 
 Over the throne 
 
THE MERMAID. 407 
 
 In the midst of the hall ; 
 
 Till that great sea-snake under the sea, 
 
 From his coiled sleeps in the central deeps, 
 
 Would slowly trail himself sevenfold 
 
 Round the hall where I sate, and look in at the gate, 
 
 With his large, calm eyes for the love of me. 
 
 And all the mermen under the sea 
 
 Would feel their immortality 
 
 Die in their hearts for the love of me. 
 
 in. 
 
 But at night I would wander away, away : 
 I would fling on each side my low-flowing locks, 
 And lightly vault from the throne, and play 
 With the mermen in and out of the rocks. 
 We would run to and fro, and hide and seek, 
 On the broad sea-wolds in the crimson shells 
 Whose silvery spikes are nighest the sea ; 
 But if any came near I would call and shriek, 
 And adown the steep like a wave I would leap 
 From the diamond-ledges that jut from the dells ; 
 For I would not be kissed by all who would list, 
 Of the bold merry mermen under the sea. 
 They would sue me, and woo me, and flatter me, 
 In the purple twilights under the sea \ 
 But the king of them all would carry me, 
 Woo me, and win me, and marry me, 
 In the branching jaspers under the sea. 
 Then all the dry pied things that be 
 In the hueless masses under the sea 
 Would curl round my silver feet silently, 
 All looking up for the love of me. 
 
408 LAND-LOCKED. 
 
 And if I should carol aloud from aloft, 
 All things that are forked and horned and soft 
 Would lean out from the hollow sphere of the sea, 
 All looking down for the love of me. 
 
 ALFRED TENNYSON. 
 
 LAND-LOCKED. 
 
 THE sea is so far away ! 
 Over the leagues of land, 
 And over the meadows gold and gray, 
 
 And over a viewless strand, 
 Where the waves go, 
 And the winds blow, 
 And the clouds in the sky flit to and fro. 
 
 I heard its roar in the wood, 
 
 Deep rustling through the leaves ; 
 
 And ere the harvest I understood 
 The whisper of bannered sheaves. 
 
 I saw it yester night ; 
 
 Crystalline fire it lay 
 In the heart of the sunset, still and bright, 
 
 With island and cape and bay. 
 
 I dream of it so much 
 
 Distant, and yet so dear ; 
 So fresh to the sense, so far to the touch, 
 
 So dim, and yet so clear. 
 
 The sea is in my song, 
 
 Here hemmed in by the land; 
 
THE MYSTIC STEERSMAN. 409 
 
 And I play in its edges all day long, 
 By night I walk its strand. 
 
 Come back to me, O sea ! 
 
 Back to my heart, O breath ! 
 With the ships that vanish silently 
 
 From the golden rim of death. 
 
 Come back to me, O sea ! 
 
 Back to my heart again, 
 With the trodden beach, and the long sea-reach, 
 
 And the faces of friendly men, 
 Where the waves go, 
 And the winds blow, 
 And the clouds in the sky flit to and fro. 
 
 SAMUEL WILLOUGHBY DUFFIELD. 
 
 THE MYSTIC STEERSMAN. 
 
 FRAGILE bark upon an unknown sea, 
 Whose solemn surges find no echoing strand, 
 Who is the steersman that so patiently 
 Does at the magic wheel forever stand? 
 
 When angry billows sleep, and skies are fair, 
 And sails flap idly in the fitful wind, 
 
 Anxious to learn my bearings, what they are, 
 I turn, and shout into the dark behind, 
 
 Then listen. But no echo comes again. 
 Disconsolate I turn me round, and now 
 
410 THE MYSTIC STEERSMAN. 
 
 Attempt with straining eyes to scan the main, 
 But see no farther than my vessel's prow. 
 
 I sometimes wonder why so frail a thing 
 Was ever launched upon so vast a sea ; 
 
 But what avails my dreamy wondering? 
 What answer has it ever brought to me ? 
 
 Yet in the soul I hear meek whisperings, 
 
 And sounds from fairer climes float on the air ; 
 
 While Faith, luxurious, plumes her drooping wings, 
 And gives herself to loving trust and prayer. 
 
 * 
 
 When dismal, chilling fogs of Doubt shut down, 
 Brooding like night through many weary miles, 
 
 Then Love, that many waters cannot drown, 
 
 Looks up through rifts of blue the sunshine smiles. 
 
 If storms arise, and hoarse wild seas run high, 
 And fears that all is lost come with the swell, 
 
 Let me but hear the whispered, " It is I," 
 And there is calm more sweet than I can tell. 
 
 When passion's whirlwind howls across the deep, 
 And signs of danger threaten more and more, 
 
 Straightway I call the Master. Does he sleep ? 
 Ah, no ! Who sails with him comes safe to shore. 
 
 Therefore I trust my faithful, unseen Guide, 
 
 And, meekly suppliant, lift the outstretched hand, 
 
 Begging my saintly Watcher to abide, 
 
 And bring my frail bark safe to fatherland. 
 
 W. J. TlLLEV. 
 
THE SEA-FAIRIES. 411 
 
 A SUMMER DAY BY THE SEA. 
 
 THE sun is set ; and in his latest beams 
 Yon little cloud of ashen gray and gold, 
 Slowly upon the amber air unrolled, 
 The falling mantle of the Prophet seems. 
 
 From the dim headlands many a lighthouse gleams, 
 The street-lamps of the ocean ; and behold, 
 O'erhead the banners of the night unfold ; 
 The day hath passed into the land of dreams. 
 
 O summer day beside the joyous sea ! 
 O summer day so wonderful and white, 
 So full of gladness, and so full of pain ! 
 
 Forever and forever shalt thou be 
 
 To some the gravestone of a dead delight, 
 To some the landmark of a new domain. 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 THE SEA-FAIRIES. 
 
 SLOW sailed the weary mariners, and saw 
 Betwixt the green brink and the running foam 
 Sweet faces, rounded arms, and bosoms pressed 
 To little harps of gold ; and while they mused, 
 Whispering to each other, half in fear, 
 Shrill music reached them on the middle sea. 
 
 Whither away, whither away, whither away? fly no more. 
 Whither away from the high green field and the happy 
 
 blossoming shore ? 
 
 Day and night to the billow the fountain calls : 
 Down shower the gambolling waterfalls 
 From wandering over the lea ; 
 
412 THE SEA-FAIRIES. 
 
 Out of the live- green heart of the dells 
 They freshen the silvery-crimson shells, 
 And thick with white bells the clover-hill swells 
 High over the full-toned sea. 
 Oh ! hither, come hither, and furl your sails, 
 Come hither to me and to me : 
 Hither, come hither, and frolic and play. 
 Here it is only the mew that wails : 
 We will sing to you all the day. 
 Mariner, mariner, furl your sails : 
 For here are the blissful downs and dales ; 
 And merrily, merrily, carol the gales ; 
 And the spangle dances in bight and bay ; 
 And the rainbow forms, and flies on the land 
 Over the islands free ; 
 
 And the rainbow lives in the curve of the sand : 
 Hither, come hither and see. 
 And the rainbow hangs on the poising wave ; 
 And sweet is the color of cove and cave, 
 And sweet shall your welcome be. 
 Oh ! hither, come hither, and be our lords, 
 For merry brides are we : 
 
 We will kiss sweet kisses, and speak sweet words. 
 Oh ! listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten 
 With pleasure and love and jubilee. 
 Oh ! listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten 
 When the sharp-clear twang of the golden chords 
 Runs up the ridged sea. 
 Who can light on as happy a shore 
 All the world o'er, all the world o'er? 
 Whither away? listen and stay: mariner, mariner, fly no 
 more. 
 
 ALERED TENNYSON. 
 
FROM "SUPPER AT THE MILL: 1 413 
 
 FROM "SUPPER AT THE MILL." 
 
 WHEN sparrows build, and the leaves break forth, 
 My old sorrow wakes and cries ; 
 For I know there is dawn in the far, far north, 
 
 And a scarlet sun doth rise : 
 Like a scarlet fleece the snow-field spreads ; 
 
 And the icy founts run free ; 
 And the bergs begin to bow their heads, 
 And plunge and sail in the sea. 
 
 Oh, my lost love, and my own, own love, 
 
 And my love that loved me so ! 
 Is there never a chink in the world above 
 
 Where they listen for words from below? 
 Nay, I spoke once, and I grieved thee sore 
 
 I remember all that I said ; 
 And now thou wilt hear me no more, no more, 
 
 Till the Sea gives up her dead. 
 
 Thou didst set thy foot on the ship, and sail 
 
 To the ice-fields and the snow ; 
 Thou wert sad, for thy love did nought avail, 
 
 And the end I could not know. 
 How could I tell I should love thee to-day, 
 
 Whom that day I held not dear? 
 How could I know I should love thee away 
 
 When I did not love thee anear? 
 
 We shall walk no more through the sodden plain 
 
 With the faded bents o'erspread ; 
 We shall stand no more by the seething main 
 
 While the dark wrack drives o'erhead : 
 
414 SONG OF THE MERMAIDS AND MERMEN. 
 
 We shall part no more in the wind and the rain, 
 
 Where thy last farewell was said : 
 But perhaps I shall meet thee, and know thee again, 
 
 When the Sea gives up her dead. 
 
 JEAN INGELOW. 
 
 SONG OP THE MERMAIDS AND MERMEN. 
 
 MERMAID. 
 
 J7ATHOMS deep beneath the wave, 
 JL Stringing beads of glistering pearl, 
 Singing the achievements brave 
 
 Of many an old Norwegian earl ; 
 Dwelling where the tempest's raving 
 
 Falls as light upon our ear 
 As the sigh of lover, craving 
 
 Pity from his lady dear, 
 Children of wild Thule, we, 
 From the deep caves of the sea, 
 As the lark springs from the lea, 
 Hither come to share your glee. 
 
 MERMAN. 
 
 From reining of the water-horse, 
 
 That bounded till the waves were foaming, 
 Watching the infant tempest's course, 
 
 Chasing the sea-snake in his roaming ; 
 From winding charge-notes on the shell, 
 
 When the huge whale and sword-fish duel, 
 Or tolling shroudless seamen's knell, 
 
 When the winds and waves are cruel, 
 
ALONE BY THE BAY. 415 
 
 Children of wild Thule, we 
 
 Have ploughed such furrows on the sea 
 
 As the steer draws on the lea, 
 
 And hither we come to share your glee. 
 
 MERMAIDS AND MERMEN. 
 
 We heard you in our twilight caves, 
 
 A hundred fathom deep below, 
 For notes of joy can pierce the waves, 
 
 That drown each sound of war and woe. 
 Those who dwell beneath the sea 
 
 Love the sons of Thule well ; 
 Thus, to aid your mirth, bring we 
 
 Dance and song and sounding shell. 
 Children of dark Thule, know, 
 Those who dwell by haaf and voe, 
 Where your daring shallops row, 
 Come to share the festal show. 
 
 WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 ALONE BY THE BAY. 
 
 HE is gone, oh, my heart ! he is gone ; 
 And the sea remains and the sky ; 
 And the skiffs flit in and out, 
 
 And the white -winged yachts go by. 
 
 And the waves run purple and green, 
 And the sunshine glints and glows ; 
 
 And freshly across the bay 
 
 The breath of the morning blows. 
 
41 6 EASTER MORNING. 
 
 I liked it better last night, 
 
 When the dark shut down on the main, 
 And the phantom fleet lay still, 
 
 And I heard the waves complain. 
 
 For the sadness that dwells in my heart, 
 And the rune of their endless woe, 
 
 Their longing and void and despair, 
 Kept time in their ebb and flow. 
 
 LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON. 
 
 EASTER MORNING. 
 
 DAME Margaret spake to Annie Blair, 
 To Annie Blair spake she, 
 As from beneath her wrinkled hand 
 She peered far out to sea. 
 
 " Look forth, look forth, O Annie Blair ! 
 
 For my old eyes are dim : 
 See you a single boat afloat 
 
 Within the horizon's rim ? " 
 
 Sweet Annie looked to east, to west, 
 To north and south looked she : 
 
 There was no single boat afloat 
 Upon the angry sea. 
 
 The sky was dark, the winds were high, 
 The breakers lashed the shore, 
 
 And louder and still louder swelled 
 The tempest's sullen roar. 
 
EASTER MORNING. 417 
 
 " Look forth again ! " Dame Margaret cried : 
 
 "Doth any boat come in?" 
 And scarce she heard the answering word 
 
 Above the furious din. 
 
 " Pray God no boat may put to sea 
 
 In such a gale ! " she said ; 
 " Pray God no soul may dare to-night 
 
 The rocks of Danger Head ! 
 
 " This is Good Friday, Annie Blair," 
 
 Dame Margaret cried again, 
 " When Mary's Son, the Merciful, 
 
 On Calvary was slain. 
 
 " The earth did quake, the rocks were rent, 
 
 The graves were opened wide, 
 And darkness like to this fell down 
 
 When He, the Holy, died. 
 
 " Give me your hand, O Annie Blair ! 
 
 Your two knees fall upon : 
 Christ send to you your lover back 
 
 To me, my only son ! " 
 
 All night they watched, all night they prayed, 
 
 All night they heard the roar 
 Of the fierce breakers dashing high 
 
 Upon the lonely shore. 
 
 Oh, hark ! strange footsteps on the sand, 
 
 A voice above the din : 
 " Dame Margaret, Dame Margaret ! 
 
 Is Annie Blair within ? 
 
41 8 EASTER MORNING. 
 
 11 High on the rocks of Danger Head 
 
 Her lover's boat is cast, 
 All rudderless, all anchorless, 
 
 Mere hull and splintered mast." 
 
 Oh, hark ! slow footsteps on the sand, 
 And women wailing sore : 
 
 " Dame Margaret, Dame Margaret ! 
 Your son you'll see no more. 
 
 " God pity you ! Christ comfort you ! " 
 The weeping women cried ; 
 
 But " May God pity Annie Blair ! " 
 Dame Margaret replied. 
 
 " For life is long, and youth is strong, 
 
 And it must still bear on. 
 Leave us alone to make our moan 
 
 My son ! alas, my son ! " 
 
 The Easter morning, flushed with joy, 
 
 Saw all the winds at rest ; 
 And far and near the blue sea smiled 
 
 With sunshine on its breast. 
 
 The neighbors came, the neighbors went ; 
 
 They sought the house of prayer : 
 But on the rocks of Danger Head 
 
 The dame and Annie Blair, 
 
 With, still white faces, watched the deep 
 
 Without a tear or moan. 
 " I cannot weep," said Annie Blair : 
 
 " My heart is turned to stone." 
 
A SONG OF PITCAIRN'S ISLAND. 419 
 
 Forth from the church the pastor came ; 
 
 And up the rocks strode he, 
 Baring his thin white locks to meet 
 
 The salt breath of the sea. 
 
 " The rocks shall rend, the earth shall quake, 
 
 The sea give up its dead ; 
 For Christ our Lord is risen indeed 
 
 'Tis Easter Morn," he said. 
 
 Oh, hark ! oh, hark ! A startled cry, 
 
 A rush of hurrying feet, 
 The swarming of a hundred men 
 
 Adown the village street. 
 
 " Now unto God and Christ the Lord 
 
 Be praise and thanks alway ! 
 The sea hath given up its dead 
 
 This blessed Easter Day ! " 
 
 JULIA C. R. DORR. 
 
 A SONG OF PITCAIRN'S ISLAND. 
 
 COME, take our boy, and we will go 
 Before our cabin-door : 
 The winds shall bring us, as they blow, 
 
 The murmurs of the shore ; 
 And we will kiss his young blue eyes, 
 And I will sing him, as he lies, 
 
 Songs that were made of yore, 
 I'll sing in his delighted ear 
 The island lays thou lov'st to hear. 
 
420 A SONG OF PITCAIRN'S ISLAND. 
 
 And thou, while stammering I repeat, 
 Thy country's tongue shalt teach : 
 Tis not so soft, but far more sweet 
 
 Than my own native speech ; 
 For thou no other tongue didst know, 
 When, scarcely twenty moons ago, 
 
 Upon Tahiti's beach 
 Thou cam'st to woo me to be thine 
 With many a speaking look and sign. 
 
 I knew thy meaning : thou didst praise 
 My eyes, my locks of jet ; 
 
 Ah ! well for me they won thy gaze ; 
 But thine were fairer yet. 
 
 I'm glad to see my infant wear 
 
 Thy soft blue eyes and sunny hair ; 
 And when my sight is met 
 
 By his white brow and blooming cheek, 
 
 I feel a joy I cannot speak. 
 
 Come, talk of Europe's maids with me, 
 
 Whose necks and cheeks, they tell, 
 Outshine the beauty of the sea, 
 
 White foam, and crimson shell. 
 I'll shape like theirs my simple dress, 
 And bind like them each jetty tress, 
 
 A sight to please thee well ; 
 And for my dusky brow will braid 
 A bonnet like an English maid. 
 
 Come, for the soft, low sunlight calls ; 
 
 We lose the pleasant hours : 
 'Tis lovelier than these cottage walls, 
 
 That seat among the flowers. 
 
SEA-DRIFT. 421 
 
 And I will learn of thee a prayer 
 To Him who gave a home so fair, 
 
 A lot so blest as ours, 
 The God who made for thee and me 
 This sweet lone isle amid the sea. 
 
 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 
 
 SEA-DRIFT. 
 
 SEE where she stands, on the wet sea-sands, 
 Looking across the water : 
 Wild is the night, but wilder still 
 The face of the fisher's daughter. 
 
 What does she there, in the lightning's glare : 
 
 What does she there, I wonder? 
 What dread demon drags her forth 
 
 In the night and wind and thunder? 
 
 Is it the ghost that haunts this coast ? 
 
 The cruel waves mount higher, 
 And the beacon pierces the stormy dark 
 
 With its javelin of fire. 
 
 Beyond the light of the beacon bright 
 
 A merchantman is tacking : 
 The hoarse wind whistles through the shrouds, 
 
 And the brittle topmasts cracking. 
 
 The sea it mounts over dead men's bones, 
 
 The sea it foams in anger ; 
 The curlews swoop through the resonant air 
 
 With a warning cry of danger. 
 
422 SOA'G. 
 
 The star-fish clings to the seaweed's rings 
 
 In a vague, dumb sense of peril ; 
 And the spray with its phantom-fingers grasps 
 
 At the mullein dry and sterile. 
 
 Oh ! who is she that stands by the sea, 
 In the lightning's glare undaunted? 
 
 Seems this now like the coast of hell 
 By one white spirit haunted ! 
 
 The night drags by, and the breakers die 
 
 Along the rugged ledges ; 
 The robin stirs in its drenched nest, 
 
 The hawthorn blooms on the hedges. 
 
 In shimmering lines through the dripping pines 
 
 The stealthy morn advances ; 
 And the heavy sea-fog straggles back 
 
 Before those bristling lances. 
 
 Still she stands on the wet sea-sands : 
 
 The morning breaks above her, 
 And the corpse of a sailor gleams on the rocks 
 
 What if it were her lover? 
 
 THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 ONE morning, on the seashore as I strayed, 
 My heart dropped in the sand beside the sea : 
 I asked of yonder mariners, who said 
 They saw it in thy bosom, worn by thee. 
 
THE SANDPIPER. 423 
 
 And I am come to seek that heart of mine ; 
 For I have none, and thou, alas ! hast two : 
 If this be so, dost know what thou shalt do ? 
 
 Still keep my heart, and give me, give me, thine. 
 
 FROM THE NEAPOLITAN (ITALIAN DIALECT). 
 
 NORTH AMERICAN REVIEW. 
 
 THE SANDPIPER. 
 
 ACROSS the narrow beach we flit, 
 One little sandpiper and I ; 
 And fast I gather, bit by bit, 
 
 The scattered driftwood bleached and dry. 
 The wild waves reach their hands for it, 
 
 The wild wind raves, the tide runs high, 
 As up and down the beach we flit, 
 One little sandpiper and I. 
 
 Above our heads the sullen clouds 
 
 Scud black and swift across the sky ; 
 Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds 
 
 Stand out the white lighthouses high. 
 Almost as far as eye can reach 
 
 I see the close-reefed vessels fly, 
 As fast we flit along the beach, 
 
 One little sandpiper and I. 
 
 I watch him as he skims along, 
 
 Uttering his sweet and mournful cry. 
 
 He starts not at my fitful song, 
 Or flash of fluttering drapery. 
 
424 A SEA-SHELL. 
 
 He has no thought of any wrong : 
 He scans me with a fearless eye. 
 
 Stanch friends are we, well tried and strong, 
 The little sandpiper and I. 
 
 Comrade, where wilt thou be to-night 
 
 When the loosed storm breaks furiously? 
 My driftwood fire will burn so bright ! 
 
 To what warm shelter canst thou fly ? 
 I do not fear for thee, though wroth 
 
 The tempest rushes through the sky : 
 For are we not God's children both, 
 
 Thou, little sandpiper, and I ? 
 
 CELIA THAXTER. 
 
 A SEA-SHELL. 
 
 SEE what a lovely shell ! 
 Small, and pure as a pearl, 
 Lying close to my foot ; 
 Frail, but a work divine ; 
 Made so fairly well 
 With delicate spire and whorl. 
 How exquisitely minute, 
 A miracle of design ! 
 
 The tiny cell is forlorn, 
 Void of the little living will 
 That made it stir on the shore. 
 Did he stand at the diamond door 
 Of his house in a rainbow frill ? 
 Did he push, when he was uncurled, 
 A golden foot or a fairy horn 
 Through his dim water-world? 
 
WIND, MOON, AND TIDES. 425 
 
 Slight, to be crushed with a tap 
 Of my finger-nail on the sand ; 
 Small, but a work divine ; 
 Frail, but of force to withstand, 
 Year upon year, the shock 
 Of cataract seas that snap 
 The three-decker's oaken spine, 
 Athwart the ledges of rock, 
 Here on the Breton strand. 
 
 ALFRED TENNYSON. 
 
 ALONE. 
 
 A SAD old house by the sea. 
 Were we happy, I and thou, 
 In the days that used to be ? 
 There is nothing left me now 
 
 But to lie, and think of thee 
 
 With folded hands on my breast, 
 And list to the weary sea 
 
 Sobbing itself to rest. 
 
 HENRY HOWARD BROWNELL. 
 WIND, MOON, AND TIDES. 
 
 LOOK when the clouds are blowing, 
 And all the winds are free : 
 In fury of their going 
 
 They fall upon the sea. 
 But though the blast is frantic, 
 
 And though the tempest raves, 
 The deep, immense Atlantic 
 Is still beneath the waves. 
 
426 SATURDAY NIGHT IN THE HARBOR. 
 
 Then while the zephyrs tarry, 
 
 Or when the frost is nigh, 
 The maiden none can marry 
 
 "\Yill beckon from the sky. 
 Then, with a wild commotion, 
 
 Then, with a rush and roar, 
 The whole enormous ocean 
 
 Is flung upon the shore. 
 
 FREDERIC W. H. MYERS. 
 
 SATURDAY NIGHT IN THE HARBOR. 
 
 THE boats bound in across the bar, 
 Seen in fair colors from afar, 
 Grown to dun colors strong and near ; 
 Their very shadows seem to fear 
 The shadows of a week of harms, 
 The memories of a week's alarms, 
 And quiver like a happy sigh 
 As ship and shadow, drifting by, 
 Glide o'er the harbor's peaceful face, 
 Each to its sabbath resting-place. 
 
 And some like weary children come, 
 With sobbing sails, half sick for home ; 
 And some, like lover's thoughts, to meet 
 The veiled shore, spring daring, sweet ; 
 And some reluctant, in the shade, 
 The great reef dropped like souls afraid, 
 Creep sadly in. Against the shore 
 Ship unto shadow turneth more 
 And more. Ships, ocean, shadow, shore, 
 Part not, nor stir forevermore. 
 
THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR. 427 
 
 My thoughts sail inward silently, 
 
 My week-day thoughts, O God, to thee ! 
 
 Cold fears, evasive like a star, 
 
 And hopes whose gayest colors are 
 
 Akin to shades of fear. Wild dreams, 
 
 Whose unimprisoned sweetness seems 
 
 To-night a presence like a blame, 
 
 A solid presence like a shame, 
 
 And faint temptations with held breath 
 
 Make room for cares as dark as death, 
 
 Give place to broken aims, that sail 
 
 Dismasted from some heart-spent gale. 
 
 And those come leaping lightly in ; 
 And these crawl laggard, as a sin 
 Turned shoreward, Godward, ever must. 
 My soul sits humble in the dust, 
 Content to think that in His grace 
 Each care shall find its sabbath-place ; 
 Content to know, that, less or more, 
 No sin can harbor near the shore. 
 
 ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS. 
 THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR. 
 
 COME see " The Dolphin's " anchor forged ! 'tis at a 
 white-heat now ; 
 The bellows ceased, the flames decreased ; though on the 
 
 forge's brow 
 
 The little flames still fitfully play through the sable mound, 
 And fitfully you still may see the grim smiths ranking round : 
 All clad in leathern panoply, their broad hands only bare ; 
 Some rest upon their sledges here, some work the windlass 
 there. 
 
428 THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR. 
 
 The windlass strains the tackle-chains ; the black mould 
 
 heaves below ; 
 And red and deep a hundred veins burst out at every 
 
 throe. 
 
 It rises, roars, rends all outright : O Vulcan, what a glow ! 
 'Tis blinding white, 'tis blasting bright : the high sun 
 
 shines not so ; 
 The high sun sees not on the earth such fiery, fearful 
 
 show, 
 The roof-ribs swarth, the candent hearth, the ruddy lurid 
 
 row 
 Of smiths, that stand, an ardent band, like men before 
 
 the foe. 
 As, quivering through his fleece of flame, the sailing 
 
 monster slow 
 
 Sinks on the anvil, all about the faces fiery grow. 
 " Hurrah ! " they shout. " Leap out, leap out ! " Bang, 
 
 bang ! the sledges go ; 
 
 Hurrah ! the jetted lightnings are hissing high and low ; 
 A hailing fount of fire is struck at every squashing blow ; 
 The leathern mail rebounds the hail ; the rattling cinders 
 
 strow 
 
 The ground around ; at every bound the sweltering foun- 
 tains flow ; 
 And, thick and loud, the swinking crowd at every stroke 
 
 pant, " Ho ! " 
 
 Leap out, leap out, my masters ! leap out, and lay on load ! 
 Let's^ forge a goodly anchor, a bower thick and broad ; 
 For a heart of oak is hanging on every blow, I bode ; 
 And I see the good ship riding, all in a perilous road : 
 The low reef roaring on her lee ; the roll of ocean poured 
 From stem to stern, sea after sea, the mainmast by the 
 
 board : 
 
THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR. 429 
 
 The bulwarks down ; the rudder gone ; the boats stove 
 
 at the chains : 
 
 But courage still, brave mariners, the bower yet remains ; 
 And not an inch to flinch he deigns, save when ye pitch 
 
 sky-high ; . 
 Then moves his head, as though he said, " Fear nothing ; 
 
 here am I ! " 
 
 Swing in your strokes in order ; let foot and hand keep 
 time : 
 
 Your blows make music sweeter far than any steeple's 
 chime. 
 
 But, while ye swing your sledges, sing ; and let the burden 
 be, 
 
 "The anchor is the anvil-king, and royal craftsmen we." 
 
 Strike in, strike in ! The sparks begin to dull their rus- 
 tling red : 
 
 Our hammers ring with sharper din ; our work will soon 
 be sped ; 
 
 Our anchor soon must change his bed of fiery, rich array 
 
 For a hammock at the roaring bows, or an oozy couch 
 of clay ; 
 
 Our anchor soon must change the lay of merry craftsmen 
 here 
 
 For the yeo-heave-o, and the heave-away, and the sighing 
 seamen's cheer, 
 
 When, weighing slow, at eve they go, far, far from love 
 and home ; 
 
 And sobbing sweethearts in a row wail o'er the ocean- 
 foam. 
 
 In livid and obdurate gloom he darkens down at last : 
 A shapely one he is, and strong as e'er from cat was cast. 
 
430 THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR. 
 
 O trusted and trustworthy guard ! if thou hadst life like 
 
 me, 
 What pleasures would thy toils reward beneath the deep, 
 
 green sea ! 
 O deep sea-diver ! who might then behold such sights 
 
 as thou ? 
 The hoary monster's palaces ! Methinks what joy 'twere 
 
 now ' 
 To go plumb-plunging down amid the assembly of the 
 
 whales, 
 And feel the churned sea round me boil beneath their 
 
 scourging tails ; 
 
 Then deep in tangle- woods to fight the fierce sea-unicorn, 
 And send him foiled and bellowing back for all his ivory 
 
 horn ; 
 
 To leave the subtle sworder-fish of bony blade forlorn, 
 And for the ghastly-grinning shark to laugh his jaws to 
 
 scorn ; 
 
 To leap down on the kraken's back, where, mid Norwe- 
 gian isles, 
 
 He lies a lubber anchorage for sudden shallowed miles, 
 Till, snorting like an under-sea volcano, off he rolls ; 
 Meanwhile to swing a-buffeting the far-astonished shoals 
 Of his back-browsing ocean-calves.; or haply in a cove 
 Shell-strewn, and consecrate of old to some Undine's love, 
 To find the long-haired mermaidens ; or hard by icy 
 
 lands 
 To wrestle with the sea-serpent upon cerulean sands. 
 
 O broad-armed fisher of the deep ! whose sports can 
 
 equal thine? 
 " The Dolphin " weighs a thousand tons that tugs thy 
 
 cable-line : 
 
BY THE SEA. 431 
 
 And night by night 'tis thy delight, thy glory day by day, 
 Through sable sea and breaker white, the giant game to 
 
 play. 
 
 But, shamer of our little sports, forgive the name I gave ! 
 A fisher's joy is to destroy : thine office is to save. 
 A lodger in the sea-king's halls ! couldst thou but under- 
 stand 
 Whose be the white bones by their side, or who that 
 
 dripping band, 
 Slow swaying in the heaving wave that round about thee 
 
 bend, 
 With sounds like breakers, in a dream blessing their 
 
 ancient friend : 
 Oh ! couldst thou know what heroes glide with larger 
 
 steps round thee, 
 Thine iron side would swell with pride, thou'dst leap 
 
 within the sea ! 
 
 Give honor to their memories, who left the pleasant strand 
 To shed their blood so freely for the love of fatherland ; 
 Who left their chance of quiet age and grassy churchyard 
 
 grave 
 
 So freely for a restless bed amid the tossing wave ! 
 Oh ! though our anchor may not be all I have fondly sung, 
 Honor him for their memory whose bones he goes among. 
 
 SAMUEL FERGUSON. 
 
 BY THE SEA. 
 
 SLOWLY, steadily, under the moon, 
 Swings the tide in its old-time way, 
 Never too late, and never too soon ; 
 
 And the evening and morning make the day. 
 
432 BY THE SEA. 
 
 Slowly, steadily, over the sands 
 
 And over the rocks, to fall and flow ; 
 
 And this wave has touched a dead man's hands, 
 And that one has seen a face we know. 
 
 They have borne the good ship on her way, 
 Or buried her deep from love and light ; 
 
 And yet, as they sink at our feet to-day, 
 
 Ah ! who shall interpret their message aright? 
 
 For their separate voices of grief and cheer 
 Are blending at last in one solemn tone ; 
 
 And only this song of the waves I hear, 
 " For ever and ever His will is done ! " 
 
 Slowly, steadily, to and fro, 
 
 Swings our life in its weary way, 
 Now at its ebb, and now at its flow ; 
 
 And the evening and morning make the day. 
 
 Sorrow and happiness, peace and strife, 
 Fear and rejoicing, its moments know : 
 
 How, from the discords of such a life, 
 Can the clear music of heaven flow ? 
 
 Yet to the ear of God it swells, 
 
 And to the blessed round the throne, 
 
 Sweeter than chimes of sabbath bells : 
 " For ever and ever His will is done." 
 
 ANONYMOUS. 
 
THE HIGH TIDE. 433 
 
 SONNET. 
 " TT is a fearful night : a feeble glare 
 
 _ Streams from the sick moon in the o'erclouded sky ; 
 The ridgy billows, with a mighty cry, 
 Rush on the foamy beaches wild and bare ; 
 No bark the madness of the waves will dare. 
 The sailors sleep : the winds are loud and high. 
 Ah, peerless Laura ! for whose love I die, 
 Who gazes on thy smiles while I despair? " 
 As then, in bitterness of heart, I cried, 
 I turned, and saw my Laura, kind and bright, 
 A messenger of gladness, at my side : 
 To my poor bark she sprang with footstep light, 
 And as we furrowed Tejo's heaving tide, 
 I never saw so beautiful a night. 
 
 BELCHIOR MANOEL CURVO SEMEDO. 
 TRANSLATED BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 
 
 THE HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST OF LINCOLN- 
 SHIRE. 
 
 (I75I-) 
 
 THE old mayor climbed the belfry tower, 
 The ringers ran by two, by three : 
 " Pull, if ye never pulled before ; 
 
 Good ringers, pull your best T " quoth he. 
 " Play uppe, play uppe, O Boston bells ! 
 Ply all your changes, all your swells, 
 Play uppe ' The Brides of Enderby.' " 
 
 Men say it was a stolen tyde 
 
 The Lord that sent it, he knows all ; 
 
 But in myne ears doth still abide 
 The message that the bells let fall ; 
 
434 THE HIGH TIDE. 
 
 And there was nought of strange beside 
 The flight of mews and peewits pied 
 
 By millions crouched on the old sea-wall. 
 
 I sat and spun within the doore ; 
 
 My thread brake off, I raised myne eyes ; 
 The level sun, like ruddy ore, 
 
 Lay sinking in the barren skies ; 
 And dark against day's golden death 
 She moved where Lindis wandereth, 
 My sonne's faire wife, Elizabeth. 
 
 " Cusha ! Cusha ! Cusha ! " calling, 
 Ere the early dews were falling, 
 Farre away I heard her song, 
 " Cusha ! Cusha ! " all along ; 
 Where the reedy Lindis floweth, 
 
 Floweth, floweth, 
 
 From the meads where melick groweth, 
 Faintly came her milking-song, 
 
 " Cusha ! Cusha ! Cusha ! " calling, 
 " For the dews will soone be falling ; 
 Leave your meadow-grasses mellow, 
 
 Mellow, mellow ; 
 
 Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow ; 
 Come uppe, Whitefoot, come uppe, Lightfoot ; 
 Quit the stalks of parsley hollow, 
 
 Hollow, hollow ; 
 
 Come uppe, Jetty, rise and follow, 
 From the clovers lift your head ; 
 Come uppe, Whitefoot, come uppe, Lightfoot, 
 Come uppe Jetty, rise and follow, 
 Jetty to the milking-shed." 
 
THE HIGH 77 'DE. 435 
 
 If it be long, ay, long ago, 
 
 When I beginne to think howe long, 
 Againe I hear the Lindis flow, 
 
 Swift as an arrowe, sharpe and strong ; 
 And all the aire, it seemeth mee, 
 Bin full of floating bells (sayth shee,) 
 That ring the tune of Enderby. 
 
 Alle fresh the level pasture lay, 
 
 And not a shadowe mote be scene, 
 Save where full-fyve good miles away 
 
 The steeple towered from out the greene ; 
 And lo ! the great bell farre and wide 
 Was heard in all the country side 
 That Saturday at eventide. 
 
 The swanherds where their sedges are 
 
 Moved on in sunset's golden breath, 
 The shepherde lads I heard afarre, 
 
 And my sonne's wife, Elizabeth ; 
 Till floating o'er the grassy sea 
 Came downe that kyndly message free, 
 The "Brides of Mavis Enderby." 
 
 Then some looked uppe into the sky, 
 
 And all along where Lindis flows, 
 To where the goodly vessels lie, 
 
 And where the lordly steeple shows. 
 They sayde, " And why should this thing be ? 
 What danger lowers by land or sea? 
 They ring the tune of Enderby ! 
 
 " For evil news from Mablethorpe, 
 Of pyrate galleys warping down ; 
 
436 THE HIGH TIDE. 
 
 For shippes ashore beyond the scorpe, 
 
 They have not spared to wake the towne : 
 But while the west bin red to see, 
 And storms be none, and pyrates flee, 
 Why ring 'The Brides of Enderby '? " 
 
 I looked without ; and, lo ! my sonne 
 
 Came riding downe with might and main : 
 He raised a shout as he drew on, 
 
 Till all the welkin rang again, 
 " Elizabeth ! Elizabeth ! " 
 (A sweeter woman ne'er drew breath 
 Than my sonne's wife, Elizabeth.) 
 
 "The olde sea-wall (he cried) is downe, 
 
 The rising tide comes on apace, 
 And boats adrift in yonder towne 
 
 Go sailing uppe the market-place." 
 He shook as one that looks on death : 
 " God save you, mother ! " straight he saith 
 "Where is my wife, Elizabeth?" 
 
 " Good sonne, where Lindis winds her way, 
 
 With her two bairns I marked her long ; 
 And ere yon bells beganne to play 
 Afar I heard her milking-song." 
 He looked across the grassy lea, 
 To right, to left, " Ho, Enderby ! " 
 They rang " The Brides of Enderby ! " 
 
 With that he cried, and beat his breast ; 
 
 For, lo ! along the river's bed 
 A mighty eygre reared his crest, 
 
 And uppe the Lindis raging sped. 
 
THE HIGH TIDE. 437 
 
 It swept with thunderous noises loud, 
 Shaped like a curling snow-white cloud, 
 Or like a demon in a shroud. 
 
 And rearing Lindis, backward pressed, 
 Shook all her trembling bankes amaine, 
 
 Then madly at the eygre's breast 
 
 Flung uppe her weltering walls again. 
 
 Then bankes came downe with ruin and rout; 
 
 Then beaten foam flew round about ; 
 
 Then all the mighty floods were out. 
 
 So farre, so fast, the eygre drave, 
 The heart had hardly time to beat 
 
 Before a shallow seething wave 
 
 Sobbed in the grasses at oure feet : 
 
 The feet had hardly time to flee 
 
 Before it brake against the knee, 
 
 And all the world was in the sea. 
 
 Upon the roofe we sate that night ; 
 
 The noise of bells went sweeping by ; 
 I marked the lofty beacon-light 
 
 Stream from the church-tower, red and high, 
 A lurid mark, and dread to see ; 
 And awesome bells they were to mee, 
 That in the dark rang "Enderby." 
 
 They rang the sailor-lads to guide 
 
 From roofe to roofe who fearless rowed ; 
 
 And I my sonne was at my side, 
 And yet the ruddy beacon glowed ; 
 
THE HIGH TIDE. 
 
 And yet he moaned beneath his breath, 
 " Oh, come in life, or come in death ! 
 Oh, lost ! my love, Elizabeth ! " 
 
 And didst thou visit him no more ? 
 
 Thou didst, thou didst, my daughter deare 
 The waters laid thee at his doore, 
 
 Ere yet the early dawn was clear. 
 Thy pretty bairns in fast embrace, 
 The lifted sun shone on thy face, 
 Downe drifted to thy dwelling-place. 
 
 That flow strewed wrecks about the grass, 
 That ebbe swept out the flocks to sea ; 
 
 A fatal ebbe and flow, alas ! 
 
 To manye more than myne and mee : 
 
 But each will mourn his own (she saith ;) 
 
 And sweeter woman ne'er drew breath 
 
 Than my sonne's wife, Elizabeth. 
 
 I shall never hear her more 
 
 By the reedy Lindis shore, 
 
 " Cusha ! Cusha ! Cusha ! " calling, 
 
 Ere the early dews be falling : 
 
 I shall never hear her song, 
 
 " Cusha ! Cusha ! " all along 
 
 Where the sunny Lindis floweth, 
 
 Goeth, floweth ; 
 
 From the meads where melick groweth, 
 When the water winding down, 
 Onward floweth to the town. 
 
FIRST SIGHT OF THE SEA. 439 
 
 I shall never see her more 
 
 Where the reeds and rushes quiver, 
 
 Shiver, quiver, 
 
 Stand beside the sobbing river, 
 Sobbing, throbbing, in its falling 
 To the sandy lonesome shore : 
 I shall never hear her calling, 
 " Leave your meadow-grasses mellow, 
 
 Mellow, mellow ; 
 
 Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow ; 
 Come uppe, Whitefoot, come uppe, Lightfoot ; 
 Quit your pipes of parsley hollow, 
 
 Hollow, hollow ; 
 Come uppe, Lightfoot, rise and follow ; 
 
 Lightfoot, Whitefoot, 
 From your clovers lift the head ; 
 Come uppe, Jetty, follow, follow, 
 Jetty to the milking-shed." 
 
 JEAN INGELOW. 
 
 FIRST SIGHT OF THE SEA. 
 
 OH ! I shall not forget, until memory depart, 
 When first I beheld it, the glow of my heart ; 
 The wonder, the awe, the delight, that stole o'er me 
 When its billowy boundlessness opened before me. 
 As I stood on its margin, or roamed on its strand, 
 I felt new ideas within me expand, 
 Of glory and grandeur unknown till that hour ; 
 And my spirit was mute in the presence of power. 
 In the surf-beaten sands that encircled it round, 
 In the billow's retreat and the breaker's rebound, 
 
440 THE SHORE. 
 
 In its white-drifted foam and its dark-heaving green, 
 Each moment I gazed, some fresh beauty was seen. 
 And thus, while I wandered on ocean's bleak shore, 
 And surveyed its vast surface, and heard its waves roar, 
 I seemed wrapped in a dream of romantic delight, 
 And haunted by majesty, glory, and might. 
 
 BERNARD BARTON. 
 
 THE SHORE. 
 
 CAN it be women that walk in the sea-mist under the 
 cliffs there? 
 
 Where, 'neath a briny bow, creaming, advances the lip 
 Of the foam, and out from the sand-choked anchors, on 
 
 to the skiffs there, 
 
 The long ropes swing through the surge as it tumbles, 
 and glitter, and drip. 
 
 All the place in a lurid, glimmering emerald glory, 
 
 Glares like a Titan world come back under heaven 
 
 again : 
 Yonder, up there, are the steeps of the sea-kings, famous 
 
 in story 
 
 But who are they on the beach? They are neither 
 women nor men. 
 
 Who knows, are they the land's or the water's living 
 
 creatures ? 
 
 Born of the boiling sea? nurst in the seething storms? 
 With their woman's hair dishevelled over their stern male 
 
 features, 
 Striding, bare to the knee ; magnified maritime forms ! 
 
THE SHORE. 441 
 
 They may be the mothers and wives, they may be the sis- 
 ters and daughters, 
 
 Of men on the dark mid-seas, alone in those black- 
 coiled hulls, 
 That toil 'neath yon white cloud, whence the moon will 
 
 rise o'er the waters 
 
 To-night, with her face on fire, if the wind in the even- 
 ing lulls. 
 
 But they may be merely visions, such as only sick men 
 
 witness, 
 
 (Sitting, as I sit here, filled with a wild regret,) 
 Framed from the sea's misshapen spume with a horrible 
 
 fitness 
 
 To the winds in which they walk, and the surges by 
 which they are wet, 
 
 Salamanders, sea-wolves, witches, warlocks, marine 
 
 monsters, 
 Which the dying seaman beholds, when the rats are 
 
 swimming away, 
 And an Indian wind 'gins hiss from an unknown isle, and 
 
 alone stirs 
 
 The broken cloud which burns on the verge of the 
 dead, red day, 
 
 I know not. All in my mind is confused ; nor can I 
 
 dissever 
 The mould of the visible world from the shape of my 
 
 thoughts in me. 
 The inward and outward are fused, and through them 
 
 murmur forever 
 The sorrow whose sound is the wind and the roar of 
 
 the limitless Sea. OWEN MEREDITH. 
 
442 THE TIDES. 
 
 THE TIDES. 
 
 I SAW the long line of the vacant shore, 
 The seaweed, and the shells upon the sand, 
 And the brown rocks left bare on every hand, 
 As if the ebbing tide would flow no more. 
 
 Then heard I, more distinctly than before, 
 
 The ocean breathe, and its great breast expand ; 
 And hurrying came on the defenceless land 
 The insurgent waters with tumultuous roar. 
 
 All thought and feeling and desire, I said, 
 Love, laughter, and the exultant joy of song, 
 Have ebbed from me forever. Suddenly o'er me 
 
 They swept again from their deep ocean-bed, 
 And in a tumult of delight, and strong 
 As youth, and beautiful as youth, upbore me. 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 ON THE BEACH. 
 
 THANKS to the few fair clouds that show 
 So white against the blue, 
 At last even I begin to know 
 What I was born to do. 
 
 What else but here alone to lie, 
 And bask me in the sun ? 
 Well pleased to see the sails go by 
 In silence one by one ; 
 
 Or lovingly, along the low, 
 Smooth shore no plough depraves, 
 To watch the long, low, lazy flow 
 Of the luxurious waves. 
 
 ROBERT K. WEEKS. 
 
MORNING AND EVENING BY THE SEA. 443 
 
 THE SEA-CAVE. 
 
 HARDLY we breathe, although the air be free : 
 How massively doth awful Nature pile 
 The living rock, like some cathedral aisle, 
 Sacred to silence and the solemn sea. 
 How that clear pool lies sleeping tranquilly, 
 And under its glassed surface seems to smile 
 With many hues, a mimic grove the while 
 Of foliage submarine, shrub, flower, and tree. 
 Beautiful scene ! and fitted to allure 
 The printless footsteps of some sea-born maid, 
 Who here, with her green tresses disarrayed, 
 'Mid the clear bath, unfearing and secure, 
 May sport at noontide in the caverned shade, 
 Cold as the shadow, as the waters pure. 
 
 THOMAS DOUBLEDAY. 
 
 MORNING AND EVENING BY THE SEA. 
 
 AT dawn the fleet stretched miles away, 
 On ocean-plains asleep, 
 Trim vessels waiting for the day, 
 
 To move across the deep. 
 So still the sails, they seemed to be 
 White lilies growing in the sea. 
 
 When evening touched the cape's low rim, 
 
 And dark fell on the waves, 
 We only saw processions dim 
 
 Of clouds and shadowy caves : 
 These were the ghosts of buried ships 
 Gone down in one brief hour's eclipse. 
 
 JAMES THOMAS FIELDS. 
 
444 FACES ON THE WALL. 
 
 PACES ON THE WALL. 
 (STORM AND CALM.) 
 
 THE lone house shakes ; the wild waves leap around ; 
 Their sharp mouths foam, their frantic hands wave 
 
 high : 
 I hear around me a sad soul of sound, 
 
 A ceaseless sob, a melancholy cry. 
 
 Above there is trouble in the sky. 
 On either side stretch waters with no bound. 
 
 Within, my cheek upon my hand, sit I, 
 Oft startled by sick faces of the drowned. 
 
 Yet are there golden dawns and glassy days, 
 When the vast sea is smooth, and sunk in rest, 
 
 And in the sea the gentle heaven doth gaze, 
 And, seeing its own beauty, smiles its best, 
 
 With nights of peace, when in a virgin haze 
 God's moon wades through the shallows of the west. 
 
 ROBERT BUCHANAN. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 WHERE lies the land to which the ship would go ? 
 Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know. 
 And where the land she travels from ? Away, 
 Far, far behind, is all that they can say. 
 
 On sunny noons, upon the deck's smooth face, 
 Linked arm in arm, how pleasant here to pace ! 
 Or, o'er the stern reclining, watch below 
 The foaming wake far widening as we go. 
 
 On stormy nights when wild north-westers rave, 
 How proud a thing to fight with wind and wave ! 
 
ON THE SHORE. 445 
 
 The dripping sailor on the reeling mast 
 Exults to bear, and scorns to wish it past. 
 
 Where lies the land to which the ship would go ? 
 Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know. 
 And where the land she travels from ? Away, 
 Far, far behind, is all that they can say. 
 
 ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH. 
 
 ON THE SHORE. 
 
 HERE many a time she must have walked, 
 The dull sand brightening 'neath her feet, 
 The cool air quivering as she talked, 
 Or laughed, or warbled sweet. 
 
 The shifting sand no trace of her, 
 
 No sound the wandering wind retains ; 
 
 But, breaking where the footprints were, 
 Loudly the sea complains. 
 
 ROBERT K. WEEKS. 
 
 ON THE SHORE. 
 
 'T^HROWN backward from the rocks that gloom where 
 1 lies 
 
 A battered hulk, the bright waves flash and foam, 
 And o'er the sunken reefs the rollers comb, 
 While far along the wind their light spray flies. 
 Great ships are lessening slowly down the skies, 
 Winging their way toward some distant home. 
 A gray cloud rises upward like a dome, 
 And sea-gulls haunt the sand with garrulous cries ; 
 
446 SHIPS AT SEA. 
 
 And high above the wild and windy cape, 
 Scathed by the lightning, bent by stormy gales, 
 There stands the remnant of an ancient tree : 
 The clambering vines its shattered fragments drape, 
 And wave a welcome to the swelling sails 
 That win their way up from the distant sea. 
 
 THOMAS S. COLLIER. 
 
 SHIPS AT SEA. 
 
 I HAVE ships that went to sea 
 More than fifty years ago : 
 None have yet come home to me, 
 
 But keep sailing to and fro. 
 I have seen them, in my sleep, 
 Plunging through the shoreless deep, 
 With tattered sails, and battered hulls, 
 While around them screamed the gulls, 
 Flying low, flying low. 
 
 I have wondered why they staid 
 From me, sailing round the world ; 
 
 And I've said, " I'm half afraid 
 
 That their sails will ne'er be furled." 
 
 Great the treasures that they hold, 
 
 Silks and plumes, and bars of gold ; 
 
 While the spices which they bear 
 
 Fill with fragrance all the air, 
 
 As they sail, as they sail. 
 
 Every sailor in the port 
 
 Knows that I have ships at sea, 
 Of the waves and winds the sport ; 
 
 And the sailors pity me. 
 
SHIPS AT SEA. 447 
 
 Oft they come and with me walk, 
 Cheering me with hopeful talk, 
 Till I put my fears aside, 
 And contented watch the tide 
 
 Rise and fall, rise and fall. 
 
 I have waited on the piers, 
 
 Gazing for them down the bay, 
 Days and nights, for many years, 
 
 Till I turned heart- sick away. 
 But the pilots, when they land, 
 Stop and take me by the hand, 
 Saying, " You will live to see 
 Your proud vessels come from sea, 
 One and all, one and all." 
 
 So I never quite despair, 
 
 Nor let hope or courage fail ; 
 And some day, when skies are fair, 
 
 Up the bay my ships will sail. 
 I can buy then all I need, 
 Prints to look at, books to read, 
 Horses, wines, and works of art, 
 Every thing except a heart ; 
 That is lost, that is lost. 
 
 Once, when I was pure and young, 
 Poorer, too, than I am now, 
 
 Ere a cloud was o'er me flung, 
 Or a wrinkle creased my brow, 
 
 There was one whose heart was mine 
 
 But she's something now divine : 
 
448 A STOWAWAY. 
 
 And though come my ships from sea, 
 They can bring no heart to me, 
 Evermore, evermore. 
 
 ROBERT BARRY COFFIN (BARRY GRAY). 
 
 A STOWAWAY. 
 
 ALL from the wreck had fled, and found their lives, 
 save one. 
 
 The captain, monarch of the quarter-deck, 
 Left by his own imperious will, at length 
 Bound to his breast the belt that offered life, 
 When suddenly, as if of nothing born, 
 A strange, pale face looked at him from the shrouds, 
 A lad, a stowaway, never before 
 Seen by his eyes. No time for questioning. 
 From his brave heart unclasping quick the belt, 
 He gave it to his brother. " I can swim 
 That far, my boy," he said. 
 
 Ah, sad untruth ! 
 
 The billow that laid down upon the sands 
 The ocean-waif, his savior dragged to death. 
 
 J. J. JOHNS. 
 
 THE SILVER BRIDGE. 
 
 THE sunset fades along the shore, 
 And faints beyond yon rosy reach of sea ; 
 Night falls again, but, ah ! no more, 
 No more, no more 
 My Love returns to me. 
 
SONNET. 449 
 
 The lonely moon builds soft and slow 
 Her silver bridge across the main, 
 But him who sleeps the wave below 
 
 Love mourns in vain. 
 
 Ah, no ! ah, no ! 
 
 He never comes again. 
 
 But when some night beside the sea 
 
 I watch, when sunset's red has ceased to burn 
 
 That silver path, and sign ah, me ! 
 
 Ah, me ! ah, me ! 
 
 He never will return. 
 
 If on that bridge of rippling light 
 
 His homeward feet should find their way, 
 
 I should not wonder at the sight, 
 
 But only say, 
 
 " Ah, Love, my Love ! 
 
 I knew you would not stay." 
 
 ELIZABETH AKERS ALLEN. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 OTATELY yon vessel sails adown the tide, 
 O To some far-distant land adventurous bound 
 The sailors' busy cries from side to side, 
 Pealing among the echoing rocks, resound. 
 A patient, thoughtless, much-enduring band, 
 Joyful they enter on their ocean way, 
 With shouts exulting leave their native land, 
 And know no care beyond the present day. 
 But is there no poor mourner left behind, 
 Who sorrows for a child or husband there ; 
 
450 RESTLESSNESS. 
 
 Who at the howling of the midnight wind 
 Will wake, and tremble in her boding prayer? 
 So may her voice be heard, and Heaven be kind ! 
 Go, gallant ship, and be thy fortune fair ! 
 
 ROBERT SOUTHEY. 
 
 RESTLESSNESS. 
 
 DOWN in the harbor the ships lie moored, 
 Weary sea-birds with folded wings, 
 Anchors sunken, and sails secured ; 
 Yet on the water they rock and swing, 
 
 Rock and swing, 
 As though each keel were a living thing. 
 
 Silence sleeps on the earth and air, 
 
 Never a breath does the sea-breeze blow ; 
 
 Yet like living pendulums there, 
 Down in the harbor, to and fro, 
 To and fro, 
 
 Backward and forward, the vessels go. 
 
 As a child on its mother's breast, 
 
 Cradled in happy slumber, lies, 
 Yet, half-conscious of joy and rest, 
 
 Varies its breathings, and moves and sighs, 
 
 Moves and sighs, 
 Yet neither wakes nor opens its eyes. 
 
 Or it may be, the vessels long 
 
 For almost human they seem to me 
 
 For the leaping waves, and the storm-wind strong, 
 And the fetterless freedom out at sea, 
 Out at sea, 
 
 And feel their rest a captivity. 
 
A SEA-VIEW. 451 
 
 So, as a soul from a higher sphere, 
 
 Fettered down to this earthly clay, 
 Strives at the chains that bind it here, 
 
 Tossing and struggling, day by day, 
 
 Day by day, 
 Longing to break them and flee away, 
 
 Strive the ships in their restlessness, 
 
 Whether the tide be high or low ; 
 And why these teardrops I cannot guess, 
 
 As down in the harbor to and fro, 
 
 To and fro, 
 Backward and forward, the vessels go. 
 
 ELIZABETH AKERS ALLEN. 
 
 A SEA- VIEW. 
 
 I CLIMBED the sea-worn cliffs that edged the shore, 
 And, looking downward, watched the breakers curl 
 Around the rocks, and marked their mighty swirl 
 Quiver through ancient seaweed dark and hoar. 
 Eastward the white-caps rose with far-off roar 
 Against a sky like red and purple pearl ; 
 Then hollowed greenly in, and rushed to hurl 
 Their weight of water at the cliffs before. 
 Only a sea-gull flying silently, 
 And one soft rosy sail, were now in sight, 
 A sail the sunset touched right tenderly, 
 And flushed with dreamy glory faintly bright. 
 Then fain would I have crossed the tossing sea, 
 Fain dared the storm, to float within that light. 
 
 ALICE C. OSBOKNE. 
 
452 RAPE'S CHASM, CAPE ANN. 
 
 RAPE'S CHASM, CAPE ANN. 
 (SEPTEMBER SURF, 1882.) 
 
 WHITE fire upon the gray-green waste of waves, 
 The low light of the breaker flares. Ah, see ! 
 Outbursting on a sky of steel and ice, 
 The baffled sun stabs wildly at the gale. 
 The water rises like a god aglow, 
 Who all too long hath slept, and dreamed too sure, 
 And finds his goddess fled his empty arms. 
 Silent, the mighty cliff receives at last 
 That rage of elemental tenderness, 
 The old omnipotent caress she knows. 
 Yet once the solid earth did melt for her, 
 And, pitying, made retreat before her flight. 
 Would she have hidden her forever there ? 
 Or did she, wavering, linger long enough 
 To let the accustomed torrent chase her down ? 
 
 Over the neck of the gorge 
 
 I cling. Lean desperately ! 
 
 He who feared a chasm's edge 
 
 Were never the one to see 
 
 The torment and the triumph hid 
 
 Where the deep surges be. 
 
 I pierce the gulf; I sweep the coast 
 
 W r here wide the tide swings free ; 
 
 I search as never soul sought before. 
 There is not patience enough in all the shore, 
 There is not passion enough in all the sea, 
 To tell my love for thee. 
 
 ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS. 
 
IF THE WIND RISE. 453 
 
 IF THE WIND RISE. 
 
 AN open sea, a gallant breeze 
 That drives our little boat : 
 How fast each wave about us flees ! 
 How fast the low clouds float ! 
 
 " We'll never see the morning skies 
 If the wind rise." 
 " If the wind rise, 
 We'll hear no more of earthly lies." 
 
 The moon from time to time breaks out, 
 
 And silvers all the sea ; 
 The billows toss their manes about ; 
 The little boat leaps free. 
 
 " We'll never see our true loves' eyes 
 If the wind rise." 
 " If the wind rise, 
 We'll waste no more our foolish sighs." 
 
 She takes a dash of foam before, 
 
 A dash of spray behind ; 
 The wolfish waves about her roar, 
 And gallop with the wind. 
 
 " We'll see no more the woodland dyes 
 If the wind rise." 
 " If the wind rise, 
 We've heard the last of human cries." 
 
 The sky seems bending lower down, 
 
 And swifter sweeps the gale : 
 Our craft she shakes from heel to crown, 
 
 And dips her fragile sail. 
 
454 A LIFE ON THE OCEAN-WAVE. 
 
 " We may forgive our enemies 
 
 If the wind rise." 
 
 " If the wind rise, 
 We'll sup this night in Paradise." 
 
 JOSEPH O'CONNOR. 
 
 A LIFE ON THE OCEAN-WAVE. 
 
 A LIFE on the ocean-wave, 
 A home on the rolling deep, 
 Where the scattered waters rave, 
 
 And the winds their revels keep ! 
 Like an eagle caged, I pine 
 
 On this dull, unchanging shore : 
 Oh, give me the flashing brine, 
 The spray, and the tempest's roar ! 
 
 Once more on the deck I stand 
 
 Of my own swift-gliding craft. 
 Set sail ! farewell to the land ! 
 
 The gale follows fair abaft. 
 We shoot through the sparkling foam 
 
 Like an ocean-bird set free ; 
 Like the ocean-bird, our home 
 
 We'll find far out on the sea. 
 
 The land is no longer in view ; 
 
 The clouds have begun to frown : 
 But with a stout vessel and crew 
 
 We'll say, " Let the storm come down ! " 
 And the song of our hearts shall be, 
 
 While the winds and the waters rave, 
 " A home on the rolling sea ! 
 
 A life on the ocean-wave ! " 
 
 EPES SARGENT. 
 
HENRY THE HERMIT. 455 
 
 HENRY THE HERMIT. 
 [This story is related in the " English Martyrology," 1608. J 
 
 IT was a little island where he dwelt, 
 A solitary islet, bleak and bare ; 
 Short, scanty herbage spotting with dark spots 
 Its gray stone surface. Never mariner 
 Approached that rude and uninviting coast, 
 Nor ever fisherman his lonely bark 
 Anchored beside its shore. It was a place 
 Befitting well a rigid anchoret 
 Dead to the hopes and vanities and joys 
 And purposes of life. And he had dwelt 
 Many long years upon that lonely isle ; 
 For in ripe manhood he abandoned arms, 
 Honors and friends and country, and the world, 
 And had grown old in solitude. That isle 
 Some solitary man in other times 
 Had made his dwelling-place ; and Henry found 
 The little chapel which his toil had built, 
 Now by the storms unroofed, his bed of leaves 
 Wind-scattered, and his grave o'ergrown with grass 
 And thistles, whose white seeds there winged in vain, 
 Withered on rocks, or in the waves were lost. 
 So he repaired the chapel's ruined roof, 
 Cleared the gray lichen from the altar-stone, 
 And underneath a rock that sheltered him 
 From the sea-blast he built his hermitage. 
 
 The peasants from the shore would bring him food, 
 And beg his prayers. But human converse else 
 He knew not in that utter solitude ; 
 Nor ever visited the haunts of men, 
 
456 HENRY THE HERMIT. 
 
 Save when some sinful wretch on a sick-bed 
 Implored his blessing and his aid in death. 
 That summons he delayed not to obey, 
 Though the night-tempest or autumnal wind 
 Maddened the waves, and though the mariner, 
 Albeit relying on his saintly load, 
 -Grew pale to see the peril. Thus he lived, 
 A most austere and self-denying man, 
 Till abstinence and age and watchfulness 
 Had worn him down, and it was pain at last 
 To rise at midnight from his bed of leaves, 
 And bend his knees in prayer. Yet not the less, 
 Though with reluctance of infirmity, 
 Rose he at midnight from his bed of leaves, 
 And bent his knees in prayer ; but with more zeal, 
 More self-condemning fervor, raised his voice, 
 Imploring pardon for the natural sin 
 Of that reluctance, till the atoning prayer 
 Had satisfied his heart, and given it peace, 
 And the repented fault became a joy. 
 
 One night, upon the shore his chapel-bell 
 
 Was heard : the air was calm, and its far sounds 
 
 Over the water came, distinct and loud. 
 
 Alarmed, at that unusual hour, to hear 
 
 Its toll 'irregular, a monk arose, 
 
 And crossed to the island chapel. On a stone 
 
 Henry was sitting there, dead, cold, and stiff, 
 
 The bell-rope in his hand, and at his feet 
 
 The lamp, that streamed a long, unsteady light. 
 
 WESTBURY, 1799. ROBERT SOUTHEY. 
 
IN HARBOR. 457 
 
 IN HARBOR. 
 
 I THINK it is over, over ; 
 I think it is over at last ; 
 Voices of foeman and lover, 
 
 The sweet and the bitter, have passed : 
 Life, like a tempest of ocean, 
 
 Hath outblown its ultimate blast. 
 There's but a faint sobbing seaward, 
 While the calm of the tide deepens leeward, 
 And, behold ! like the welcoming quiver 
 Of heart-pulses throbbed through the river, 
 Those lights in the Harbor at last, 
 The heavenly Harbor at last. 
 
 I feel it is over, over, 
 
 The -winds and the waters surcease : 
 How few were the days of the rover 
 
 That smiled in the beauty ,of peace ! 
 And distant and dim was the omen 
 
 That hinted redress or release 
 From the ravage of life and its riot. 
 What marvel I yearn for the quiet 
 Which bides in this Harbor at last ! 
 For the lights, with their welcoming quiver, 
 That throb through the sanctified river 
 Which girdles the Harbor at last, 
 The heavenly Harbor at last. 
 
 I know it is over, over, 
 
 I know it is over at last. 
 Down sail ; the sheathed anchor uncover ; 
 
 For the stress of the voyage has passed : 
 
458 AV HA KB OK. 
 
 Life, like a tempest of ocean, 
 
 Hath outblown its ultimate blast. 
 There's but a faint sobbing seaward, 
 While the calm of the tide deepens leeward, 
 And, behold ! like the welcoming quiver 
 Of heart-pulses throbbed through the river, 
 Those lights on the Harbor at last, 
 The heavenly Harbor at last. 
 
 PAUL H. HAYNE. 
 
KCEAN-SOUNDINGS. 
 
 CREATOR and destroyer, mighty sea! 
 
 That in thy still and solitary deep 
 
 Dost at all being's base thy vigil keep, 
 And nurturest, serene and potently, 
 The slumbering roots of vast Creation's tree. 
 
 HJALMAR HJORTH BoYESEN: Sonnet, The Sea. 
 
HYMN TO THE SEA. 
 
 IF there is nothing sure but the unsure, 
 Which is at once its cradle and its grave, 
 Creative and destructive, hand that moulds, 
 And feet that trample, instruments of change, 
 Which is itself the instrument of power ; 
 If these our bodies, conscious of themselves, 
 And cognizable by others like themselves, 
 Waste and supply their forces day by day, 
 Till there is nothing left of what they were, 
 The whole man being re-made from head to foot, 
 How comes it then, I say, that standing here 
 Beside the waters of this quiet bay, 
 Which welter shoreward, roughened by the wind, 
 Twinkling in sunshine, I am the same man 
 Who gazed upon them thirty years ago, 
 Lulled by their placid motion, and the sense 
 Of something happy they begat in me ? 
 
 I saunter by the shore, and lose myself 
 In the blue waters, stretching on and on, 
 Beyond the low-lying headland, dark with woods, 
 And on to the green waste of sea, content 
 To be alone. But I am not alone, 
 
 4 6i 
 
462 HYMN TO THE SEA. 
 
 For solitude like this is populous ; 
 And its abundant life of sky and sun, 
 High-floating clouds, low mists, and wheeling birds, 
 And waves that ripple shoreward all day long, 
 Whether the tide is setting in or out, 
 Forever rippling shoreward, dark and bright, 
 As lights and shadows and the shifting winds 
 Pursue each other in their endless play, 
 Is more than the companionship of man. 
 
 I know our inland landscapes, pleasant fields, 
 
 Where lazy cattle browse, and chew the cud ; 
 
 The smooth declivities of quiet vales ; 
 
 The swell of uplands and the stretch of woods, 
 
 Within whose shady places Solitude 
 
 Holds her perpetual court. They touch me not, 
 
 Or only touch me in my shallowest moods, 
 
 And leave no recollection. They are nought. 
 
 But thou, O Sea ! whose majesty and might 
 
 Are mild and beautiful in this still bay, 
 
 But terrible in the mid-ocean deeps, 
 
 I never see thee but my soul goes out 
 
 To thee, and is sustained and comforted ; 
 
 For she discovers in herself or thee 
 
 A stern necessity for stronger life, 
 
 And strength to live it : she surrenders all 
 
 She had and was, and is possessed of more, 
 
 With more to come, endurance, patience, peace. 
 
 I love thee, Ocean, and delight in thee : 
 
 Thy color, motion, vastness, all the eye 
 
 Takes in from shore, and on the tossing waves, 
 
 Nothing escapes me, not the least of weeds 
 
HYMN TO THE SEA. 463 
 
 That shrivels and blackens on the barren sand. 
 I have been walking on the yellow sands, 
 Watching the long, white, ragged fringe of foam 
 The waves had washed up on the curves of beach, 
 The endless fluctuation of the waves, 
 The circuit of the sea-gulls, low, aloft, 
 Dipping their wings an instant in the brine, 
 And urging their swift flight to distant woods ; 
 And round and over all the perfect sky, 
 Clear, cloudless, luminous, in the summer noon. 
 
 I have been sitting on the stern gray rocks 
 
 That push their way up from the under-world, 
 
 And shoulder the waves aside ; and, musing there, 
 
 The sea of Time has ebbed with me ; and I, 
 
 Borne backward with it, have beheld the past, 
 
 Times, places, generations, all that was 
 
 From the infancy of Earth. The primitive race, 
 
 That skulked in caves, and wore the skin of beasts : 
 
 Shepherds and herdsmen, whose nomadic tents 
 
 Were pitched by river-banks in pasture-lands, 
 
 Where no man was before them ; husbandmen, 
 
 Who shaped out for themselves rude implements 
 
 Of tillage, and for whom the Earth brought forth 
 
 The first of harvests, happy when the sheaves 
 
 Were gathered in, for robber-bands were near ; 
 
 Horsemen with spears, who seized their flocks and herds, 
 
 And led their wives and children captive all, 
 
 Save those who perished fighting, sold as slaves. 
 
 Rapine and murder triumph. I behold 
 
 The shock of armies in forgotten fields, 
 
 The flight of arrows, and the flash of swords, 
 
 Shields pierced, and helmets cloven, and host gone down 
 
464 HYMN TO THE SEA. 
 
 Behind the scythed chariots : cities girt 
 By grim, beleaguering, formidable foes, 
 With battering-rams that breach the tottering walls, 
 And crush the gaunt defenders ; mailed men 
 That ride against each other, and are unhorsed 
 Where lances shiver, and the dreadful sweep 
 Of the battle-axe makes havoc ; thunderous guns 
 Belching destruction through the sulphurous cloud 
 That wraps the league-long lines of infantry ; 
 The charge of cavalry on hollow squares, 
 Sharp shots, and riderless horses, this is war, 
 And these are men, thy children, Earth ! The Sea 
 Has never bred such monsters, though it swarms 
 With living things ; they have not overrun 
 Its spacious realms, and left them solitudes : 
 The desolation of the unfooted waves 
 Is not of their dark making, but of thine, 
 Inhospitable, barren, solemn Sea ! 
 
 Thou wert before the continents, before 
 The hollow heavens, which, like another sea, 
 Encircles them and thee ; but whence thou wert, 
 And when thou wast created, is not known. 
 Antiquity was young when thou wast old. 
 There is no limit to thy strength, no end 
 To thy magnificence. Thou goest forth, 
 On thy long journeys, to remotest lands, 
 And comest back unwearied. Tropic isles, 
 Thick-set with pillared palms, delay thee not, 
 Nor arctic icebergs hasten thy return. 
 Summer and winter are alike to thee, 
 The settled, sullen sorrow of the sky 
 Empty of light, the laughter of the sun, 
 
HYMN TO THE SEA. 465 
 
 The comfortable murmur of the wind 
 
 From peaceful countries, and the mad uproar 
 
 That storms let loose upon thee in the night 
 
 Which they create, and quicken with sharp white fire, 
 
 And crash of thunders. Thou art terrible 
 
 In thy tempestuous moods, when the loud winds 
 
 Precipitate their strength against the waves : 
 
 They rave and grapple and wrestle, until at last, 
 
 Baffled by their own violence, they fall back ; 
 
 And thou art calm again, no vestige left 
 
 Of the commotion, save the long, slow roll 
 
 In summer days on beaches far away. 
 
 The heavens look down, and see themselves in thee, 
 
 And splendors, seen not elsewhere, that surround 
 
 The rising and the setting of the sun 
 
 Along thy vast and solitary realms. 
 
 The blue dominion of the air is thine. 
 
 And thine the pomps and pageants of the day, 
 
 The light, the glory, the magnificence, 
 
 The congregated masses of the clouds, 
 
 Islands and mountains, and long promontories, 
 
 Floating at unaccessible heights whereto 
 
 Thy fathomless .depths are shallow, all are thine. 
 
 And thine the silent, happy, awful night, 
 
 When over thee and thy charmed waves the moon 
 
 Rides high, and when the last of stars is gone, 
 
 And darkness covers all things with its pall, 
 
 Darkness that was before the worlds were made, 
 
 And will be after they are dead. But no : 
 
 There is no death. The thing that we call death 
 
 Is but another, sadder name for life, 
 
 Which is itself an insufficient name., 
 
466 THE LORD'S DAY GALE. 
 
 Faint recognition of that unknown Life, 
 That Power whose shadow is the universe. 
 
 RICHARD HENRY STODDARD. 
 
 THE LORD'S DAY GALE. 1 
 
 IN Gloucester port lie fishing-craft ; 
 More stanch and trim were never seen : 
 They are sharp before, and sheer abaft, 
 
 And true their lines the masts between. 
 Along the wharves of Gloucester Town 
 Their fares are lightly landed down, 
 And the laden Qakes to sunward lean. 
 
 Well know the men each cruisirig-ground, 
 And where the cod and mackerel be ; 
 
 Old Eastern Point the schooners round, 
 And leave Cape Ann on the larboard lee : 
 
 Sound are the planks, the hearts are bold, 
 
 That brave December's surges cold 
 On George's Shoals in the outer sea. 
 
 And some must sail to the Banks far north, 
 And set their trawls for the hungry cod, 
 
 In the ghostly fog creep back and forth 
 By shrouded paths no foot hath trod : 
 
 Upon the crews the ice-winds blow, 
 
 The bitter sleet in the frozen snow 
 Their lives are in the hand of God. 
 
 1 This poem is the recital of a storm which swept the Gulf of the St. Lawrence 
 in August, 1873. Many hundreds of vessels were wrecked during the few hours 
 before its fury was spent, strewing the coasts of Cape Breton, Prince Edward 
 Island, and the Magdalen Islands, with drowned fishermen and mariners. 
 
THE LORD'S DAY GALE. 467 
 
 New England, New England ! 
 
 Needs sail they must, so brave and poor, 
 Or June be warm, or winter storm, 
 
 Lest a wolf gnaw through the cottage-door. 
 Three weeks at home, three long months gone ; 
 While the patient good-wives sleep alone, 
 
 And wake to hear the breakers roar. 
 
 The Grand Bank gathers in its dead ; 
 
 The deep sea-sand is their winding-sheet 
 Who does not George's billows dread 
 
 That dash together the drifting fleet ? 
 Who does not long to hear in May 
 The pleasant wash of St. Lawrence Bay? 
 
 The fairest ground where fishermen meet. 
 
 There the west wave holds the red sunlight 
 Till the bells at home are rung for nine : 
 
 Short, short the watch, and calm the night. 
 The fiery northern streamers shine ; 
 
 The eastern sky anon is gold ; 
 
 And winds from piny forests old 
 
 Scatter the white mists off the brine. 
 
 The Province craft with ours at morn 
 Are mingled with the vapors' shift : 
 
 All day, by breeze and current borne, 
 Across the bay the sailors drift. 
 
 With toil and seine its wealth they win : 
 
 The dappled, silvery spoil come in 
 Fast as their hands can haul and lift. 
 
468 THE LORD'S DAY GALE. 
 
 New England, New England ! 
 
 Thou lovest well thine ocean main. 
 It spreadeth its locks among thy rocks, 
 
 And long against thy heart hath lain. 
 Thy ships upon its bosom ride, 
 And feel the heaving of its tide : 
 
 To thee its secret speech is plain. 
 
 Cape Breton and Edward Isle between, 
 In straight and gulf the schooners lay : 
 
 The sea was all at peace, I ween, 
 The night before that August day. 
 
 Was never a Gloucester skipper there 
 
 But thought erelong, with a right good fare, 
 To sail for home from St. Lawrence Bay. 
 
 New England, New England ! 
 
 Thy giant's love was turned to hate. 
 The winds control his fickle soul, 
 
 And in his wrath he hath no mate : 
 Thy shores his angry scourges tear ; 
 And for thy children in his care 
 
 The sudden tempests lie in wait. 
 
 The East Wind gathered, all unknown, 
 A thick sea-cloud his course before : 
 
 He left by night the frozen zone, 
 And smote the cliffs of Labrador ; 
 
 He lashed the coasts on either hand, 
 
 And betxvixt the Cape and Newfoundland 
 Into the bay his armies pour. 
 
THE LORD'S DAY GALE. 469 
 
 He caught our helpless cruisers there, 
 As a gray wolf harries the huddling fold j 
 
 A sleet, a darkness, filled the air, 
 A shuddering wave before it rolled : 
 
 That Lord's-day morn it was a breeze ; 
 
 At noon, a blast that shook the seas ; 
 At night, a wind of Death took hold. 
 
 It leaped across the Breton bar, 
 
 A death-wind from the stormy east ! 
 
 It scarred the land, and whirled afar 
 
 The sheltering thatch of man and beast; 
 
 It mingled rick and roof and tree, 
 
 And like a besom swept the sea, 
 And churned the waters into yeast. 
 
 From St. Paul's Light to Edward's Isle 
 A thousand craft it smote amain ; , 
 
 And some against it strove the while, 
 And more to make a port were fain : 
 
 The mackerel-gulls flew screaming past ; 
 
 And the stick that bent to the noonday blast 
 Was split by the sundown hurricane. 
 
 Woe, woe to those whom the islands pen ! 
 
 In vain they shun the double capes : 
 Cruel are the reefs of Magdalen 
 
 The wolfs white fang what prey escapes? 
 The Grin 'stone grinds the bones of some ; 
 And Coffin Isle is craped with foam ; 
 
 On Deadman's shore are fearful shapes. 
 
470 THE LORD'S DAY GALE. 
 
 Oh ! what can live on the open sea, 
 Or, moored in port, the gale outride? 
 
 The very craft that at anchor be 
 
 Are dragged along by the swollen tide. 
 
 The great storm-wave came rolling west, 
 
 And tossed the vessels on its crest : 
 The ancient bounds its might defied. 
 
 The ebb to check it had no power ; 
 
 The surf ran up to an untold height : 
 It rose, nor yielded, hour by hour, 
 
 A night and day, a day and night ; 
 Far up the seething shores it cast 
 The wreck of hull and spar and mast, 
 
 The strangled crews a woful sight. 
 
 There were twenty and more of Breton sail 
 Fast anchored on one mooring-ground : 
 
 Each lay within his neighbor's hail 
 
 When the thick of the tempest closed them round 
 
 All sank at once in the gaping sea : 
 
 Somewhere on the shoals their corses be, 
 The foundered hulks, and the seamen drowned. 
 
 On reef and bar our schooners drove 
 
 Before the wind, before the swell ; 
 By the steep sand-cliffs their ribs were stove : 
 
 Long, long, their crews the tale shall tell. 
 Of the Gloucester fleet and wrecks threescore, 
 Of the Province sail two hundred more, 
 
 Were stranded in that tempest fell. 
 
THE MORNING WATCH. 471 
 
 The bedtime bells in Gloucester Town 
 That sabbath night rang soft and clear : 
 
 The sailors' children laid them down, 
 
 Dear Lord ! their sweet prayers couldst thou hear? 
 
 'Tis said that gently blew the winds ; 
 
 The good-wives, through the seaward blinds, 
 Looked down the bay, and had no fear. 
 
 New England, New England ! 
 
 Thy ports their dauntless seamen mourn ; 
 The twin capes yearn for their return 
 
 Who never shall be thither borne ; 
 Their orphans whisper as they meet ; 
 The homes are dark in many a street, 
 
 And women move in weeds forlorn. 
 
 And wilt thou fail, and dost thou fear? 
 
 Ah, no ! though widows' cheeks are pale, 
 And lads shall say, " Another year, 
 
 And we shall be of age to sail." 
 And the mothers' hearts shall fill with pride, 
 Though tears drop fast for them who died 
 
 When the fleet was wrecked in the Lord's-day gale. 
 
 EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN. 
 
 THE MORNING WATCH. 
 
 THE moon is bleached as white as wool, 
 And just dropping under ; 
 And every star is gone but three, 
 
 And they hang far asunder : 
 There's a sea-ghost all in gray, 
 A tall shape of wonder. 
 
472 THE MORNING WATCH. 
 
 I am not satisfied with sleep, 
 
 The night is not ended ; 
 But look ! how the sea-ghost comes, 
 
 With wan skirts extended, 
 Stealing up in this weird hour, 
 
 When light and dark are blended. 
 
 A vessel ! To the old pier end 
 Her happy course she's keeping : 
 
 I heard them name her yesterday ; 
 Some were pale with weeping ; 
 
 Some with their heart-hunger sighed ; 
 She's in and they are sleeping. 
 
 Oh ! now with fancied greetings blest, 
 They comfort their long aching ; 
 
 The sea of sleep hath borne to them 
 What would not come with waking, 
 
 And the dreams shall most be true 
 In their blissful breaking. 
 
 The stars are gone, the rose-bloom comes ; 
 
 No blush of maid is sweeter : 
 The red sun, half-way out of bed, 
 
 Shall be the first to greet her. 
 None tell the news ; yet sleepers wake, 
 
 And rise, and run to meet her. 
 
 Their lost they have, they hold ; from pain 
 
 A keener bliss they borrow : 
 How natural is joy, my heart ! 
 
 How easy after sorrow ! 
 For once, the best is come that hope 
 
 Promised them "to-morrow." 
 
 JEAN INGELOW. 
 
VI NET A, 473 
 
 VINETA. 
 
 FROM the sea's deep, deep unfathomed distance, 
 Evening bells are chiming faint and low, 
 Telling us, with sorrowful insistence, 
 Of that fairest town of long ago. 
 
 In the bosom of the ocean, hidden 
 
 Far beneath, those ruins still remain ; 
 While their towers, with golden gleams, unbidden, 
 
 Flash us back their ancient light again. 
 
 And the sailor, if such magic beauty 
 
 Greet him as the sun is going down, 
 Sails forever on this course of duty, 
 
 Though around him all the crags may frown. 
 
 From the heart's deep, deep unfathomed distance, 
 Sounds arise, like bells most faint and low ; 
 
 Ah ! they tell, with sorrowful insistence, 
 Of the love that loved us long ago. 
 
 What a fairy world has there been hidden ! 
 
 How its ruins far below remain ! 
 Casting heavenly gleams at times, unbidden, 
 
 Up to sparkle in my dreams again. 
 
 Oh that I might plunge in those abysses, 
 
 Sink myself in that remembered light, 
 Called, as by an angel, to the blisses 
 
 In that dear old Wonder-town so bright ! 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF WILHELM MUU.ER. 
 
 TRANSLATION OF SAMUEL W. DUFFIELD. 
 
474 BY THE NORTH SEA. 
 
 BY THE NORTH SEA. 
 (PART n.) 
 
 FOR the heart of the waters is cruel, 
 And the kisses are dire of their lips, 
 And their waves are as fire is to fuel, 
 
 To the strength of the seafaring ships, 
 Though the sea's eye gleam as a jewel 
 To the sun's eye back as he dips. 
 
 Though the sun's eye flash to the sea's 
 Live light of delight and of laughter, 
 
 And her lips breathe back to the breeze 
 The kiss that the wind's lips waft her 
 
 From the sun that subsides, and sees 
 No gleam of the storm's dawn after. 
 
 And the wastes of the wild sea-marches 
 
 Where the borders are matched in their might, 
 
 Bleak fens that the sun's weight parches, 
 Dense waves that reject the light, 
 
 Change under the change-colored arches 
 Of changeless morning and night. 
 
 The waves are as ranks enrolled, 
 
 Too close for the storm to sever ; 
 The fens lie naked and cold, 
 
 But their hearts fail utterly never : 
 The lists are set from of old, 
 
 And the warfare endureth forever. 
 
 ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE. 
 
FROM " THE SHIPWRECK:' 475 
 
 FROM "THE SHIPWRECK." 
 
 BUT now Athenian mountains they descry, 
 And o'er the surge Colonna frowns on high, 
 Where marble columns, long by time defaced, 
 Moss-covered on the lofty Cape are placed, 
 There reared by fair devotion to sustain 
 In elder times Tritonia's sacred fane ; 
 The circling beach in murderous form appears, 
 Decisive goal of all their hopes and fears. 
 
 The vessel, while the dread event draws nigh, 
 Seems more impatient o'er the waves to fly ; 
 Fate spurs her on. Thus, issuing from afar, 
 Advances to the sun some blazing star, 
 And, as it feels attraction's kindling force, 
 Springs onward with accelerated course. 
 
 In vain the cords and axes were prepared, 
 For every wave now smites the quivering yard ; 
 High o'er the ship they throw a dreadful shade, 
 Then on her burst in terrible cascade, 
 Across the foundered deck o'erwhelming roar, 
 And foaming, swelling, bound upon the shore. 
 Swift up the mounting billow now she flies, 
 Her shattered top half buried in the skies. 
 Borne o'er a latent reef the hull impends, 
 Then thundering on the marble crags descends : 
 Her ponderous bulk the dire concussion feels, 
 And o'er upheaving surges wounded reels. 
 Again she plunges ! Hark ! a second shock 
 Bilges the splitting vessel on the rock. 
 
476 SONG FROM "THE WATER BABIES." 
 
 Down on the vale of death, with dismal cries, 
 The fated victims shuddering cast their eyes 
 In wild despair, while yet another stroke 
 With strong convulsion rends the solid oak. 
 Ah, heavens ! behold her crashing ribs divide ! 
 She loosens, parts, and spreads in ruin o'er the tide. 
 
 As o'er the surf the bending mainmast hung, 
 Still on the rigging thirty seamen clung. 
 Some on a broken crag were struggling cast, 
 And there by oozy tangles grappled fast ; 
 Awhile they bore the o'erwhelming billows' rage, 
 Unequal combat with their fate to wage, 
 Till, all benumbed and feeble, they forego 
 Their slippery hold, and sink to shades below ; 
 Some, from the main yard-arm impetuous thrown 
 On marble ridges, die without a groan. 
 
 Now on the mountain-wave on high they ride, 
 Then downward plunge beneath the involving tide ; 
 Till one, who seems in agony to strive, 
 The whirling breakers heave on shore alive : 
 The rest a speedier end of anguish knew, 
 And pressed the stony beach a lifeless crew. 
 
 ROBERT FALCONER. 
 
 SONG FROM "THE WATER BABIES. 
 
 and cool, clear and cool, 
 By laughing shallow, and dreaming pool; 
 Cool and clear, cool and clear, 
 By shining shingle, and foaming wear ; 
 
THE "ARETHUSA." 477 
 
 Under the crag where the ouzel sings, 
 
 And the ivied wall where the church-bell rings. 
 
 Undefiled, for the undefiled : 
 Play by me, bathe in me, mother and child. 
 
 Dank and foul, dank and foul, 
 By the smoky town in its murky cowl ; 
 
 Foul and dank, foul and dank, 
 By wharf and sewer and slimy bank ; 
 Darker and darker, the farther I go, 
 Baser and baser, the richer I grow : 
 
 Who dare sport with the sin-defiled ? 
 Shrink from me, turn from me, mother and child. 
 
 Strong and free, strong and free, 
 The flood-gates are open, away to the sea ; 
 
 Free and strong, free and strong, 
 
 Cleansing my streams as I hurry along 
 To the golden sands, and the leaping bar, 
 And the taintless tide that awaits me afar, 
 As I lose myself in the infinite main, 
 Like a soul that has sinned, and is pardoned again. 
 
 Undefiled, for the undefiled : 
 Play by me, bathe in me, mother and child. 
 
 CHARLES KINGSLEY. 
 
 THE " ARETHUSA." 
 
 COME, all ye jolly sailors bold, 
 Whose hearts are cast in honor's mould, 
 While English glory I unfold : 
 Huzza to the " Arethusa " ! 
 
47 8 THE "ARETHUSA." 
 
 She is a frigate tight and brave 
 
 As ever stemmed the dashing wave : 
 
 Her men are stanch 
 
 To their favorite launch ; 
 And, when the foe shall meet our fire, 
 Sooner than strike, will all expire 
 
 On board the " Arethusa." 
 
 Twas with old Keppel she went out 
 The English Channel to cruise about, 
 When four French sail in show so stout, 
 
 Bore down on the " Arethusa." 
 The famed " Belle Poule " straight ahead did lie. 
 The " Arethusa " seemed to fly : 
 
 Not a sheet or a tack 
 
 Or a brace did she slack, 
 
 Though the Frenchman laughed, and thought it stuff; 
 But they knew not the handful of men how tough, 
 
 On board the "Arethusa." 
 
 On deck five hundred men did dance, 
 The stoutest they could find in France : 
 We with t\vo hundred did advance, 
 
 On board the " Arethusa." 
 Our captain hailed the Frenchman, " Ho ! 
 
 Bear down, d'ye see, 
 
 To our admiral's lee." 
 
 " No, no," says the Frenchman, " that can't be ! " 
 " Then I must bring you along with me," 
 
 Says the saucy " Arethusa." 
 
 The fight was off the Frenchman's land : 
 We forced them back upon their strand ; 
 
DOVER BEACH. 479 
 
 For we fought till not a stick would stand 
 
 On board the " Arethusa." 
 And since we've driven the foe ashore, 
 Never to fight the Britons more, 
 
 Let each fill a glass to his favorite lass \ 
 A health to our captain and officers too, 
 And all who belong to the jovial crew 
 
 On board the "Arethusa." 
 
 PRINCE HOARE. 
 
 DOVER BEACH. 
 
 THE sea is calm to-night. 
 The tide is full, the moon lies fair 
 Upon the Straits ; on the French coast the light 
 Gleams, and is gone ; the cliffs of England stand 
 Glimmering and vast out in the tranquil bay. 
 Come to the window : sweet is the night-air ! 
 Only, from the long line of spray 
 Where the sea meets the moon-blanched sand, 
 Listen ! you hear the grating roar 
 Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling, 
 At their return, up the high strand, 
 Begin and cease, and then again begin, 
 With tremulous cadence slow, and bring 
 The eternal note of sadness in. 
 
 Sophocles long ago 
 
 Heard it on the ^Egean, and it brought 
 
 Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow 
 
 Of human misery : we 
 
 Find also in the sound a thought, 
 
 Hearing it by this distant northern sea. 
 
480 MARINER'S HYMN. 
 
 The sea of faith 
 
 Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore 
 
 Lay, like the folds of a bright girdle, furled. 
 
 But now I only hear 
 
 Its melancholy, long withdrawing roar, 
 
 Retreating to the breath 
 
 Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear, 
 
 And naked shingles of the world. 
 
 Ah, love ! let us be true 
 
 To one another ; for the world, which seems 
 
 To lie before us like a land of dreams, 
 
 So various, so beautiful, so new, 
 
 Hath really neither joy nor love nor light, 
 
 Nor certitude nor peace, nor help for pain ; 
 
 And we are here as in a drifting plain, 
 
 Swept with confused alarms of struggle and fright 
 
 When ignorant armies clash by night. 
 
 MATTHEW ARNOLD. 
 MARINER'S HYMN. 
 
 LAUNCH thy bark, mariner ! 
 Christian, God speed thee ! 
 Let loose the rudder-bands, 
 
 Good angels lead thee ! 
 Set thy sails warily, 
 
 Tempests will come ; 
 Steer thy course steadily : 
 Christian, steer home ! 
 
 Look to the weather-bow, 
 
 Breakers are round thee ; 
 Let fall the plummet now, 
 
 Shallows may ground thee. 
 
MARINER'S HYMN. 481 
 
 Reef in the foresail there ! 
 
 Hold the helm fast ! 
 So let the vessel wear 
 
 There swept the blast. 
 
 " What of the night, watchman ? 
 
 What of the night?" 
 " Cloudy, all quiet, 
 
 No land yet: all's right." 
 Be wakeful, be vigilant, 
 
 Danger may be 
 At an hour when all seemeth 
 
 Securest to thee. 
 
 How ! gains the leak so fast ? 
 
 Clear out the hold ! 
 Hoist up the merchandise ! 
 
 Heave out thy gold ! 
 There let the ingots go ; 
 
 Now the ship rights. 
 Hurrah ! the harbor's near ! 
 
 Lo, the red lights ! 
 
 Slacken not sail yet 
 
 At inlet or island ; 
 Straight for the beacon steer, 
 
 Straight for the high land ; 
 Crowd all thy canvas on, 
 
 Cut through the foam ! 
 Christian, cast anchor now, 
 
 Heaven is thy home. 
 
 CAROLINE SOUTHEV. 
 
482 ALCYONE. 
 
 ALCYONE. 
 
 " A TAY, leave me not ! " she cried ; and her bared arms, 
 l\l Wherefrom the saffron robe flowed back, as waves 
 That on white Naxos break, still closer clung. 
 
 " So newly am I come within thy walls, 
 That still I crave a sense of welcome nigh 
 To banish strangeness ; and I scarce do feel 
 My title to thy home's sweet sovereignties, 
 Unless that thou be by to prove it good. 
 I seem no alien when I turn to thee 
 With questioning looks that read their answer writ 
 Large-lettered on thy brow. But, missing thee, 
 I sigh o'er many a precious love foregone, 
 Brooding on it, that none of all I cherished, 
 The tender playmates of my rock-bound isle, 
 My surf-washed Strongyle, do smile me back 
 The fond, old time, or with home-voice recall 
 My happy bygone. If thou goest abroad, 
 I droop perforce. The past, for which thy presence 
 No sea-room grants, beats strong against my heart, 
 As on our cliffs the surge was wont to beat ; 
 And yet how quick its ebb when thou dost come 
 To fill its hollowed depths ! " 
 
 " Thy moaning, Sweet, 
 Is sad as Cyprian doves', when from her isle 
 Their goddess wanders. Love doth overstate 
 The soft self-pity of thy loneliness : 
 Thou knowest the violets hoard their odors best 
 In the night-absence of their lord, the sun." 
 And Ceyx pointed to the land-locked bay 
 
ALCYONE. 483 
 
 Where rocked his vessel. " Not more smooth," he said, 
 
 " Thy molten mirror than yon crystal sea. 
 
 Confess thy fears' forecastings, little one, 
 
 Have like a goad behind thy pleadings pricked 
 
 Keener than love doth, hurrying on thy speech, 
 
 And honeying it with artifice. Well, let 
 
 The bee snatch at the rosy lure, yet so 
 
 'Scape it withal ! " And smilingly he sealed 
 
 With fast-shut kiss the dewy-parted lips. 
 
 " But heed thou not thy pillow's scared unrest, 
 That drones to thee of peril when I am gone. 
 Left now alone, keep thou my state upholden 
 With self-assertion of thy dignities 
 Of gracious wifehood, sure that in my heart, 
 Thy royal realm, love busies all the hours, 
 Building a palace fit to be thy home. 
 
 " To Claros swiftly borne, my doubts dissolved 
 
 Before the Oracle, I'll haste to mount 
 
 The homeward wave ; and passion, gathering strength, 
 
 And overtopping hindering circumstance, 
 
 Soon on thy breast shall break, and ripple up 
 
 In creamy kisses, stranded on thy mouth. 
 
 "What? eyes still cloud-wracked as the hidden top 
 
 Of blue Olympus? . . . Know the Immortal Gods 
 
 Claim loyal service, and I dare not put 
 
 O'er it supreme this too-sufficing love, 
 
 Lest they do frown on us with harmful brows. 
 
 Then let me go ; and thou, meanwhile, high heap 
 
 Apollo's shrine, for thy on-wafting prayers 
 
 Will speed me surelier than the kindest winds 
 
 By Zephyrus loosed." 
 
484 ALCYONE. 
 
 With rapid sail full set 
 
 Toward the far isle, King Ceyx from the deck 
 Waved light farewells to her, his weeping bride, 
 Who stood with outstretched arms on the white sands, 
 Even as he gazed, doting upon the tears, 
 The breathless throbs, and palpitating doubts, 
 Wherewith Alcyone's so wifely love 
 Had wrapped itself, as 'twere a drapery flung 
 In zoneless sweep above the sanctity 
 Of foamy swell and billowy curve, whose grace 
 Was heightened thus, not hidden. 
 
 Days passed amain, 
 
 Yet brought small respite to the mind distraught 
 With fateful prescience and consuming dread. 
 The girdle, that with wealth of needlecraft 
 'Gainst his return she wrought, slipped listlessly 
 Down from her lap ; and tuneless lay the lyre 
 She used to touch for him, as eve by eve, 
 Her vision dazed with travelling o'er so oft 
 The golden path he went athwart the main, 
 With boding heart she watched his coming. 
 
 Thus, 
 
 Among her cushions, with her wistful face 
 Turned seaward, so the first white glint of sail 
 Might greet her sight, ere she was 'ware, she slept, 
 And sleeping dreamed. She saw above her bend 
 The mist-crowned Thetis, every look informed 
 With pity goddess-like ; and on her ear 
 Fell word as sad as whispering Oreads' hid 
 In piny forests : 
 
ALCYONE. 485 
 
 " Thou shalt watch in vain, 
 
 sorrowful ! shalt wait and watch in vain ; 
 For nevermore the sail that hence hath borne 
 Thy darling shall come back again to thee 
 Out from the purple deep, where low he lies 
 Crouched in fair Aphrodite's coral caves." 
 
 Upstarting from her dream, Alcyone 
 
 Uttered a cry of woe, and, calling round 
 
 Her household-maidens, straightway to the beach 
 
 That stretched afar beneath the new-risen moon, 
 
 Hasted, her hair unbound, her milk-white feet 
 
 Unsandalled, and her quick-caught garments flung 
 
 Girdleless to the breeze. 
 
 Along the shore 
 
 Wailing she strayed, reaching her pleading arms 
 To woo him from the inexorable sea : 
 
 " O best ! O dearest ! come to me once more ! 
 Again oh, come again ! All life, all hope, 
 All cheer, my soul can ever know, all good, 
 
 1 hold alone through thee. Give back thyself, 
 Thyself, to me. I perish else I perish ! 
 
 Gods ! Dare ye babble, ye weakling comforters, 
 Of other solace left ? ... As if this drear, 
 Wide, empty world could hold one joy beside, 
 My king being gone ! Offer yon salty spray 
 To lips that parch with deadly thirst, and think 
 To quench it ! Oh, my lord, my lord ! my life ! 
 Better to me than all the dwellers in heaven, 
 Dearer to me than all the peopled earth : 
 I die without thee ! " 
 
486 ALCYONE. 
 
 Moaning thus she went, 
 
 Her handmaids following, weeping at the dole 
 They shrank to soothe, until she reached a jut 
 Of headland, at whose base the waters chafed 
 With ceaseless lap and fret. Gazing therefrom, 
 Her feverish vision seized upon a blot 
 Of darkness on the silvery line of beach, 
 And turning to her followers, all dilate 
 With wide-eyed apprehension, thitherward 
 She dumbly pointed. 
 
 Ere their lips found words, 
 
 Fast down the ledge of splintered rock she sped, 
 With delicate feet that left the wounding flints 
 Crimson-besprent. 
 
 Soon as she gained the strand, 
 And neared the blackening speck, upon the night 
 Came wafted upward to the listeners' ears 
 A shriek of such unutterable bale 
 As held them rooted to the lichened shelve 
 With horror ; for it told, what not their fears 
 Had shaped into a thought, that the worst woe 
 That could befall their mistress had befallen, 
 That whom she sought she found, her husband dead, 
 Dead, drifted shoreward, as an ocean-weed. 
 They saw her rush with wringing hands to fling 
 Herself upon him ; but betwixt the drowned 
 And living swept a refluent wave that sucked 
 The lifeless form back to the gulfing deep ; 
 And from the scarped cliff the gazers heard 
 The breeze-borne words : 
 
 " To thee I come, I come, 
 Beloved, since thou mayst not come to me ! 
 
FUNERAL AT SEA. 487 
 
 Reach out thine arms above the bitter brine, 
 And let me leap to meet thee thus " 
 
 They caught 
 
 A gleam of flickering robes, a quick, dull plash, 
 The sullen gurgle of recoiling waves, 
 The clamorous screaming of a startled gull 
 That flapped its wings o'erhead, but saw no more, 
 For all their searchings through the moonlit night ; 
 For all their desolate wailings, nevermore 
 The woe-worn face of sad Alcyone. 
 
 When wintry storms were spent, and lenient airs 
 
 Smoothed with caressing hand the furrowed surge 
 
 Within yEgean seas, the voyager, 
 
 Watching the halcyon with his brooding mate 
 
 Nested upon the waters tranquilly 
 
 As midst Thessalian myrtles, said, 
 
 "Behold 
 
 Alcyone and Ceyx ! We shall have 
 Fair weather for our sailing." 
 
 MARGARET J. PRESTON. 
 
 FUNERAL AT SEA. 
 
 THE summer sun is riding high 
 Amid a bright and cloudless sky, 
 Beneath whose deep o'er-arching blue 
 The circle of the Atlantic sea, 
 Reflecting back a deeper hue, 
 Is heaving peacefully. 
 
 The winds are still ; the ship with idle motion 
 Rocks gently on the gentle ocean ; 
 Loose hang her sails, awaiting when the breeze 
 
48S FUNERAL AT SEA. 
 
 Again shall wake to waft her on her way. 
 
 Glancing beside, the dolphins, as they play, 
 
 Their gorgeous tints suffused with gold display ; 
 
 And gay bonitos in their beauty glide. 
 
 With arrowy speed, in close pursuit, 
 
 They through the azure waters shoot : 
 
 A feebler shoal before them in affright 
 
 Spring from the wave, and in short flight, 
 
 On wet and plumeless wing essay 
 
 The aerial element. 
 
 The greedy followers, on the chase intent, 
 
 Dart forward still with keen and upturned sight, 
 
 And, to their proper danger blind the while, 
 
 Heed not the sharks, which have for many a day 
 
 Hovered behind the ship, presentient of their prey. 
 
 So fair a season might persuade 
 
 Yon crew to try the fisher's trade ; 
 
 Yet from the stern no line is hung, 
 
 Nor bait by eager sea- boy flung ; 
 
 Nor doth the watchful sailor stand 
 
 Alert to strike, harpoon in hand. 
 
 Upon the deck assembled, old and young, 
 
 Bareheaded all in reverence, see them there ! 
 
 Behold where, hoisted halfmast high, 
 
 The English flag hangs mournfully ; 
 
 And hark ! What solemn sounds' are these 
 
 Heard in the silence of the seas? 
 
 " Man that is born of woman, short his time, 
 And full of woe : he springeth like a flower, 
 Or like the grass, that, green at morning prime, 
 Is cut and withereth ere the evening hour : 
 
FUNERAL AT SEA. 489 
 
 Never doth he continue in one stay, 
 But like a shadow doth he pass away." 
 It was that awful strain, which saith 
 How in the midst of life we are in death. 
 " Yet not forever, O Lord God most high ! 
 Saviour ! yet not forever shall we die." 
 
 Ne'er from a voice more eloquent did prayer 
 
 Arise, with fervent piety sincere ; 
 
 To every heart of all the listening crew 
 
 It made its way, and drew 
 
 Even from the hardy seaman's eyes a tear. 
 
 " God," he pursued, " hath taken to himself 
 
 The soul of our departed sister dear ; 
 
 We then commit her body to the deep." 
 
 He paused, and at the word 
 
 The coffin's plunge was heard. 
 
 A female voice of anguish then brake forth 
 
 With 'sobs convulsive of a heart oppressed. 
 
 It was a daughter's agonizing cry. 
 
 But soon hath she repressed 
 
 The fit of passionate grief, 
 
 And, listening patiently, 
 
 In that religious effort gained relief. 
 
 Beside the gray-haired captain doth she stand :; 
 
 One arm is linked in his ; the other hand 
 
 Hid with the handkerchief her face, and pressed 
 
 Her eyes, whence burning tears continuous flow. 
 
 Down hung her head upon her breast ; 
 
 And thus the maiden stood in silent woe. 
 
490 FUNERAL A T SEA. 
 
 Again was heard the preacher's earnest voice : 
 
 It bade the righteous in their faith rejoice, 
 
 Their sure and certain hope in Christ ; for blest 
 
 In him are they who from their labors rest. 
 
 It rose into a high thanksgiving strain, 
 
 And praised the Lord, who from a world of pain 
 
 Had now been pleased to set his servant free : 
 
 " Hasten thy kingdom, Lord, that all may rest in thee ! " 
 
 In manhood's fairest prime was he who prayed, 
 
 Even in the flower and beauty of his youth. 
 
 These holy words and fervent tones portrayed 
 
 The feelings of his inmost soul sincere ; 
 
 For scarce two months had filled their short career, 
 
 Since from the grave of her who gave him birth 
 
 That sound had struck upon his ear, 
 
 When to the doleful words of " Earth to earth " 
 
 Its dead response the sensless coffin gave. 
 
 Oh ! who can e'er forget that echo of the grave ! 
 
 Now, in the grace of God dismissed, 
 They separate as they may, 
 To narrow limits of the ship confined. 
 . Nor did the impression lightly pass away 
 Even from the unreflecting sailor's mind. 
 They pitied that sweet maiden, all bereft, 
 Alone on shipboard, among strangers left. 
 They spake of that young preacher, day by day, 
 How, while the fever held its fatal course, 
 He ministered at the patient sufferer's side, 
 Holding of faith and hope his high discourse ; 
 And how, when all had joined in humble prayer, 
 She solemnly confided to his care, 
 
g 
 
FROM "CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE." 491 
 
 Till to her father's hands she could be given, 
 Her child forlorn, and blessed him, ere she died. 
 They called to mind how peaceful, how serene, 
 Like one who seemed already half in heaven, 
 After that act she yielded up her breath. 
 And sure they wished their end like hers, I ween, 
 And for a comforter like him in death. 
 
 ROBERT SOUTHEY. 
 
 i 
 
 FROM "THE SPANISH GYPSY." 
 (LAST LINES.) 
 
 T was night 
 
 Before the ships weighed anchor, 
 and gave sail, 
 
 Fresh night, emergent in her clearness, lit 
 By the large crescent moon, with Hesperus 
 And those great stars that lead the eager host. 
 Fedalma stood and watched the little bark 
 Lying jet-black upon moon-whitened waves. 
 Silva was standing too. He, too, divined 
 A steadfast form that held him with its thought, 
 And eyes that sought him vanishing : he saw 
 The waters widen slowly, till at last 
 Straining, he gazed, and knew not if he gazed 
 On aught but blackness overhung by stars. 
 
 GEORGE ELIOT. 
 FROM "CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE." 
 
 ROLL on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean roll ! 
 Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; 
 Man marks the earth with ruin ; his control 
 Stops with the shore ; upon the watery plain 
 
492 FROM "CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE." 
 
 The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain 
 A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, 
 When for a moment, like a drop of rain, 
 He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, 
 Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown. 
 
 His steps are not upon thy paths thy fields 
 Are not a spoil for him thou dost arise 
 And shake him from thee ; the vile strength he wields 
 For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, 
 Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, 
 And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray, 
 And howling, to his gods, where haply lies 
 His petty hope in some near port or bay, 
 And dashest him again to earth : there let him lay. 
 
 The armaments which thunderstrike the walls 
 Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake, 
 And monarchs tremble in their capitals, 
 The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make 
 Their clay creator the vain title take 
 Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war : 
 These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, 
 They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar 
 Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar. 
 
 Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee 
 Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they? 
 Thy waters wasted them while they were free, 
 And many a tyrant since ; their shores obey 
 The stranger, slave, or savage ; their decay 
 Has dried up realms to deserts : not so thou, 
 Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play 
 
LEFT ASHORE. 493 
 
 Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow 
 Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now. 
 
 Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form 
 Glasses itself in tempests ; in all time, 
 Calm or convulsed, in breeze, or gale, or storm, 
 Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime 
 Dark-heaving, boundless, endless, and sublime, 
 The image of Eternity, the throne 
 Of the Invisible ; even from out thy slime 
 The monsters of the deep are made ; each zone 
 Obeys thee : thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. 
 
 And I have loved thee, Ocean ! and my joy 
 Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be 
 Borne, like thy bubbles, onward : from a boy 
 I wantoned with thy breakers they to me 
 Were a delight ; and if the freshening sea 
 Made them a terror, 'twas a pleasing fear ; 
 For I was, as it were, a child of thee, 
 And trusted to thy billows far and near, 
 And laid my hand upon thy main as I do here. 
 
 GEORGE GORDON NOEL BYRON. 
 
 LEFT ASHORE. 
 
 SOFTLY it stole up out of the sea, 
 The day that brought my dole to me ; 
 Slowly into the star-sown gray, 
 Dim and dappled, it soared away. 
 Who would have dreamed such tender light 
 Was brimmng over with bale and blight? 
 
494 LEFT ASHORE. 
 
 Who would have dreamed that fitful breeze 
 Fanned from the tumult of tossing seas ? 
 Oh ! softly and slowly stole up from the sea 
 The day that brought my dole to me. 
 
 Glad was I at the open door 
 
 While my footfall lingered along the floor, 
 
 For three bright heads at the dawn of day 
 
 Close on the selfsame pillow lay ; 
 
 Three sweet mouths I bent and kissed, 
 
 As the gold and rose and amethyst 
 
 Of the eastern sky was round us shed ; 
 
 And three little happy faces sped 
 
 To the dancing boat, and he went too 
 
 And lightly the wind that morning blew. 
 
 Many a time had one and all 
 
 Gone out before to the deep-sea haul ; 
 
 Many a time come rowing back 
 
 Against the tide of the Merrimac, 
 
 With shining freight, and a reddening sail 
 
 Flapping loose in the idle gale, 
 
 While over them faded the evening glow, 
 
 With stars above, and with stars below, 
 
 Trolling and laughing, a welcome din, 
 
 To me and the warm shore making in. 
 
 Then why that day, as I watched the boat, 
 Did I remember the midnight rote 
 That rolled a signal across my sleep 
 Of the storm that cried from deep to deep, 
 Plunging along in its eager haste 
 Across the desert and desolate waste, 
 
LEFT ASHORE. 
 
 495 
 
 Far off through the heart of the gray mid-seas, 
 
 To rob me forever of all my ease ? 
 
 Oh ! I know not : I only know 
 
 That sound was the warning of my woe. 
 
 For, lo ! as I looked, I saw the mist 
 
 Over the channel curl and twist, 
 
 And blot the breaker out of sight 
 
 Where its angry horn gored the waters white. 
 
 Only a sea-turn, I heard them say, 
 
 That the climbing sun will burn away. 
 
 But I saw it silently settling down 
 
 Like an aspen pall upon the town. 
 
 " Oh, hush ! " I cried : " 'tis some huge storm's rack : 
 
 My darlings, my darlings, will never come back ! " 
 
 All day I stood on the old sea-wall, 
 
 Watching the great swell rise and fall ; 
 
 And the spume and the spray drove far and thin 
 
 But never a sail came staggering in. 
 
 And out of the east a wet wind blew, 
 
 And over my head the foam-flakes flew. 
 
 Down came the night without a star, 
 
 Loud was the cry of the raging bar ; 
 
 And I wrung my hands, and called and prayed ; 
 
 And the black wild east all answer made. 
 
 Oh ! long ere the cruel night was done 
 
 Came the muffled toll of the minute-gun : 
 
 Nothing it meant to me, I knew, 
 
 Save that other women were waiting too ; 
 
 For many the craft, that, cast away 
 
 On the shoals of the long Plum Island, lay 
 
496 SIR PATRICK SPENS. 
 
 Wrecked and naked, a hungry horde 
 Of fierce white surges leaping aboard ; 
 And bale and bundle came up from the sea 
 But nothing ever came back^to me. 
 
 And through every pool where the full tides toss, 
 
 I search for some lock of curling floss. 
 
 Yet still in my window, night by night, 
 
 The little candle is shining bright ; 
 
 For, oh ! if I suddenly turned to meet 
 
 My darlings coming with flying feet, 
 
 While I in the place they left me sat, 
 
 No greater marvel 'twould be than that 
 
 When so softly, so sweetly, stole up from the sea 
 
 The day that brought my dole to me. 
 
 HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD. 
 
 SIR PATRICK SPENS. 
 
 THE king sits in Dunfermline town, 
 Drinking the blude-red wine : 
 " Oh, where will I get a skeely skipper 
 To sail this new ship of mine? " 
 
 Oh ! up and spake an eldern knight 
 Sat at the king's right knee : 
 
 " Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor 
 That ever sailed the sea." 
 
 The king has written a braid letter, 
 And sealed it with his hand, 
 
 And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens, 
 Was walking on the strand. 
 
SIR PATRICK SPENS. 497 
 
 " To Noroway, to Noroway, 
 
 To Noroway o'er the faem ; 
 The king's daughter of Noroway, 
 
 Tis thou maun bring her hame ! " 
 
 The first word that Sir Patrick read, 
 
 Sae loud, loud laughed he ; 
 The neist word that Sir Patrick read, 
 
 The tear blindit his e'e. 
 
 " Oh ! wha is this has done this deed, 
 
 And told the king o' me, 
 To send us out at this time o' the year 
 
 To sail upon the sea? 
 
 " Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet, 
 
 Our ship must sail the faem : 
 The king's daughter of Noroway 
 
 'Tis we must fetch her hame." 
 
 They hoysed their sails on Monenday mom, 
 
 Wi' a' speed they may : 
 They hae landed in Noroway 
 
 Upon a Wodensday. 
 
 They hadna been a week, a week, 
 
 In Noroway, but twae, 
 When that the lords o' Noroway 
 
 Began aloud to say, 
 
 "Ye Scottishmen spend a' our king's gowd 
 
 And a' our queen's fie.'- 
 " Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud ! 
 
 Fu' loud I hear ye lie ! 
 
498 SSX PA TRICK SPENS. 
 
 " For I hae brought as much white monie 
 
 As gaue my men and me, 
 And I hae brought a half-fou o' gude red gowd 
 
 Out cure the sea wi' me. 
 
 " Make ready, make ready, my merry men a' ! 
 
 Our gude ship sails the morn." 
 " Now, ever alake ! my master dear, 
 
 I fear a deadly storm. 
 
 " I saw the new moon, late yestreen, 
 
 Wi' the auld moon in her arm ; 
 And if we gang to sea, master, 
 
 I fear we'll come to harm." 
 
 They hadna sailed a league, a league, 
 
 A league, but barely three, 
 When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud, 
 
 And gurley blew the sea. 
 
 The ankers brak, and the topmasts lap, 
 
 It was sic a deadly storm ; 
 And the waves came o'er the broken ship 
 
 Till a' her sides were torn. 
 
 " Oh, where will I get a gude sailor 
 
 To take the helm in hand 
 Till I get up the tall topmast 
 
 To see if I can spy land ? " 
 
 " Oh, here am I, a sailor gude, 
 
 To take the helm in hand 
 Till you go up the tall topmast 
 
 But I fear you'll ne'er spy land." 
 
SIR PA TRICK SPENS. 499 
 
 He hadna gane a step, a step, 
 
 A step, but barely ane, 
 When a boult flew out of our goodly ship, 
 
 And the salt sea it came in. 
 
 " Gae fetch a web o' the silken claith, 
 
 Another o' the twine, 
 And wap them into our ship's side, 
 
 And letna the sea come in." 
 
 They fetched a web o' the silken claith, 
 
 Another o' the twine, 
 And they wapped them roun' that gude ship's side ; 
 
 But still the sea came in. 
 
 Oh, laith, laith, were our gude Scots lords 
 
 To weet their cork-heeled shoon, 
 But lang or a' the play was played 
 
 They wat their hats aboon ! 
 
 And mony was the feather-bed 
 
 That floated on the faem ; 
 And mony was the gude lord's son 
 
 That never mair came hame. 
 
 The ladyes wrang their fingers white, 
 
 The maidens tore their hair, 
 A' for the sake of their true loves, 
 
 For them they'll see na mair. 
 
 Oh, lang, lang, may the ladyes sit, 
 
 Wi' their fans into their hands, 
 Before they see Sir Patrick Spens 
 
 Come sailing to the strand ! 
 
500 A REFLECTION AT SEA. 
 
 And lang, lang, may the maidens sit, 
 
 Wi' their gowd kames in their hair, 
 A' waiting for their ain true loves, 
 
 For them they'll see na mair. 
 
 Oh, forty miles off Aberdeen 
 
 Tis fifty fathom deep ; 
 And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens 
 
 Wi' the Scots lords at his feet. 
 
 OLD SCOTTISH BALLAD. 
 
 A REFLECTION AT SEA. 
 
 SEE how, beneath the moonbeam's smile, 
 Yon little billow heaves its breast, 
 And foams and sparkles for a while, 
 Then murmuring subsides to rest ! 
 
 Thus man, the sport of bliss and care, 
 Rises on time's eventful sea, 
 And having swelled a moment there, 
 Thus melts into eternity. 
 
 THOMAS MOORE. 
 
 THE SAILING OF THE " SWALLOW." 
 
 AND while they sat at speech as at a feast, 
 There came a light wind hardening from the east, 
 And blackening, and made comfortless the skies ; 
 And the sea thrilled, as with heart-sundering sighs 
 One after one drawn, with each breath it drew, 
 And the green hardened into iron blue, 
 
THE SAILING OF THE "SWALLOW." 501 
 
 And the soft light went out of all its face. 
 
 Then Tristram girt him for the rowers' place, 
 
 And took his oar, and smote, and toiled with might, 
 
 In the wind's full face and the strong sea's spite 
 
 Laboring. And all the rowers rowed hard, but he 
 
 More mightily than any wearier three. 
 
 And Iseult watched him rowing, with sinless eyes 
 
 That loved him but in holy girlish wise, 
 
 For noble joy in his fair manliness 
 
 And trust and tender wonder ; none the less, 
 
 She thought, if God had given her grace to be 
 
 Man, and make war on danger of earth and sea, 
 
 Even such a man she would be ; for his stroke 
 
 Was mightiest as the mightier water broke, 
 
 And in sheer measure, like strong music, drave 
 
 Clean through the wet weight of the wallowing wave ; 
 
 And as a tune before a great king played 
 
 For triumph was the tune their strong strokes made ; 
 
 And sped the ship through with smooth strife of oars 
 
 Over the mid-sea's gray foam-paven floors, 
 
 For all the loud breach of the waves at will. 
 
 So for an hour they fought the storm out still ; 
 And the shorn foam spun from the blades, and high 
 The keel sprang from the wave-ridge, and the sky 
 Glared at them for a breath's space through the rain ; 
 Then the bows with a sharp shock plunged again 
 Down, and the sea clashed on them, and so rose 
 The bright stem like one panting from swift blows ; 
 And as a swimmer's joyous beaten head 
 Rears itself laughing, so, in that sharp stead, 
 The light ship lifted her long quivering bows 
 As might the man his buffeted strong brows 
 
502 A SUMMER NOON AT SEA. 
 
 Out of the wave-breach ; for with one stroke yet 
 
 Went all men's oars together, strongly set 
 
 As to loud music ; and with hearts uplift 
 
 They smote their strong way through the drench and 
 
 drift 
 
 Till the keen hour had chafed itself to death, 
 And the east wind fell fitfully, breath by breath, 
 Tired ; and across the thin and slackening rain 
 Sprang the face southward of the sun again. 
 
 ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE. 
 
 A SUMMER NOON AT SEA. 
 
 A HOLY stillness, beautiful and deep, 
 Reigns in the air, and broods upon the ocean ; 
 The worn-out winds are quieted to sleep, 
 And not a wave is lifted into motion. 
 
 The sea-bird skims along the glassy tide 
 
 With sidelong flight, and wing of glittering whiteness, 
 Or floats upon the sea, outstretching wide 
 
 A sheet of gold in the meridian brightness. 
 
 Our vessel lies, unstirred by wave or blast, 
 
 As she were moored to her dark shadow seeming, 
 
 Her pennon twined around the tapering mast, 
 And her loose sails like marble drapery gleaming. 
 
 How, at an hour like this, the unruffled mind 
 Partakes the quiet that is shed around us ! 
 
 As if the Power that chained the impatient wind 
 With the same fetter of repose had bound us. 
 
 EPES SARGENT. 
 
A SABBATH MORNING AT SEA. 503 
 
 A SABBATH MORNING AT SEA. 
 
 THE ship went on with solemn face ; 
 To meet the darkness on the deep, 
 The solemn ship went onward. 
 I bowed down weary in the place, 
 For parting tears and present sleep 
 
 Had weighed mine eyelids downward. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Thick sleep, which shut all dreams from me, 
 And kept my inner self apart, 
 
 And quiet from emotion, 
 Then brake away, and left me free, 
 Made conscious of a human heart, 
 
 Betwixt the heaven and ocean. 
 
 The new sight, the new wondrous sight ! 
 The waters round me turbulent, 
 
 The skies impassive o'er me, 
 Calm in a moonless, sunless light, 
 Half glorified by that intent 
 
 Of holding the day-glory. 
 
 rv. 
 
 Two pale thin clouds did stand upon 
 The meeting-line of sea and sky, 
 
 With aspect still and mystic. 
 I think they did foresee the sun, 
 And rested on their prophecy 
 
 In quietude majestic ; 
 
504 A SABBATH MORNING AT SEA. 
 
 V. 
 
 Then flushed to radiance where they stood, 
 Like statues by the open tomb 
 
 Of shining saints half risen. 
 The sun ! he came up to be viewed : 
 And sky and sea made mighty room 
 
 To inaugurate the vision. 
 
 VI. 
 
 I oft had seen the dawnlight nm, 
 
 As red wine through the hills, and break 
 
 Through many a mist's inurning ; 
 But here no earth profaned the sun : 
 Heaven, ocean, did alone partake 
 
 The sacrament of morning. 
 
 vn. 
 
 Away with thoughts fantastical ! 
 I would be humble to my worth, 
 
 Self-guarded as self-doubted. 
 Though here no earthly shadows fall, 
 I, joying, grieving, without earth, 
 
 May desecrate without it. 
 
 vni. 
 
 God's sabbath morning sweeps the waves ; 
 I would not praise the pageant high, 
 
 Yet miss the dedicature : 
 I, carried towards the sunless graves 
 By force of natural things, should I 
 
 Exult in only nature? 
 
A SABBATH MORNING AT SEA. 505 
 
 IX. 
 
 And could I bear to sit alone 
 Mid nature's fixed benignities, 
 
 While my warm pulse was moving? 
 Too dark thou art, O glittering sun ! 
 Too strait ye are, capacious seas, 
 
 To satisfy the loving. 
 
 x. 
 
 It seems a better lot than so 
 
 To sit with friends beneath the beech, 
 
 And call them dear and dearer ; 
 Or follow children as they go 
 In pretty pairs, with softened speech, 
 
 As the church-bells ring nearer. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Love me, sweet friends, this sabbath day, 
 The sea sings round me while ye roll 
 
 Afar the hymn unaltered, 
 And kneel where once I knelt to pray, 
 And bless me deeper in the soul, 
 
 Because the voice has faltered. 
 
 XII. 
 
 And though this sabbath comes to me 
 Without the stoled minister 
 
 Or chanting congregation, 
 God's spirit brings communion, HE 
 Who brooded soft on waters drear, 
 Creator, on creation. 
 
506 FROM "PROMETHEUS UNBOUND:' 
 
 xrn. 
 
 Himself, I think, shall draw me higher, 
 Where keep the saints with harp and song 
 
 An endless sabbath morning, 
 And on that sea commixed with fire 
 Oft drop their eyelids raised too long 
 
 To the full Godhead's burning. 
 
 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 
 
 FROM "PROMETHEUS UNBOUND." 
 
 A RAINBOW'S arch stood on the sea, 
 JT\. Which rocked beneath immovably ; 
 And the triumphant storm did flee 
 Like a conqueror, swift and proud, 
 Between with many a captive cloud, 
 A shapeless, dark, and rapid crowd, 
 Each by lightning riven in half: 
 I heard the thunder hoarsely laugh ; 
 Mighty fleets were strewn like chaff, 
 And spread beneath a hell of death 
 O'er the white waters. 
 
 PERCY BVSSHE SHELLEY. 
 
 A VISION OF THE SEA. 
 
 >r T^IS the terror of tempest. The rags of the sail 
 
 JL Are flickering in ribbons within the fierce gale ; 
 From the stark night of vapors the dim rain is driven, 
 And when lightning is loosed, like a deluge from heaven, 
 She sees the black trunks of the water-spouts spin 
 And bend, as if heaven was ruining in, 
 Which they seemed to sustain with their terrible mass, 
 As if ocean had sunk from beneath them : they pass 
 
S, 3 
 
A VISION OF THE SEA. 507 
 
 To their graves in the deep with an earthquake of sound ; 
 
 And the waves and the thunders, made silent around, 
 
 Leave the wind to its echo. The vessel, now tost 
 
 Through the low trailing rack of the tempest, is lost 
 
 In the skirts of the thunder-cloud ; now down the sweep 
 
 Of the wind-cloven wave to the chasm of the deep 
 
 It sinks ; and the walls of the watery vale, 
 
 Whose depths of dread calm are unmoved by the gale, 
 
 Dim mirrors of ruin, hang gleaming about ; 
 
 While the surf, like a chaos of stars, like a rout 
 
 Of death-flames, like whirlpools of fire-flowing iron, 
 
 With splendor and terror the black ship environ ; 
 
 Or like sulphur-flakes hurled from a mine of pale fire 
 
 In fountains spout o'er it. In many a spire 
 
 The pyramid billows, with white points of brine, 
 
 In the cope of the lightning inconstantly shine, 
 
 As piercing the sky from the floor of the sea. 
 
 The great ship seems splitting ! it cracks as a tree, 
 
 While an earthquake is splintering its root, ere the blast 
 
 Of the whirlwind that stripped it of branches has past. 
 
 The intense thunder-balls which are raining from heaven 
 
 Have shattered its mast, and it stands black and riven. 
 
 The chinks suck destruction. The heavy dead hulk 
 
 On the living sea rolls an inanimate bulk, 
 
 Like a corpse on the clay which is hungering to fold 
 
 Its corruption around it. Meanwhile, from the hold 
 
 One deck is burst up from the waters .below, 
 
 And it splits like the ice when the thaw-breezes blow 
 
 O'er the lakes of the desert. Who sit on the other? 
 
 Is that all the crew that lie burying each other, 
 
 Like the dead in a breach, round the foremast? Are 
 
 those 
 Twin tigers, who burst when the waters arose, 
 
5 o8 A V1SIOX OF THE SEA. 
 
 In the agony of terror, their chains in the hold, 
 
 (What now makes them tame is what then made them 
 
 bold,) 
 
 Who crouch side by side, and have driven, like a crank, 
 The deep grip of their claws through the vibrating plank 
 Are these all ? Nine weeks the tall vessel had lain 
 On the windless expanse of the watery plain, 
 Where the death-darting sun cast no shadow at noon, 
 And there seemed to be fire in the beams of the moon, 
 Till a lead-colored fog gathered up from the deep, 
 Whose breath was quick pestilence. Then the cold sleep 
 Crept, like blight through the ears of a thick field of 
 
 corn, 
 
 O'er the populous vessel ; and even and morn, 
 With their hammocks for coffins, the seamen aghast, 
 Like dead men the dead limbs of their comrades cast 
 Down the deep, which closed on them above and around, 
 And the sharks and the dogfish their grave-clothes un- 
 bound, 
 
 And were glutted like Jews with this manna rained down 
 From God on their wilderness. One after one 
 The mariners died : on the eve of this day, 
 When the tempest was gathering in cloudy array, 
 But seven remained. Six the thunder has smitten, 
 And they lie black as mummies on which Time has 
 
 written 
 
 His scorn of the embalmer : the seventh from the deck 
 An oak-splinter pierced through his breast and his back, 
 And hung out to the tempest a wreck on the wreck. 
 No more ? At the helm sits a woman more fair 
 Than heaven, when, unbinding its star-braided hair, 
 It sinks with the sun on the earth and the sea. 
 She clasps a bright child on her upgathered knee : 
 
A VISION OF THE SEA. 509 
 
 It laughs at the lightning, it mocks the mixed thunder 
 
 Of the air and the sea, with desire and with wonder 
 
 It is beckoning the tigers to rise and come near. 
 
 It would play with those eyes where the radiance of fear 
 
 Is outshining the meteors. Its bosom beats high : 
 
 The heart-fire of pleasure has kindled its eye, 
 
 Whilst its mother's is lustreless. " Smile not, my child, 
 
 But sleep deeply and sweetly, and so be beguiled 
 
 Of the pang that awaits us, whatever that be, 
 
 So dreadful since thou must divide it with me. 
 
 Dream, sleep ! This pale bosom, thy cradle and bed, 
 
 Will it rock thee not, infant ? , 'Tis beating with dread. 
 
 Alas ! what is life, what is death, what are we, 
 
 That when the ship sinks we no longer may be? 
 
 What ! to see thee no more, and to feel thee no more ? 
 
 Not to be after life what we have been before ? 
 
 Not to touch those sweet hands? not to look on those 
 
 eyes, 
 
 Those lips, and that hair, all that smiling disguise 
 Thou yet wearest, sweet spirit, which I day by day 
 Have so long called my child, but which now fades away 
 Like a rainbow, and I the fallen shower?" Lo ! the 
 
 ship 
 
 Is settling, it topples, the leeward ports dip. 
 The tigers leap up when they feel the slow brine 
 Crawling inch by inch on them ; hair, ears, limbs, and 
 
 eyne 
 
 Stand rigid with horror : a loud, long, hoarse cry 
 Bursts at once from their vitals tremendously ; 
 And 'tis borne down the mountainous vale of the wave, 
 Rebounding, like thunder, from crag to cave, 
 Mixed with the clash of the lashing rain, 
 Hurried on by the might of the hurricane.' 
 
510 A VISION OF THE SEA. 
 
 The hurricane came from the west, and passed on 
 
 By the path of the gate of the eastern sun, 
 
 Transversely dividing the stream of the storm ; 
 
 As an arrowy serpent, pursuing the form 
 
 Of an elephant, bursts through the brakes of the waste. 
 
 Black as a cormorant the screaming blast, 
 
 Between ocean and heaven, like an ocean, past, 
 
 Till it came to the clouds on the verge of the world, 
 
 Which, based on the sea, and to heaven upcurled, 
 
 Like columns and walls did surround and sustain 
 
 The dome of the tempest. It rent them in twain, 
 
 As a flood rends its barriers of mountainous crag ; 
 
 And the dense clouds in many a ruin and rag, 
 
 Like the stones of a temple ere earthquake has past, 
 
 Like the dust of its fall, on the whirlwind are cast : 
 
 They are scattered like foam on the torrent ; and where 
 
 The wind has burst out from the chasm, from the air 
 
 Of clear morning, the beams of the sunrise flow in, 
 
 Unimpeded, keen, golden, and crystalline 
 
 Banded armies of light and of air ; at one gate 
 
 They encounter, but interpenetrate. 
 
 And that breach in the tempest is widening away, 
 
 And the caverns of clouds are torn up by the day, 
 
 And the fierce winds are sinking with weary wings, 
 
 Lulled by the motion and murmurings, 
 
 And the long glassy heave of the rocking sea ; 
 
 And overhead glorious, but dreadful to see, 
 
 The wrecks of the tempest, like vapors of gold, 
 
 Are consuming in sunrise. The heaped waves behold 
 
 The deep calm of blue heaven dilating above, 
 
 And, like passions made still by the presence of love, 
 
 Beneath the clear surface reflecting it slide 
 
 Tremulous with soft influence ; extending its tide 
 
A VISION OF THE SEA. 511 
 
 From the Andes to Atlas, round mountain and isle, 
 Round sea-birds and wrecks, paved with heaven's azure 
 
 smile. 
 
 The wide world of waters is vibrating. Where 
 Is the ship? On the verge of the wave where it lay 
 One tiger is mingled in ghastly affray 
 With a sea-snake. The foam and the smoke of the 
 
 battle 
 
 Stain the clear air with sunbows ; the jar and the rattle 
 Of solid bones crushed by the infinite stress 
 Of the snake's adamantine voluminousness ; 
 And the hum of the hot blood that spouts and rains 
 Where the grip of the tiger has wounded the veins, 
 Swollen with rage, strength, and effort ; the whirl and the 
 
 splash 
 
 As of some hideous engine whose brazen teeth smash 
 The thin winds and soft waves into thunder ; the screams 
 And hissings crawl fast o'er the smooth ocean-streams, 
 Each sound like a centipede. Near this commotion 
 A blue shark is hanging within the blue ocean, 
 The fin-winged tomb of the victor. The other 
 Is winning his way from the fate of his brother 
 To his own with the speed of despair. Lo ! a boat 
 Advances : twelve rowers with the impulse of thought 
 Urge on the keen keel, the brine foams. At the stern 
 Three marksmen stand levelling. Hot bullets burn 
 In the breast of the tiger, which yet bears him on 
 To his refuge and ruin. One fragment alone 
 Tis dwindling and sinking, 'tis now almost gone 
 Of the wreck of the vessel peers out of the sea, 
 With her left hand she grasps it impetuously, 
 With her right she sustains her fair infant. Death, fear, 
 Love, beauty, are mixed in the atmosphere, 
 
512 ODE TO THE SEA. 
 
 Which trembles and burns with the fervor of dread 
 Around her wild eyes, her bright hand, and her head, 
 Like a meteor of light o'er the waters. Her child 
 Is yet smiling and playing and murmuring : so smiled 
 The false deep ere the storm. Like a sister and brother 
 The child and the ocean still smile on each other, 
 Whilst 
 
 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 
 
 ODE TO THE SEA. 
 
 AT length I look on thee again, 
 Abyss of azure, thou vast main, 
 Long by my verse implored in vain, 
 
 Alone inspired by thee ! 
 The magic of thy sounds alone 
 Can raise the transports I have known : 
 My harp is mute, unless its tone 
 Be waked beside the sea. 
 
 The heights of Blanc have fired mine eyes, 
 Those three bare mounts that touch the skies : 
 I loved the terror of their brow, 
 I loved their diadem of snow ; 
 But, O thou wild and awful Sea ! 
 
 More dear to me 
 Thy threatening, dread immensity. 
 
 Dread Ocean, burst upon me with thy shores ! 
 
 Fling wide thy waters where the storms bear sway ! 
 Thy bosom opens to a thousand prores ; 
 
 Yet fleets with idle daring breast thy spray, 
 Ripple with arrow's track thy closing plain, 
 And graze the surface of thy deep domain. 
 
ODE TO THE SEA. 513 
 
 Man dares not tread thy liquid way ; 
 Thou spurn'st that despot of a day, 
 Tossed like a snovvflake, or the spray 
 
 From storm-gulfs to the skies : 
 He breathes and reigns on solid land, 
 And ruins mark his tyrant hand ; 
 Thou bidd'st him in that circle stand, 
 
 Thy reign his rage defines. 
 
 Or should he force his passage there, 
 Thou risest, mocking his despair ; 
 The shipwreck humbles all his pride : 
 He sinks within the darksome tide 
 The surge's vast unfathomed gloom 
 
 His catacomb 
 Without a name, without a tomb. 
 
 Thy banks are kingdoms, where the shrine, the throne, 
 The pomp of human things, are changed and past ; 
 
 The people they were phantoms, they are flown 
 Time has avenged thee on their strength at last. 
 
 Thy billows idly rest on Sidon's shore, 
 
 And her bold pilots wound thy pride no more. 
 
 Rome, Athens, Carthage, what are they? 
 Spoiled heritage, successive prey ; 
 New nations force their onward way, 
 
 And grasp disputed reign. 
 Thou changest not ; thy waters pour 
 The same wild waves against the shore 
 Where Liberty had breathed before, 
 
 And Slavery hugs his chain. 
 
514 THE STORY OF A STOWAWAY. 
 
 States bow ; Time's sceptre presses still 
 On Apennine's subsiding hill ; 
 The steps of ages, crumbling slow, 
 Are stamped upon his arid bow : 
 No trace of time is left on thee, 
 
 Unchanging Sea ! 
 Created thus, and still to be. 
 
 Sea ! of almightiness itself the immense 
 And glorious mirror ! how thy azure face 
 
 Renews the heavens in their magnificence ! 
 
 What awful grandeur rounds thy heaving space ! 
 
 Thy surge two worlds eternal warring sweeps, 
 
 And God's throne rests on thy majestic deeps. 
 
 FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES DE CHENEDOU*. 
 
 THE STORY OF A STOWAWAY. 
 
 COME, my lad, and sit beside me : we have often 
 talked before 
 Of the hurricane and tempest, and the storms on sea and 
 
 shore. 
 When we read of deeds of daring done for dear old 
 
 England's sake, 
 
 We have cited Nelson's duty and the enterprise of Drake. 
 Midst the fevered din of battle, roll of drum, and scream 
 
 of fife, 
 Heroes pass in long procession, calmly yielding up their 
 
 life. 
 Pomps and pageants have their glory ; in cathedral aisles 
 
 are seen 
 Marble effigies, but seldom of the mercantile marine. 
 
THE STORY OF A STOWAWAY. 515 
 
 If your playmates love adventure, bid them gather round 
 
 at school 
 Whilst you tell them of a hero, Captain Strachan of 
 
 Liverpool. 
 
 Spite of storm and stress of weather, in a gale that lashed 
 
 the land, 
 On the " Cyprian " screw-steamer, there the captain took 
 
 his stand. 
 
 He was no fair-weather sailor, and he often made the boast 
 That the ocean safer sheltered than the wild Carnarvon 
 
 coast. 
 He'd a good ship underneath him, and a crew of English 
 
 form : 
 So he sailed from out the Mersey in the hurricane and 
 
 storm. 
 All the luck was dead against him : with the tempest at 
 
 its height 
 Fires expired, and rudders parted ; in the middle of the 
 
 night 
 Sails were torn and rent asunder. Then he spoke with 
 
 bated breath : 
 " Save yourselves, my gallant fellows ! We are drifting to 
 
 our death ! " 
 
 Then they looked at one another ; and they felt the awful 
 
 shock, 
 When, with louder crash than tempest, they were dashed 
 
 upon a rock. 
 All was over now, and hopeless ; but across those miles of 
 
 foam 
 They could hear the shouts of people, and could see the 
 
 lights of home. 
 
516 THE STORY OF A STOWAWAY. 
 
 "All is over!" screamed the captain. "You have an- 
 swered duty's call. 
 
 Save yourselves ! I cannot help you ! God have mercy 
 on us all ! " 
 
 So they rushed about like madmen, seizing belt and oar 
 and rope ; 
 
 For the sailor knows, where life is, there's the faintest ray 
 of hope. 
 
 Then, amidst the wild confusion, at the dreaded dawn of 
 day, 
 
 From the hold of that doomed vessel crept a wretched 
 stowaway. 
 
 Who shall tell the saddened story of this miserable lad ? 
 
 Was it wild adventure stirred him ? was he going to the bad ? 
 
 Was he thief, or bully's victim, or a runaway from school, 
 
 When he stole that fatal passage from the port of Liver- 
 pool? 
 
 No one looked at him, or kicked him ; midst the paralyz- 
 ing roar 
 
 All alone, he felt the danger, and he saw the distant shore. 
 
 Over went the gallant fellows when the ship was breaking 
 fast, 
 
 And the captain with his life-belt he prepared to follow 
 last; 
 
 But he saw a boy neglected, with a face of ashy gray. 
 
 " Who are you? " roared out the captain. " I'm the boy 
 what stowed away." 
 
 There was scarce another second left to think what he 
 
 could do ; 
 For the fatal ship was sinking Death was ready for the 
 
 two. 
 
THE STORY OF A STOWAWAY. 517 
 
 So the captain called the outcast : as he faced the tem- 
 pest wild, 
 From his own waist took the life-belt, and he bound it 
 
 round the child. 
 " I can swim, my little fellow. Take the belt, and make 
 
 for land. 
 Up, and save yourself!" The outcast humbly knelt to 
 
 kiss his hand. 
 With the lifebelt round his body, then the urchin cleared 
 
 the ship ; 
 
 Over went the gallant captain, with a blessing on his lip. 
 But the hurricane howled louder than it ever howled 
 
 before, 
 As the captain and the stowaway were making for the 
 
 shore. 
 
 When you tell this gallant story to your playfellows at 
 school, 
 
 They will ask you of the hero, Captain Strachan of Liver- 
 pool. 
 
 You must answer, They discovered on the beach, at 
 break of day, 
 
 Safe, the battered, breathing body of the little stow- 
 away; 
 
 And they watched the waves of wreckage, and they 
 searched the cruel shore ; 
 
 But the man who tried to save the little outcast was no 
 more. 
 
 When they speak of English heroes, tell this story where 
 
 you can, 
 To the everlasting credit of the bravery of man ; 
 
518 FROM THE " CULPRIT FAY." 
 
 Tell it out in tones of triumph, or with tears and quick- 
 ened breath, 
 
 " Manhood's stronger far than storms, and Love is might- 
 ier than Death ! " 
 
 FROM PUNCH. 
 
 FROM THE "CULPRIT FAY." 
 
 SOFT and pale in the moony beam, 
 Moveless still, the glassy stream ; 
 The wave is clear, the beach is bright 
 With snowy shells and sparkling stones ; 
 The shore-surge comes in ripples light, 
 In murmurings faint, and distant moans ; 
 And ever afar in the silence deep 
 Is heard the splash of the sturgeon's leap ; 
 And the bend of his graceful bow is seen, 
 A glittering arch of silver sheen, 
 Spanning the wave of burnished blue, 
 And dripping with gems of the river-dew. 
 
 The elfin cast a glance around 
 
 As he lighted down from his coursed toad, 
 
 Then round his breast his wings he wound, 
 
 And close to the river's brink he strode : 
 
 He sprang on a rock, he breathed a prayer, 
 
 Above his head his arms he threw, 
 
 Then tossed a tiny curve in air, 
 
 And headlong plunged in the waters blue. 
 
 Fearlessly he skims along, 
 His hope is high, and his limbs are strong ; 
 He spreads his arms like the swallow's wing, 
 And throws his feet with a frog-like fling ; 
 
FROM THE " CULPRIT FAY." 519 
 
 His locks of gold on the waters shine, 
 
 At his breast the tiny foam-bees rise, 
 
 His back gleams bright above the brine, 
 
 And the wake-line foam behind him lies. 
 
 But the water-sprites are gathering near 
 
 To check his course along the tide ; 
 
 Their warriors come in swift career, 
 
 And hem him round on every side \ 
 
 On his thigh the leech has fixed his hold ; 
 
 The quarl's long arms are round him rolled ; 
 
 The prickly prong has pierced his skin ; 
 
 And the squab has thrown his javelin ; 
 
 The gritty star has rubbed him raw, 
 
 And the crab has struck with his giant claw : 
 
 He howls with rage, and he shrieks with pain ; 
 
 He strikes around, but his blows are vain. 
 
 Hopeless is the unequal fight, 
 
 Fairy ! nought is left but flight. 
 
 He turned him round, and fled amain 
 
 With hurry and dash to the beach again ; 
 
 He twisted over from side to side, 
 
 And laid his cheek to the cleaving tide. 
 
 The strokes of his plunging arms are fleet, 
 
 And with all his might he flings his feet ; 
 
 But the water-sprites are round him still, 
 
 To cross his path, and work him ill. 
 
 They bade the wave before him rise ; 
 
 They flung the sea-fire in his eyes ; 
 
 And they stunned his ears with the scallop-stroke, 
 
 With the porpoise heave and the drum-fish croak. 
 
 Oh ! but a weary wight was he 
 
 When he reached the foot of the dogwood- tree ! 
 
520 ADDRESS TO THE OCEAN. 
 
 Gashed and wounded, and stiff and sore, 
 He laid him down on the sandy shore : 
 He blessed the force of the charmed line, 
 And he banned the water-goblins' spite ; 
 For he saw around in the sweet moonshine 
 Their little wee faces above the brine, 
 Giggling and laughing with all their might 
 At the piteous hap of the fairy wight. 
 
 Soon he gathered the balsam dew 
 
 From the sorrel-leaf and the henbane bud : 
 
 Over each wound the balm he drew, 
 
 And with cobweb lint he stanched the blood. 
 
 The mild west wind was soft and low, 
 
 It cooled the heat of his burning brow, 
 
 And he felt new life in his sinews shoot, 
 
 As he drank the juice of the calamus-root, 
 
 And now he treads the fatal shore, 
 
 As fresh and vigorous as before. 
 
 JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE. 
 
 ADDRESS TO THE OCEAN. 
 
 OTHOU vast Ocean ! ever-sounding Sea ! 
 Thou symbol of a drear immensity, 
 Thou thing that windest round the solid world 
 Like a huge animal, which, downward hurled 
 From the black clouds, lies weltering and alone, 
 Lashing and writhing till its strength be gone. 
 Thy voice is like the thunder ; and thy sleep 
 Is as a giant's slumber, loud and deep. 
 Thou speakest in the east and in the west 
 At once ; and on thy heavily-laden breast 
 
THE CITY IN THE SEA. 521 
 
 Fleets come and go, and shapes that have no life 
 
 Or motion yet are moved, and meet in strife. 
 
 The earth hath nought of this : no chance or change 
 
 Ruffles its surface, and no spirits dare 
 
 Give answer to the tempest- wakened air ; 
 
 But o'er its wastes the weakly tenants range 
 
 At will, and wound its bosom as they go. 
 
 Ever the same, it hath no ebb, no flow ; 
 
 But in their stated rounds the seasons come, 
 
 And pass like visions to their wonted home, 
 
 And come again, and vanish. The young Spring 
 
 Looks ever bright with leaves and blossoming ; 
 
 And Winter always winds his sullen horn 
 
 When the wild Autumn, with a look forlorn, 
 
 Dies in his stormy manhood ; and the skies 
 
 Weep, and flowers sicken, when the Summer flies. 
 
 Oh ! wonderful thou art, great element, 
 
 And fearful in thy spleeny humors bent, 
 
 And lovely in repose : thy summer form 
 
 Is beautiful ; and when thy silver waves 
 
 Make music in earth's dark and winding caves, 
 
 I love to wander on thy pebbled beach, 
 
 Marking the sunlight at the evening hour, 
 
 And hearken to the thoughts thy waters teach, 
 
 Eternity, Eternity, and Power. 
 
 BRYAN WALLER PROCTER. 
 THE CITY IN THE SEA. 
 
 LO ! Death has reared himself a throne 
 In a strange city lying alone 
 Far down within the dim west, 
 
 Where the good and the bad, and the worst and the best, 
 Have gone to their eternal rest. 
 
522 THE CITY IN THE SEA. 
 
 There shrines and palaces and towers 
 (Time-eaten towers that tremble not) 
 Resemble nothing that is ours. 
 Around, by lifting winds forgot, 
 Resignedly beneath the sky 
 The melancholy waters lie. 
 
 No rays from the holy heaven come down 
 On the long night-time of that town ; 
 But light from out the lurid sea 
 Streams up the turrets silently, 
 Streams up the pinnacles far and free, 
 Up domes, up spires, up kingly halls, 
 Up fanes, up Babylon-like walls, 
 Up shadowy, long-forgotten bowers 
 Of sculptured ivy and stone flowers, 
 Up many and many a marvellous shrine 
 Whose wreathed friezes intertwine 
 The viol, the violet, and the vine. 
 
 Resignedly, beneath the sky 
 The melancholy waters lie. 
 So blend the turrets and shadows there, 
 That all seem pendulous in air ; 
 While from a proud tower in the town 
 Death looks gigantically down. 
 There open fanes and gaping graves 
 Yawn level with the luminous waves. 
 But not the riches there that lie 
 In each idol's diamond eye, 
 Not the gayly-je welled dead, 
 Tempt the waters from their bed ; 
 
FROM "DON JUAN." 523 
 
 For no ripples curl, alas ! 
 
 Along that wilderness of glass ; 
 
 No swellings tell that winds may be 
 
 Upon some far-off happier sea ; 
 
 No heavings hint that winds have been 
 
 On scenes less hideously serene. 
 
 But lo ! a stir is in the air : 
 The wave there is a movement there, 
 As if the towers had thrust aside, 
 In slightly sinking, the dull tide ; 
 As if their tops had feebly given 
 A void within the filmy heaven. 
 The waves have now a redder glow, 
 The hours are breathing faint and low ; 
 And when, amid no earthly moans, 
 Down, down, that town shall settle hence, 
 Hell, rising from a thousand thrones, 
 Shall do it reverence. 
 
 EDGAR ALLAN POE. 
 
 FROM "DON JUAN." 
 (CANTO n.) 
 
 r I A HERE she lay motionless, and seemed upset : 
 JL The water left the hold, and washed the decks, 
 And made a scene men do not soon forget ^ 
 
 For they remember battles, fires, and wrecks, 
 Or any other thing that brings regret, 
 
 Or breaks their hopes, or hearts, or heads or necks 
 Thus drownings are much talked of by the divers 
 And swimmers who may chance to be survivors. 
 
524 FROM "DON JUAN." 
 
 Immediately the masts were cut away, 
 
 Both main and mizzen ; first the mizzen went ; 
 
 The mainmast followed : but the ship still lay 
 Like a mere log, and baffled our intent. 
 
 Foremast and bowsprit were cut down, and they 
 Eased her at last (although we never meant 
 
 To part with all till every hope was blighted ;) 
 
 And then with violence the old ship righted. 
 
 But now there came a flash of hope once more ; 
 
 Day broke, and the wind lulled : the masts were gone, 
 The leak increased ; shoals round her, but no shore ; 
 
 The vessel swam, yet still she held her own. 
 They tried the pumps again ; and, though before 
 
 Their desperate efforts seemed all useless grown, 
 A glimpse of sunshine set some hands to bale : 
 The stronger pumped, the weaker thrummed a sail. 
 
 The wind, in fact, perhaps was rather less ; 
 
 But the ship labored so, they scarce could hope 
 To weather out much longer ; the distress 
 
 Was also great with which they had to cope 
 For want of water, and their solid mess 
 
 Was scant enough : in vain the telescope 
 Was used ; nor sail, nor shore, appeared in sight, 
 Nought but a heavy sea, and coming night. 
 
 Again the weather threatened, again blew 
 
 A gale, and in the fore and after hold 
 Water appeared ; yet, though the people knew 
 
 All this, the most were patient, and some bold, 
 Until the chains and leathers were worn through 
 
 Of all our pumps a wreck complete she rolled, 
 
FROM "DON JUAN." 525 
 
 At mercy of the waves, whose mercies are 
 Like human beings during civil war. 
 
 Then came the carpenter at last, with tears 
 In his rough eyes, and told the captain he 
 
 Could do no more : he was a man in years, 
 
 And long had voyaged through many a stormy sea ; 
 
 And, if he wept at length, they were not fears 
 That made his eyelids as a woman's be : 
 
 But he, poor fellow, had a wife and children, 
 
 Two things for dying people quite bewildering. 
 
 The ship was evidently settling now 
 
 Fast by the head ; and, all distinction gone, 
 
 Some went to prayers again, and made a vow 
 Of candles to their saints but there were none 
 
 To pay them with ; and some looked o'er the bow ; 
 Some hoisted out their boats ; and there was one 
 
 That begged Pedrillo for an absolution, 
 
 Who told him to be damned in his confusion. 
 
 Some lashed them in their hammocks ; some put on 
 
 Their best clothes, as if going to a fair ; 
 Some cursed the day on which they saw the sun, 
 
 And gnashed their teeth, and, howling, tore their hair ; 
 And others went on, as they had begun, 
 
 Getting the boats out, being well aware 
 That a tight boat will live in a rough sea, 
 Unless with breakers close beneath her lee. 
 
 The worst of all was, that in their condition, 
 Having been several days in great distress, 
 
 'Twas difficult to get out such provision 
 
 As now might render their long suffering less : 
 
526 FROM "DON JUAN." 
 
 (Men, even when dying, dislike inanition ;) 
 
 Their stock was damaged by the weather's stress : 
 Two casks of biscuit, and a keg of butter, 
 Were all that could be thrown into the cutter. 
 
 But in the long-boat they contrived to stow 
 
 Some pounds of bread, though injured by the wet ; 
 
 Water, a twenty-gallon cask or so ; 
 
 Six flasks of wine ; and they contrived to get 
 
 A portion of their beef up from below, 
 And with a piece of pork, moreover, met, 
 
 But scarce enough to serve for them a luncheon ; 
 
 Then there was rum eight gallons in a puncheon. 
 
 The other boats, the yawl and pinnace, had 
 Been stove in the beginning of the gale ; 
 
 And the long-boat's condition was but bad, 
 As there were but two blankets for a sail, 
 
 And one oar for a mast, which a young lad 
 Threw in by good luck over the ship's rail ; 
 
 And two boats could not hold, far less be stored, 
 
 To save one-half the people then on board. 
 
 'Twas twilight ; and the sunless day went down 
 
 Over the waste of waters, like a veil, 
 Which, if withdrawn, would but disclose the frown 
 
 Of one whose hate is masked but to assail. 
 Thus to their hopeless eyes the night was shown, 
 
 And grimly darkled o'er the faces pale 
 And the dim, desolate deep : twelve days had Fear 
 Been their familiar, and now Death was here. 
 
 Some trial had been making at a raft, 
 With little hope in such a rolling sea, 
 
FROM " DON JUAN." 527 
 
 A sort of thing at which one might have laughed, 
 
 If any laughter at such times could be, 
 Unless with people who too much have quaffed, 
 
 And have a kind of wild and horrid glee, 
 Half epileptical, and half hysterical : 
 Their preservation would have been a miracle. 
 
 At half-past eight o'clock, booms, hencoops, spars, 
 And all things, for a chance, had been cast loose, 
 
 That still could keep afloat the struggling tars ; 
 For yet they strove, although of no great use : 
 
 There was no light in heaven but a few stars. 
 The boats put off, o'ercrowded with their crews : 
 
 She gave a heel, and then a lurch to port, 
 
 And going down head foremost sunk, in short. 
 
 Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell ; 
 
 Then shrieked the timid, and stood still the brave ; 
 Then some leaped overboard with dreadful yell, 
 
 As eager to anticipate their grave ; 
 And the sea yawned around her like a hell, 
 
 And down she sucked with her the whirling wave, 
 Like one who grapples with his enemy, 
 And tries to strangle him before he die. 
 
 And first one universal shriek there rushed, 
 Louder than the loud ocean, like a crash 
 
 Of echoing thunder ; and then all was hushed, 
 Save the wild wind and the remorseless dash 
 
 Of billows ; but at intervals there gushed, 
 Accompanied with a convulsive splash, 
 
 A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry 
 
 Of some strong swimmer in his agony. 
 
528 THE FISHERMEN. 
 
 The boats, as stated, had got off before, 
 And in them crowded several of the crew ; 
 
 And yet their present hope was hardly more 
 Than what it had been, for so strong it blew 
 
 There was slight chance of reaching any shore ; 
 And then there were too many, though so few, 
 
 Nine in the cutter, thirty in the boat, 
 
 Were counted in them when they got afloat. 
 
 All the rest perished : near two hundred souls 
 Had left their bodies. 
 
 GEORGE NOEL BYRON. 
 
 THE FISHERMEN. 
 
 HURRAH ! the seaward breezes 
 Sweep down the bay amain : 
 Heave up, my lads, the anchor ! 
 
 Run up the sail again ! 
 Leave to the lubber landsmen 
 The rail-car and the steed : 
 The stars of heaven shall guide us, 
 The breath of heaven shall speed. 
 
 From the hill-top looks the steeple, 
 
 And the lighthouse from the sand ; 
 And the scattered pines are waving 
 
 Their farewell from the land. 
 One glance, my lads, behind us : 
 
 For the homes we leave, one sigh, 
 Ere we take the change and chances 
 
 Of the ocean and the sky. 
 
THE FISHERMEN. 529 
 
 Hurrah for the Red Island, 
 
 With the white cross on its crown ! 
 Hurrah for Meccatina, 
 
 And its mountains bare and brown ! 
 Where the Caribou's tall antlers 
 
 O'er the dwarf-wood freely toss, 
 And the footstep of the Mickmack 
 
 Has no sound upon the moss. 
 
 There we'll drop our lines, and gather 
 
 Old Ocean's treasures in, 
 Where'er the mottled mackerel 
 
 Turns up a steel-dark fin. 
 The sea's our field of harvest, 
 
 Its scaly tribes our grain : 
 We'll reap the teeming waters 
 
 As at home they reap the plain. 
 
 Our wet hands spread the carpet, 
 
 And light the hearth of home : 
 From our fish, as in the old time, 
 
 The silver coin shall come. 
 As the demon fled the chamber 
 
 Where the fish of Tobit lay, 
 So ours from all our dwellings 
 
 Shall frighten want away. 
 
 Though the mist upon our jackets 
 
 In the bitter air congeals, 
 And our lines wind stiff and slowly 
 
 From off the frozen reels ; 
 
530 TO THE SEA. 
 
 Though the fog be dark around us, 
 And the storm blow high and loud, 
 
 We will whistle down the wild wind, 
 And laugh beneath the cloud. 
 
 In the darkness as in daylight, 
 
 On the water as on land, 
 God's eye is looking on us, 
 
 And beneath us is his hand. 
 Death will find us soon or later, 
 
 On the deck or in the cot ; 
 And we cannot meet him better 
 
 Than in working out our lot. 
 
 Hurrah, hurrah ! the west wind 
 
 Comes freshening down the bay, 
 The rising sails are filling : 
 
 Give way, my lads, give way ! 
 Leave the coward landsman clinging 
 
 To the dull earth like a weed : 
 The stars of heaven shall guide us, 
 
 The breath of heaven shall speed. 
 
 JOHN GKEENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 TO THE SEA. 
 
 THOU boundless, shining, glorious Sea, 
 With ecstasy I gaze on thee : 
 Joy, joy, to him whose early beam 
 Kisses thy lip, bright Ocean-stream ! 
 
 Thanks for the thousand hours, old Sea, 
 Of sweet communion held with thee : 
 
TO THE SEA. 531 
 
 Oft as I gazed, thy billowy roll 
 Woke the deep feelings of my soul. 
 
 Drunk -with the joy, thou deep-toned Sea, 
 My spirit swells to heaven with thee ; 
 Or, sinking with thee, seeks the gloom 
 Of nature's deep, mysterious tomb. 
 
 At evening, when the sun grows red, 
 Descending to his watery bed, 
 The music of thy murmuring deep 
 Soothes e'en the weary Earth to sleep. 
 
 Then listens thee the Evening Star, 
 So sweetly glancing from afar ; 
 And Luna hears thee when she breaks 
 Her light in million-colored flakes. 
 
 Oft, when the noonday heat is o'er, 
 I seek with joy the breezy shore, 
 Sink on thy boundless, billowy breast, 
 And cheer me with refreshing rest. 
 
 The poet, child of heavenly birth, 
 Is suckled by the mother-earth ; 
 But thy blue bosom, holy Sea, 
 Cradles his infant fantasy. 
 
 The old blind minstrel on the shore 
 Stood listening thy eternal roar, 
 And golden ages, long gone by, 
 Swept bright before his spirit's eye. 
 
532 THE SEA. 
 
 On wing of swan the holy flame 
 Of melodies celestial came ; 
 And Iliad and Odyssey 
 Rose at the music of the sea. 
 
 FRIEDRICH LEOPOLD, GRAF zu STOLBERG. 
 TRANSLATION OF C. T. BROOKS. 
 
 THE SEA. 
 
 THE sea, the sea ! the open sea ! 
 The blue, the fresh, the ever free ! 
 Without a mark, without a bound, 
 It runneth the earth's wide regions round ; 
 It plays with the clouds ; it mocks the skies ; 
 Or like a cradled creature lies. 
 
 I'm on the sea ! I'm on the sea ! 
 
 I am where I would ever be, 
 
 With the blue above and the blue below, 
 
 And silence wheresoe'er I go : 
 
 If a storm should come, and awake the deep, 
 
 What matter? I shall ride and sleep. 
 
 I love, oh ! how I love to ride 
 On the fierce, foaming, bursting tide, 
 When every mad wave drowns the moon, 
 Or whistles aloft his tempest-tune, 
 And tells how goeth the world below, 
 And why the sou '-west blasts do blow. 
 
 I never was on the dull, tame shore, 
 But I loved the great Sea more and more, 
 And backward flew to her billowy breast, 
 Like a bird that seeketh its mother's nest ; 
 
FROM " THE FAERIE QUEENE." 533 
 
 And a mother she was and is to me, 
 For I was born on the open sea. 
 
 The waves were white, and red the morn, 
 In the noisy home where I was born ; 
 And the whale it whistled, the porpoise rolled, 
 And the dolphins bared their backs of gold : 
 And never was heard such an outcry wild 
 As welcomed to life the ocean-child. 
 
 I've lived since then, in calm and strife, 
 Full fifty summers, a sailor's life, 
 With wealth to spend, and a power to range, 
 But never have sought nor sighed for change ; 
 And Death, whenever he comes to me, 
 Shall come on the wild, unbounded sea. 
 
 BRYAN WALLER PROCTER. 
 
 FROM "THE FAERIE QUEENE." 
 (BOOK in. CANTO 11.) 
 
 HIS face was rugged, and his hoarie hed 
 Dropped with brackish deaw : his three-forkt pyke 
 He stearnly shooke, and therwith fierce did stryke 
 The raging billowes, that on every syde 
 They trembling stood, and make a long broad dyke, 
 That his swift charet might have passage wyde, 
 Which foure great hippodames did draw in temewise tyde. 
 
 His sea-horses did seeme to snort amayne, 
 And from their nosethrilles blow the brynie streame 
 That made the sparckling waves to smoke agayne, 
 And flame with gold ; but the white fomy creame 
 Did shine with silver, and shoot forth his beame. 
 
 EDMUND SPENSER. 
 
534 IDLING. 
 
 IDLING. 
 
 IN a fluted shell of pearl 
 Rock I idly on the deep ; 
 On its lip's rose-tinted curl 
 
 Rests my head, eyelashes wed, 
 Hide the splendor of the sky, 
 Where the shifting white clouds creep, 
 And the moon is riding high. 
 
 Through my languor do I feel 
 (Like Endymion the Fair) 
 Her light kiss upon me steal ; 
 
 As of old the goddess cold, 
 Watching o'er his tranced sleep, 
 Lowly bent, and kissed him there, 
 On Mount Latinos' rocky steep. 
 
 Now the deep doth swell and sink 
 With the rise and with the fall 
 Of sweet music ; link by link, 
 
 As it winds, my soul it binds 
 In a chain of melody. 
 Sirens hold my heart in thrall, 
 Singing down within the sea, 
 
 Till I weave into a dream 
 Fairy forms that glance and go ; 
 See them, as they flit and gleam, 
 
 Lightly glide through chambers wide 
 And the dimly-lighted halls 
 Of the palace which below 
 Rears its glistening magic walls. 
 
LEANDER SWIMMING. 535 
 
 In enchanted bands I lie 
 
 Through the moonlit summer night, 
 
 While the hours glide slowly by. 
 
 Throbbing life, its pain and strife, 
 Fade in distant dimness now, 
 As when soft mists from the sight 
 Hide the mountain's towering brow. 
 
 " RUTH EMERSON." 
 
 LEANDER SWIMMING. 
 
 THEN at the flame a torch fair Hero lit, 
 And, o'er her head anxiously holding it, 
 Ascended to the roof, and, leaning there, 
 Lifted its light into the darksome air. 
 
 The boy beheld, beheld it from the sea, 
 
 And parted his wet locks, and breathed with glee, 
 
 And rose in swimming more triumphantly. 
 
 Smooth was the sea that night, the lover strong, 
 And in the springy waves he danced along. 
 He rose, he dipped his breast, he aimed, he cut 
 With his clear arms, and from before him put 
 The parting waves, and in and out the air 
 His shoulders felt, and trailed his washing hair ; 
 But when he saw the torch, oh ! how he sprung 
 The foam behind, as though he scorned the sea, 
 And parted his wet locks, and breathed with glee, 
 And rose, and panted, most triumphantly. 
 
 Arrived at last on shallow ground, he saw 
 The stooping light, as if in haste, withdraw ; 
 
536 THE OCEAN. 
 
 Again it issued just above the door 
 
 With a white hand, and vanished as before. 
 
 Then rising, with a sudden-ceasing sound 
 
 Of wateriness, he stood on the firm ground, 
 
 And treading up a little slippery bank . 
 
 With jutting myrtles mixed, and verdure dank, 
 
 Came to a door ajar, all hushed, all blind 
 
 With darkness ; yet he guessed who stood behind ; 
 
 And entering with a turn, the breathless boy 
 
 A breathless welcome finds, and words that die of joy. 
 
 LEIGH HUNT. 
 
 THE OCEAN. 
 
 THOU wide-rolling Ocean, all hail ! 
 Now brilliant with sunbeams, and dimpled with oars, 
 Now dark with the fresh-blowing gale, 
 While soft o'er thy bosom the cloud-shadows sail, 
 And the silver-winged sea-fowl on high 
 Like meteors bespangle the sky, 
 Or dive in the gulf, or triumphantly ride 
 Like foam on the surges, the swans of the tide. 
 
 There are, gloomy Ocean ! a brotherless clan 
 
 Who traverse thy banishing waves, 
 
 The poor disinherited outcasts of man, 
 
 Whom avarice coins into slaves : 
 
 From the homes of their kindred, their forefathers' graves, 
 
 Love, friendship, and conjugal bliss, 
 
 They are dragged on the hoary abyss : 
 
 The shark hears their shrieks, and, ascending to-day, 
 
 Demands of the spoiler his share of the prey. 
 
 JAMES MONTGOMERY. 
 
THE CRUISE OF THE "MYSTERY." 537 
 
 THE CRUISE OP THE "MYSTERY. 1 
 
 THE children wandered up and down, 
 Seeking for driftwood o'er the sand : 
 The elder tugged at granny's gown, 
 And pointed with his little hand. 
 
 " Look, look ! " he cried, " at yonder ship 
 That sails so fast, and looms so tall ! " 
 
 She turned, and let her basket slip, 
 And all her gathered treasure fall. 
 
 " Nay, granny, why are you so pale ? 
 
 Where is the ship we saw but now?" 
 " O child ! it was no mortal sail : 
 
 It came and went, I know not how. 
 
 " But ill winds fill that canvas white, 
 That blow no good to you and me : 
 
 Oh ! woe for us who saw the sight 
 That evil bodes to all who see." 
 
 They pressed about her, all afraid : 
 " Oh ! tell us, granny, what was she ? " 
 
 " A ship's unhappy ghost," she said, 
 " The awful ship, the ' Mystery.' " 
 
 " But tell us, tell us ! " " Quiet be ! " 
 She said : " sit close, and listen well ; 
 
 For what befell the ' Mystery ' 
 It is a fearful thing to tell. 
 
538 THE CRUISE OF THE "MYSTERY." 
 
 " She was a slave-ship long ago : 
 
 Year after year across the sea 
 She made a trade of human woe, 
 
 And carried freights of misery. 
 
 " One voyage, when from the tropic coast, 
 Laden with dusky forms, she came, 
 
 A wretched and despairing host, 
 
 Beneath the fierce sun's breathless flame 
 
 " Sprang, like a wild beast from its lair, 
 
 The fury of the hurricane, 
 And sent the great ship reeling bare 
 
 Across the roaring ocean plain. 
 
 " Then terror seized the piteous crowd : 
 With many an oath and cruel blow 
 
 The captain drove them, shrieking loud, 
 Into the pitch-black hold below. 
 
 " ' Make fast the hatchways strong and tight ! ' 
 He shouted : ' let them live or die, 
 
 They'll trouble us no more to-night ! ' 
 The crew obeyed him sullenly. 
 
 "Has hell such torment as they knew? 
 
 Like herded cattle packed they lay, 
 Till morning showed a streak of blue 
 
 Breaking the sky's thick pall of gray. 
 
 " ' Off with the hatchways, men ! ' No sound 
 What sound should rise from out a grave ? 
 
 The silence shook with dread profound 
 The heart of every seaman brave. 
 
THE CRUISE OF THE "MYSTERY." 539 
 
 " ' Quick ! Drag them up,' the captain said, 
 
 1 And pitch the dead into the sea ! ' 
 The sea was peopled with the dead, 
 
 With wide eyes staring fearfully. 
 
 " From weltering wave to wave they tossed : 
 Two hundred corpses, stiff and stark, 
 
 At last were in the distance lost, 
 A banquet for the wandering shark. 
 
 " Oh ! sweetly the relenting day 
 
 Changed, till the storm had left no trace, 
 
 And the whole awful ocean lay 
 As tranquil as an infant's face. 
 
 " Abaft the wind hauled fair and fine : 
 
 Lightly the ship sped on her way ; 
 Her sharp bows crushed the yielding brine 
 
 Into a diamond dust of spray. 
 
 " But up and down the decks her crew 
 
 Shook their rough heads, and eyed askance, 
 
 With doubt and hate that ever grew, 
 The captain's brutal countenance, 
 
 " As slow he paced, with frown as black 
 
 As night. At last with sudden shout 
 He turned : ' 'Bout ship ! We will go back, 
 
 And fetch another cargo out ! ' 
 
 " They put the ship about again : 
 
 His will was law, they could not choose. 
 
 They strove to change her course in vain, 
 Down fell the wind, the sails hung loose. 
 
540 THE CRUISE OF THE "MYSTERY." 
 
 " And from the far horizon dim 
 
 An oily calm crept silently 
 Over the sea from rim to rim : 
 
 Still as if anchored fast lay she. 
 
 " The sun set red, the moon shone white 
 On idle canvas drooping drear : 
 
 Through the vast, solemn hush of night 
 What is it that the sailors hear? 
 
 " Now do they sleep and do they dream ? 
 
 Was that the wind's foreboding moan? 
 From stem to stern her every beam 
 
 Quivered with one unearthly groan. 
 
 " Leaped to his feet then every man, 
 And shuddered, clinging to his mate ; 
 
 And sun-burnt cheeks grew pale and wan, 
 Blenched with that thrill of terror great. 
 
 "The captain waked, and angrily 
 
 Sprang to the deck, and cursing spoke, 
 
 'What devil's trick is this?' cried he. 
 No answer the scared silence broke. 
 
 " But quietly the moonlight clear 
 Sent o'er the waves its pallid glow : 
 
 What stirred the water far and near, 
 With stealthy motion swimming slow? 
 
 " With measured strokes those swimmers dread 
 From every side came gathering fast : 
 
 The sea was peopled with the dead 
 That to its cruel deeps were cast. 
 
THE CRUISE OF THE "MYSTERY." 541 
 
 " And coiling, curling, crawling on, 
 
 The phantom troop pressed nigh and nigher ; 
 
 And every dusky body shone 
 Outlined in phosphorescent fire. 
 
 " They gained the ship ; they climbed the shrouds ; 
 
 They swarmed from keel to topmast high, 
 Now here, now there, like filmy clouds, 
 
 Without a sound they flickered by. 
 
 "And where the captain stood aghast, 
 With hollow, mocking eyes they came, 
 
 And bound him fast unto the mast 
 With ghostly ropes that bit like flame. 
 
 " Like maniacs shrieked the startled crew : 
 They loosed the boats, they leaped within ; 
 
 Before their oars the water flew, 
 They pulled as if some race to win. 
 
 " With spectral light all gleaming bright 
 
 The ' Mystery ' in the distance lay : 
 Away from that accursed sight 
 
 They fled until the break of day. 
 
 " And they were rescued ; but the ship, 
 
 The awful ship, the ' Mystery,' 
 Her captain in the dead men's grip, 
 
 Never to any port came she ; 
 
 " But up and down the roaring seas 
 
 Forever and for aye she sails, 
 In calm or storm, against the breeze, 
 
 Unshaken by the wildest gales. 
 
542 THE HAUNTED GLEN. 
 
 11 And wheresoe'er her form appears 
 
 Come trouble and disaster sure ; 
 And she has sailed a hundred years, 
 
 And she will sail forevermore." 
 
 CELIA THAXTER. 
 
 M 
 
 THE HAUNTED GLEN. 
 
 (A LEGEND OF MARBLEHEAD.) 
 
 Y heart goes down to an ancient town, 
 
 Where the roofs are gray and the cliffs are brown, 
 And over the level sweet sea-tide 
 The boats of the fishermen rock and glide, 
 And the sunlight glints on the quaint old streets, 
 
 Crooked and winding, but oh, how dear ! 
 And some so lonely that one scarce meets 
 
 Only the neighbors year by year ; 
 And farther beyond, oh the mossy knolls ! 
 
 Where the seaside farms lie basking still, 
 And the billows break as the ocean rolls 
 
 By rugged gully and sleeping hill, 
 
 Breathing a beauty too lone to feel 
 Lonely. Yet sweeter than all beside, 
 Flooding the heart like a coming tide, 
 To loiter and idle through afternoons 
 Rich with the roses of vanished Junes, 
 And watch the waters that far away 
 Glitter and heave through the long bright bay, 
 And clasp the islands of Baker's Light, 
 
 And the narrows by Beverly's shores of pine, 
 And the fisher-hamlets, where night by night 
 
 The tremulous gleams of the watch-fires shine. 
 
THE HAUNTED GLEN. 543 
 
 But, oh ! if you wish to know, and bid 
 
 That I should tell you over and over, 
 A tale that I heard, when a lad, of Kidd, 
 
 (Cap'n, you know, Cap'n Kidd, the Rover,) 
 And how he landed one summer night, 
 With a piteous lady robed in white, 
 When all the fishermen out at sea 
 
 Had never a hand to help her woe, 
 
 And landward crept by the night-tide's flow, 
 
 Stealthy and still as an Indian foe, 
 And thus in the midnight silently, 
 (The women and children quiet in bed, 
 Women and children of Marblehead,) 
 His ship stood in with her sails half spread. 
 And then and there a deed was done, 
 Handed down from father to son, 
 Handed down ; or if you will, 
 
 Though years and years have passed since then, 
 Some crippled crone will tell you still 
 
 Of the Shrieking Maid of the Haunted Glen. 
 
 Up by the rocks of Barnegat, 
 When all the night was wet and dark, 
 And the waters swirled and hissed 
 Underneath their shroud of mist, 
 
 Though the bay was hushed and still, 
 And you heard the house-dog's bark 
 
 Over the ledge of the rocky hill, 
 Up through the gully of Barnegat, 
 Where the sea-current gurgled and spat, 
 
 Rolling its tide-wave heavy and harsh, 
 Cleaving the beach, and flooding the flat, 
 
 Through the tangled rushes of Norman's marsh, 
 
544 THE HAUNTED GLEN. 
 
 In she came. Ten men that drew, 
 As a foeman draws his blade, 
 Twenty oars that cut the wave, 
 
 Cut it through ; 
 
 Nor to right nor left she swayed 
 As the silent steersman drave 
 Up the sea-gut, through the rocks 
 Sheltered from the tidal shocks, 
 
 Silent boat and silent crew. 
 
 What lies there so white and still 
 
 By the lantern in the bows, 
 White and still, without a sound, 
 Like some wretch that's in a swound, 
 As the boat grinds with her keel? 
 What ! can nothing start or rouse 
 That strange thing that lieth still 
 At her bows ? 
 
 What is that, I say, that seems 
 Like a heap of breathless clay, 
 White at times, then soft and gray, 
 As the lantern o'er it streams ? 
 Does it breathe ? What is it say. 
 Sea-foam ? No : the foam hath still 
 Ever a breath, a flickering reel 
 To the wind's mouth ; but this gleams 
 Like water on a starlit night 
 In some frozen, land-locked bight 
 Northward far, by phosphor-light. 
 And that mist-wreath is it hair 
 Waving in the dusky air? 
 Is't the night-wind ? No : the cry, 
 Pealing wild and clear and high, 
 
THE HAUNTED GLEN. 545 
 
 Comes from something dire distrest, 
 Shrill as from a woman's breast, 
 And wakens the sleepers ashore. And now 
 A form leaps up in its cerements dressed, 
 It leaps, and stands at the cutter's bow ! 
 
 Up rose the steersman as the boat 
 
 Lurched at the motion, and caught its side 
 
 On the sea-marsh flat in the tilting tide ; 
 
 And of all the crew none else beside 
 
 Stirred, or muttered a word or an oath. 
 
 A sterner man was there never afloat, 
 
 Yet he moved like one who was more than loath ; 
 
 And, as a lover might lift his bride, 
 
 He lifted that burden, so child-like and slim, 
 
 Lit by the light from the lantern's rim, 
 
 And hurled it wide on the starlit air, 
 
 With a shriek and a horrible cry of despair, 
 
 Out where the current was deep and dim, 
 
 The tide that sucks and gurgles and groans 
 
 Through secret chasms and lichened stones, 
 
 But above to the sight is calm and still, 
 
 Like a passionate face to an iron will. 
 
 Overhead from the beetling cliff, 
 
 From the fishermen's hutches, one and all, 
 Shrieking and wailing and wildered, as if 
 
 Summoned and drawn by a warlock's call, 
 Women and children crowded and came, 
 Some with lanterns, and some with flame 
 Of torches that flickered and flared ; and then 
 W T omen and children and bed-rid men 
 
546 THE HAUNTED GLEN. 
 
 Saw at the harbor's mouth afar, 
 
 Clear from the mist that hid her at dark, 
 
 The raking masts of the pirates' bark, 
 
 Her low, deep hull, and at her head 
 
 A light that gleamed like a swaying star, 
 
 And signalled the skiff in the gully's bed. 
 
 And off from shore sped the hurrying boat ; 
 
 But never a lantern's gleam was there, 
 Nor the white still form from whose strangling -throat 
 
 That cry had rung through the midnight air, 
 
 That echo of anguish and wild despair. 
 They reach the vessel, they mount her deck : 
 
 The boat is swung o'er the black hull's side ; 
 And soon she grows to a faint, dim speck 
 
 Over the waters wild and wide. 
 But when, at the break of the coming day, 
 The sun on the shingle earliest lay, 
 The fisher-people softly came, 
 Came like children half-afraid, 
 And found by the crimsoned morning's flame 
 The snow-white form of the murdered maid. 
 
 And there, by the stream where the deed was done, 
 
 They buried her deep ere the set of sun, 
 
 And wept for her, lovely and tender and fair, 
 
 Lulled by the tide that would softly creep 
 
 Through the reeds that swayed in the summer air. 
 
 And often and oft they would wake from sleep 
 
 Simple people like children they 
 
 To hear through the midnight a low, soft cry 
 
 As the tide was tolling the stream away, 
 
 That first like a moaning wind went by, 
 
THE SEA. 547 
 
 And then would deepen and swell, till men 
 Home from the sea would shudder, and say, 
 
 " Hark ! 'tis the cry from the Haunted Glen." 
 And women and children trembling lay 
 As the wild shrieks echoed and pealed again. 
 Summer and winter, as seasons go, 
 In the hot June air, or the frozen snow, 
 'Neath the rustic bridge that spans the stream, 
 Threading the flats of the stagnant marsh, 
 Low and gentle, then wild and harsh, 
 You may hear it now, as they heard it then, 
 The gurgling cry and the piercing scream 
 Of the Shrieking Maid of the Haunted Glen. 
 
 WILLIAM M. BRIGGS. 
 
 THE SEA. 
 
 CREATOR and destroyer, mighty Sea ! 
 That in thy still and solitary deep 
 
 Dost at all being's base thy vigil keep, 
 And nurturest serene and potently 
 The slumbering roots of vast Creation's tree. 
 
 The teeming swarms of life that swim and creep, 
 
 But half-aroused from the primordial sleep, 
 All draw their evanescent breath from thee. 
 The rock thou buildest, and the fleeting cloud ; 
 
 Thy billows in eternal circuit rise 
 Through Nature's veins, with gentle might endowed, 
 
 Throbbing in beast and flower in sweet disguise : 
 In sounding currents roaming o'er the earth, 
 They speed the ultimate pulse of death and birth. 
 
 HjALMAR HjORTH BOYESEN. 
 
548 THE VOYAGE OF MAELDUNE. 
 
 THE VOYAGE OF MAELDUNE. 
 
 [Founded on an Irish Legend, A.D. 700.] 
 
 I. 
 
 I WAS the chief of the race : he had stricken my 
 father dead ; 
 But I gathered my fellows together, I swore I would strike 
 
 off his head. 
 Each of them looked like a king, and was noble in birth 
 
 as in worth ; 
 And each of them boasted he sprang from the oldest race 
 
 upon earth ; 
 
 Each was as brave in the fight as the bravest hero of song, 
 And each of them liefer had died than have done one 
 
 another a wrong. 
 He lived on an isle in the ocean, we sailed on a Friday 
 
 morn, 
 He that had slain my father the day before I was born. 
 
 n. 
 
 And we came to the isle in the ocean, and there on the 
 
 shore was he ; 
 But a sudden blast blew us out and away through a 
 
 boundless sea. 
 
 m. 
 
 And we came to the Silent Isle that we never had touched 
 at before, 
 
 Where a silent ocean always broke on a silent shore, 
 
 And the brooks glittered on in the light without sound, 
 and the long waterfalls 
 
 Poured in a thunderless plunge to the base of the moun- 
 tain walls, 
 
THE VOYAGE OF MAELDUNE. 540 
 
 And the poplar and cypress, unshaken by storm, floui she'* 
 
 up beyond sight ; 
 And the pine shot aloft from the crag to an unbelievable 
 
 height ; 
 And high in the heaven above there flickered a songless 
 
 lark; 
 And the cock couldn't crow, and the bull couldn't low, 
 
 and the dog couldn't bark. 
 
 And round it we went, and through it ; but never a mur- 
 mur, a breath : 
 
 It was all of it fair as life, it was all of it quiet as death. 
 And we hated the beautiful isle, for, whenever we strove 
 
 to speak, 
 Our voices were thinner and fainter than any flitter- 
 
 mouse shriek ; 
 And the men that were mighty of tongue, and could raise 
 
 such a battle-cry 
 That a hundred who heard it would rush on a thousand 
 
 lances, and die 
 Oh, they to be dumbed by the charm ! so flustered 
 
 with anger were they, 
 They almost fell on each other ; but after we sailed away. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And we came to the Isle of Shouting : we landed. A 
 
 score of wild birds 
 Cried from the topmost summit with human voices and 
 
 words : 
 Once in an hour they cried ; and whenever their voices 
 
 pealed, 
 The steer fell down at the plough, and the harvest died 
 
 from the field, 
 
550 THE VOYAGE OF MAELDUNE. 
 
 And the men dropped dead in the valleys, and half of the 
 
 cattle went lame, 
 And the roof sank in on the hearth, and the dwelling 
 
 broke into flame ; 
 And the shouting of these wild birds ran into the hearts 
 
 of my crew, 
 Till they shouted along with the shouting, and seized one 
 
 another, and slew. 
 But I drew them the one from the other, I saw that we 
 
 could not stay ; 
 And we left the dead to the birds, and we sailed with our 
 
 wounded away. 
 
 v. 
 
 And we came to the Isle of Flowers : their breath met us 
 
 out on the seas, 
 For the spring and the middle summer sat each on the 
 
 lap of the breeze ; 
 And the red passion-flower to the cliffs, and the dark 
 
 blue clematis, clung ; 
 And starred with a myriad blossom the long convolvulus 
 
 hung; 
 And the topmost spire of the mountain was lilies in lieu 
 
 of snow ; 
 And the lilies like glaciers winded down, running out 
 
 below 
 Through the fire of the tulip and poppy, the blaze of 
 
 gorse, and the blush 
 Of millions of roses that sprang without leaf or a thorn 
 
 from the bush ; 
 And the whole isle-side, flashing down from the peak 
 
 without ever a tree, 
 Swept like a torrent of gems from the sky to the blue of 
 
 the sea. 
 
THE VOYAGE OF MAELDUNE. 551 
 
 And we rolled upon capes of crocus, and vaunted our 
 kith and our kin, 
 
 And we wallowed in beds of lilies, and chanted the tri- 
 umph of Finn, 
 
 Till each like a golden image was pollened from head to 
 feet, 
 
 And each was as dry as a cricket, with thirst in the mid- 
 dle-day heat. 
 
 Blossom and blossom, and promise of blossom, but never 
 a fruit ! 
 
 And we hated the Flowering Isle, as we hated the isle 
 that was mute ; 
 
 And we tore up the flowers by the million, and flung 
 them in bight and bay, 
 
 And we left but a naked rock ; and in anger we sailed 
 away. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And we came to the Isle of Fruits : all round from the 
 
 cliffs and the capes, 
 
 Purple or amber, dangled a hundred fathom of grapes ; 
 And the warm melon lay like a little sun on the tawny 
 
 sand ; 
 And the fig ran up from the beach, and rioted over the 
 
 land ; 
 And the mountain arose like a jewelled throne through 
 
 the fragrant air, 
 Glowing with all-colored plums and with golden masses 
 
 of pear, 
 And the crimson and scarlet of berries that flamed upon 
 
 vine and vine : 
 But in every berry and fruit was the poisonous pleasure 
 
 of wine. 
 
552 THE VOYAGE OF MAELDUNE. 
 
 And the peak of the mountain was apples, the hugest 
 
 that ever were seen ; 
 And they pressed as they grew, on each other, with hardly 
 
 a leaflet between, 
 And all of them redder than rosiest health or than 
 
 utterest shame, 
 
 And setting, when even descended, the very sunset aflame. 
 And we staid three days, and we gorged and we mad- 
 dened, till every one drew 
 His sword on his fellow to slay him, and ever they struck 
 
 and they slew ; 
 And myself, I had eaten but sparely, and fought till I 
 
 sundered the fray, 
 Then I bade them remember my father's death ; and we 
 
 sailed away. 
 
 vn. 
 
 And we came to the Isle of Fire : we were lured by the 
 
 light from afar, 
 For the peak sent up one league of fire to the Northern 
 
 Star, 
 Lured by the glare and the blare, but scarcely could 
 
 stand upright, 
 For the whole isle shuddered and shook like a man in a 
 
 mortal affright ; 
 We were giddy, besides, with the fruits we had gorged, 
 
 and so crazed, that at last 
 There were some leaped into the fire. And away we 
 
 sailed, and we passed 
 
 Over that under-sea isle where the water is clearer than air : 
 Down we looked. What a garden ! O bliss, what a 
 
 paradise there ! 
 
 Towers of a happier time, low down in a rainbow deep, 
 Silent palaces, quiet fields of eternal sleep ; 
 
THE VOYAGE OF MAELDUNE. 553 
 
 And three of the gentlest and best of my people, what- 
 
 e'er I could say, 
 Plunged head down in the sea, and the paradise trembled 
 
 away. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And we came to the Bounteous Isle, where the heavens 
 
 lean low on the land, 
 
 And ever at dawn from the cloud glittered o'er us a sun- 
 bright land ; 
 Then it opened, and dropped at the side of each man, as 
 
 he rose from his rest, 
 Bread enough for his need till the laborless day dipped 
 
 under the west. 
 And we wandered about it and through it. Oh, never 
 
 was time so good ! 
 And we sang of the triumphs of Finn and the boast of 
 
 our ancient blood ; 
 And we gazed at the wandering wave as we sat by the 
 
 gurgle of springs, 
 And we chanted the songs of the bards and the glories- 
 
 of fairy kings. 
 But at length we began to be weary, to sigh, and to 
 
 stretch and yawn, 
 Till we hated the Bounteous Isle and the sun-bright hand 
 
 of the dawn ; 
 For there was not an enemy near, but the whole green 
 
 isle was our own. 
 And we took to playing at ball, and we took to throwing 
 
 the stone, 
 And we took to playing at battle ; but that was a perilous 
 
 play, 
 For the passion of battle was in us : we slew, and we 
 
 sailed away. 
 
554 THE VOYAGE OF MAELDUNE. 
 
 DC. 
 And we came to the Isle of Witches, and heard their 
 
 musical cry, 
 
 " Come to us, oh, come, come ! " in the stormy red of a sky 
 Dashing the fires and the shadows of dawn on the beau- 
 tiful shapes ; 
 For a wild witch naked as heaven stood on each of the 
 
 loftiest capes, 
 And a hundred ranged on the rock, like white sea-birds 
 
 in a row, 
 And a hundred gambolled and pranced on the wrecks in 
 
 the sand below, 
 And a hundred splashed from the ledges, and bosomed 
 
 the burst of the spray 
 But I knew we should fall on each other, and hastily 
 
 sailed away. 
 
 x. 
 
 And we came in an evil time to the Isle of the Double 
 
 Towers : 
 One was of smooth-cut stone, one carved all over with 
 
 flowers ; 
 But an earthquake always moved in the hollows under 
 
 the dells, 
 And they shocked on each other, and butted each other 
 
 with clashing of bells ; 
 And the daws flew out of the towers, and jangled and 
 
 wrangled in vain. 
 And the clash and boom of the bells ran into the heart 
 
 and the brain, 
 Till the passion of battle was on us, and all took sides 
 
 with the Towers : 
 There were some for the clean-cut stone, there were 
 
 more for the carven flowers. 
 
THE VOYAGE OF MAELDUNE. 555 
 
 And the wrathful thunder of God pealed over us all the 
 
 day, 
 For the one half slew the other ; and after we sailed away. 
 
 XI. 
 
 And we came to the Isle of a Saint who had sailed with 
 
 St. Brendan of yore : 
 He had lived ever since on the isle, and his winters were 
 
 fifteen-score ; 
 And his voice was low as from other worlds, and his eyes 
 
 were sweet ; 
 And his white hair sank to his heels, and his white beard 
 
 fell to his feet. 
 And he spake to me, " O Maeldune, let be this purpose 
 
 of thine ! 
 
 Remember the words of the Lord when he told us ' Ven- 
 geance is mine ! ' 
 
 His fathers have slain thy fathers in war or in single strife ; 
 Thy fathers have slain his fathers, each taken a life for a 
 
 life; 
 Thy father had slain his father : how long shall the murder 
 
 last? 
 Go back to the Isle of Finn, and suffer the past to be 
 
 past." 
 And we kissed the fringe of his beard ; and we prayed as 
 
 we heard him pray, 
 And the holy man he assoiled us, and sadly we sailed 
 
 away. 
 
 XII. 
 
 And we came to the isle we were blown from, and there 
 
 on the shore was he, 
 The man that had slain my father. I saw him, and let 
 
 him be. 
 
556 THE LAST OF THE " NARWHALE." 
 
 Oh ! weary was I of the travel, the trouble, the strife, and 
 
 the sin, 
 When I landed again, with a tithe of my men, on the 
 
 Isle of Finn. 
 
 ALFRED TENNYSON. 
 
 THE LAST OF THE "NARWHALE." 
 
 AY, ay, I'll tell you, shipmates, 
 If you care to hear the tale, 
 How myself and the royal yard alone 
 Were left of the old " Narwhale." 
 
 A stouter ship was never launched 
 
 Of all the Clyde-built whalers ; 
 And forty years of a life at sea 
 
 Haven't matched her crowd of sailors. 
 Picked men they were, all young and strong, 
 
 And used to the wildest seas, 
 From Donegal and the Scottish coast, 
 
 And the rugged Hebrides, 
 Such men as women cling to, mates, 
 
 Like ivy round their lives ; 
 And the day we sailed, the quays were lined 
 
 With weeping mothers and wives. 
 They cried and prayed, and we gave 'em a cheer 
 
 In the thoughtless way of men. 
 God help them, shipmates ! thirty years 
 
 They've waited and prayed since then. 
 
 We sailed to the north ; and I mind it well, 
 
 The pity we felt, and pride, 
 When we sighted the cliffs of Labrador 
 
 From the sea where Hudson died. 
 
THE LAST OF THE " NARWHALE." 557 
 
 We talked of ships that never came back ; 
 
 And when the great floes passed 
 Like ghosts in the night, each moonlit peak 
 
 Like a great war frigate's mast, 
 'Twas said that a ship was frozen up 
 
 In the iceberg's awful breast, 
 The clear ice holding the sailor's face 
 
 As he lay in his mortal rest. 
 And I've thought since then, when the ships came home 
 
 That sailed for the Franklin band, 
 A mistake was made in the reckoning 
 * That looked for the crews on land. 
 " They're floating still," I've said to myself, 
 
 " And Sir John has found the goal." 
 The " Erebus " and the " Terror," mates, 
 
 Are icebergs up at the pole ! 
 
 We sailed due north, to Baffin's Bay, 
 
 And cruised through weeks of light. 
 'Twas always day, and we slept by the bell, 
 . And longed for the dear old night, 
 And the blessed darkness left behind, 
 
 Like a curtain round the bed ; 
 But a month dragged on like an afternoon, 
 
 With the wheeling sun o'erhead. 
 ' We found the whales were farther still, 
 
 The farther north we sailed. 
 Along the Greenland glacier coast, 
 
 The boldest might have quailed, 
 Such shapes did keep us company. 
 
 No sail in all that sea ; 
 But thick as ships in Mersey's tide 
 
 The bergs moved awfully 
 
55$ THE LAST OF THE " NARWHALE." 
 
 Within the current's northward stream ; 
 
 But, ere the long days' close, 
 We found the whales, and filled the ship 
 
 Amid the friendly floes. 
 
 Then came a rest : the day was blown 
 
 Like a cloud before the night ; 
 In the south the sun went redly down ; 
 
 In the north rose another light, 
 Neither sun nor moon, but a shooting dawn, 
 
 That silvered our lonely way ; 
 It seemed we sailed in a belt of gloom, 
 
 Upon either side, a day. 
 The north wind smote the sea to death, 
 
 The pack-ice closed us round ; 
 The " Narwhale " stood in the level fields 
 
 As fast as a ship aground. 
 A weary time it was to wait, 
 
 And to wish for spring to come, 
 With the pleasant breeze and the blessed sun, 
 
 To open the way toward home. 
 
 Spring came at last : the ice-fields groaned 
 
 Like living things in pain ; 
 They moaned and swayed, then rent amain, 
 
 And the " Narwhale " sailed again. 
 With joy the dripping sails were loosed, 
 
 And round the vessel swung ; 
 To cheer the crew, full south she drew, 
 
 The shattered floes among. 
 We had no books in those old days 
 
 To carry the friendly faces ; 
 But I think the wives and lasses then 
 
 Were held in better places. 
 
THE LAST OF THE " NARWHALE." 559 
 
 The face of sweetheart and wife to-day 
 
 Is locked in the sailor's chest ; 
 But aloft on the yard, with the thought of home, 
 
 The face in the heart was best. 
 Well, well God knows, mates, when and where 
 
 To take the things he gave. 
 We steered for home ; but the chart was his, 
 
 And the port ahead the grave. 
 We cleared the floes ; through an open sea 
 
 The " Narwhale " south'ard sailed, 
 Till a day came round when the white fog rose, 
 
 And the wind astern had failed, 
 In front of the Greenland glacier line, 
 
 And close to its base were we : 
 Through the misty pall we could see the wall 
 
 That beetled above the sea. 
 A fear like the fog crept over our hearts 
 
 As we heard the hollow roar 
 Of the deep sea thrashing the cliffs of ice 
 
 For leagues along the shore. 
 
 The years have come, and the years have gone ; 
 
 But it never wears away, 
 The sense I have of the sights and sounds 
 
 That marked that woful day. 
 Flung here and there at the ocean's will, 
 
 As it flung the broken floe, 
 What strength had we 'gainst the tiger sea 
 
 That sports with a sailor's woe ? 
 The lifeless berg and the lifeful ship 
 
 Were the same to the sullen wave, 
 As it swept them far from ridge to ridge, 
 
 Till at last the " Narwhale " drave 
 
560 THE LAST OF THE " NARWHALE." 
 
 With a crashing rail on the glacier wall, 
 
 As sheer as the vessel's mast, 
 A crashing rail and a shivered yard ; 
 
 But the worst, we thought, was past. 
 The brave lads sprang to the fending work, 
 
 And the skipper's voice rang hard : 
 " Aloft there, one with a ready knife ! 
 
 Cut loose that royal yard ! " 
 I sprang to the rigging (young I was, 
 
 And proud to be first to dare,) 
 The yard swung free, and I turned to gaze 
 Toward the open sea, o'er the field of haze, 
 And my heart grew cold, as if frozen through, 
 At the moving shape that met my view 
 
 Christ ! what a sight was there ! 
 
 Above the fog, as I hugged the yard, 
 
 1 saw that an iceberg lay 
 
 A berg like a mountain, closing fast 
 
 Not a cable's length away ! 
 I could not see through the sheet of mist 
 
 That covered all below ; 
 But I heard the cheery voices still, 
 
 And I screamed to let them know. 
 The cry went down, and the skipper hailed ; 
 
 But before the word could come 
 It died in his throat, and I knew they saw 
 
 The shape of the closing doom. 
 
 No sound but that ; but the hail that died 
 Came up through the mist to me. 
 
 Thank God ! it covered the ship like a veil, 
 And I was not forced to see. 
 
THE LAST OF THE " NARWHALE." 561 
 
 But I heard it, mates ; oh, I heard the rush, 
 
 And the timbers rend and rive, 
 As the yard I clung to swayed and fell. 
 
 I lay on the ice, alive ! 
 Alive, O God of mercy ! Ship and crew and sea 
 
 were gone ! 
 The hummocked ice and the broken yard, 
 
 And a kneeling man alone. 
 A kneeling man on a frozen hill, 
 
 The sounds of life in the air, 
 All death and ice and a minute before 
 
 The sea and the ship were there. 
 I could not think they were dead and gone, 
 
 And I listened for sound or word ; 
 But the deep sea roar on the desolate shore 
 
 Was the only sound I heard. 
 
 mates ! I had no heart to thank 
 The Lord for the life he gave : 
 
 1 spread my arms on the ice, and cried 
 Aloud on my shipmates' grave. 
 
 The brave, strong lads, with their strength all vain, 
 
 I called them name by name ; 
 And it seemed to me from the dying hearts 
 
 A message upward came, 
 Ay, mates, a message, up through the ice, 
 
 From every sailor's breast : 
 " Go tell our mothers and wives at home 
 
 To pray for us here at rest" 
 Yes, that's what it means ; 'tis a little word ; 
 
 But, mates, the strongest ship 
 That ever was built is a baby's toy 
 
 When it copes with an arctic nip. 
 
 JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY. 
 
562 THE SAILOR-BOY. 
 
 THE SAILOR-BOY. 
 
 HE rose at dawn, and, fired with hope, 
 Shot o'er the seething harbor-bar, 
 And reached the ship, and caught the rope, 
 And whistled to the morning star. 
 
 And while he whistled long and loud, 
 
 He heard a fierce mermaiden cry, 
 " O boy ! though thou art young and proud, 
 
 I see the place where thou wilt lie. 
 
 " The sands and yeasty surges mix 
 
 In caves about the dreary bay ; 
 And on thy limbs the limpet sticks, 
 
 And in thy heart the scrawl shall play." 
 
 " Fool," he answered, " death is sure. 
 
 To those that stay, and those that roam ; 
 But I will nevermore endure 
 
 To sit with empty hands at home. 
 
 " My mother clings about my neck, 
 My sisters crying, ' Stay, for shame ! ' 
 
 My father raves of death and wreck : 
 
 They are all to blame, they are all to blame. 
 
 " God help me ! save I take my part 
 
 Of danger on the roaring sea, 
 A devil rises in my heart 
 
 Far worse than any death to me." 
 
 ALFRED TENNYSON. 
 
BOATMAN'S HYMN. 563 
 
 WELLEN-GEHEIMNESS. 
 
 THE sparkling surface of the solemn sea 
 Dimples and laughs ; and little waves in play, 
 Chasing each other round the curving bay, 
 Come tumbling on the shore right merrily ; 
 
 But, far beneath this sunlit joy we see, 
 The mighty heart of ocean throbs alway : 
 In violet glooms slowly the seaflowers sway 
 Above still pearls that glimmer silently. 
 
 So, dear, the careless gayety you wear, 
 
 The thoughtless mien, but as a masking show, 
 
 Hides the brave heart, where calmly ebb and flow 
 
 The silent tides round blossoms, yet more fair, 
 
 Of thought and worth, through unknown depths, that bear 
 
 Yet purer pearls in grander glooms below. 
 
 AFTER A MOTIF OF GEIBEL'S. 
 
 BOATMAN'S HYMN. 
 [The following ode had its origin on the west coast of Ireland.] 
 
 BARK that bears me through foam and squall, 
 You in the storm are my castle-wall : 
 Though the sea should redden from bottom to top, 
 From tiller to mast she takes no drop. 
 On the tide top, the tide top, 
 Wherry aroon, my land and store ! 
 On the tide top, the tide top, 
 She is the boat can sail go-leor. 
 
564 A SEA-DREAM. 
 
 She dresses herself, and goes gliding on, 
 Like a dame in her robes of the Indian lawn j 
 For God has blessed her, gunnel and wale : 
 And oh ! if you saw her stretch out to the gale, 
 On the tide top, the tide top, etc. 
 
 " Whillan, ahoy ! old heart of stone, 
 Stooping so black o'er the beach alone, 
 Answer me well on the bursting brine 
 Saw you ever a bark like mine? " 
 
 On the tide top, the tide top, etc. 
 
 Says Whillan, " Since first I was made of stone, 
 I have looked abroad o'er the beach alone ; 
 But till to-day, on the bursting brine 
 Saw I never a bark like thine." 
 
 On the tide top, the tide top, etc. 
 
 " God of the air ! " the seamen shout 
 When they see us tossing the brine about : 
 " Give us a shelter of strand or rock, 
 Or through and through us she goes with a shock ! " 
 On the tide top, the tide top, etc. 
 
 ANONYMOUS. TRANSLATED BY SIR SAMUEL FERGUSON. 
 
 A SEA-DREAM. 
 
 WE saw the slow tides go and come, 
 The curving surf-lines lightly drawn, 
 The gray rocks touched with tender bloom 
 Beneath the fresh-blown rose of dawn. 
 
A SEA-DREAM. 565 
 
 We saw, in richer sunsets lost, 
 
 The sombre pomp of showery noons, 
 
 And signalled spectral sails that crossed 
 The weird, low light of rising moons. 
 
 On stormy eves, from cliff and head 
 
 We saw the white spray tossed and spurned ; 
 
 While over all, in gold and red, 
 
 Its face of fire the lighthouse turned. 
 
 The rail-car brought its daily crowds, 
 
 Half curious, half indifferent. 
 Like passing sails or floating clouds, 
 
 We saw them as they came and went. 
 
 But one calm morning, as we lay 
 
 And watched the mirage-lifted wall 
 Of coast across the dreamy bay, 
 
 And heard afar the curlew call, 
 
 And nearer voices, wild or tame, 
 
 Of airy flock and childish throng, 
 Up from the water's edge there came 
 
 Faint snatches of familiar song. 
 
 Careless we heard the singer's choice 
 
 Of old and common airs : at last 
 The tender pathos of his voice 
 
 In one low chanson held us fast, 
 
 A song that mingled joy and pain, 
 
 And memories old and sadly sweet ; 
 While, timing to its minor strain, 
 
 The waves in lapsing cadence beat. 
 
566 A SEA-DREAM. 
 
 The waves are glad in breeze and sun, 
 The rocks are fringed with foam : 
 
 I walk once more a haunted shore, 
 A stranger, yet at home 
 A land of dreams I roam. 
 
 Is this the wind, the soft sea-wind, 
 That stirred thy locks of brown ? 
 
 Are these the rocks whose mosses knew 
 The trail of thy light gown 
 Where boy and girl sat down? 
 
 I see the gray fort's broken wall, 
 The boats that rock below, 
 
 And out at sea the passing sails 
 We saw so long ago, 
 Rose-red in morning's glow. 
 
 The freshness of the early time 
 On every breeze is blown : 
 
 As glad the sea, as blue the sky, 
 The change is ours alone ; 
 The saddest is my own. 
 
 A stranger now, a world-worn man, 
 Is he who bears my name ; 
 
 But thou, methinks, whose mortal life 
 . Immortal youth became, 
 Art evermore the same. 
 
 Thou art not here, thou art not there ; 
 Thy place I cannot see : 
 
 I only know that where thou art 
 The blessed angels be, 
 And heaven is glad for thee. 
 
A SEA-DREAM. 567 
 
 Forgive me if the evil years 
 
 Have left on me their sign ; 
 Wash out, O soul so beautiful, 
 
 The many stains of mine 
 
 In tears of love divine ! 
 
 I could not look on thee and live 
 
 If thou wert by my side : 
 The vision of a shining one, 
 
 The white and heavenly bride, 
 
 Is well to me denied. 
 
 But turn to me that dear girl-face 
 
 Without the angel's crown, 
 The wedded roses of thy lips, 
 
 Thy loose hair rippling down 
 
 In waves of golden brown. 
 
 Look forth once more through space and time, 
 
 And let thy sweet shade fall 
 In tenderest grace of soul and form 
 
 On memory's frescoed wall 
 
 A shadow, and yet all. 
 
 Draw near, more near, forever dear ! 
 
 Where'er I rest or roam, 
 Or in the city's crowded streets, 
 
 Or by the blown sea-foam, 
 
 The thought of thee is home. 
 
 At breakfast-hour the singer read 
 The city news, with comment wise, 
 
 Like one who felt the pulse of trade 
 Beneath his finger fall and rise. 
 
568 THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP. 
 
 His look, his air, his curt speech, told 
 The man of action, not of books, 
 
 To whom the corners made in gold 
 
 And stocks were more than seaside nooks. 
 
 Of life beneath the life confessed 
 
 His song had hinted unawares ; 
 Of flowers in traffic's ledgers pressed ; 
 
 Of human hearts in bulls and bears. 
 
 But eyes in vain were turned to watch 
 
 That face so hard and shrewd and strong ; 
 
 And ears in vain grew sharp to catch 
 The meaning of that morning song. 
 
 In vain some sweet-voiced querist sought 
 To sound him, leaving as she came : 
 
 Her baited album only caught 
 A common, unromantic name. 
 
 No word betrayed the mystery fine 
 That trembled on the singer's tongue : 
 
 He came and went, -and left no sign 
 Behind him save the song he sung. 
 
 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP. 
 
 WHAT hid'st thou in thy treasure caves and cells, 
 Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious main? 
 Pale glistening pearls, and rainbow-colored shells, 
 Bright things which gleam unrecked-of, and in vain. 
 Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy Sea ! 
 We ask not such from thee. 
 
THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP. 569 
 
 Yet more, the depths have more. What wealth untold, 
 Far down, and shining through their stillness, lies ! 
 Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold, 
 Won from ten thousand royal Argosies. 
 Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful main ! 
 Earth claims not these again. 
 
 Yet more, the depths have more. Thy waves have rolled 
 Above the cities of a world gone by : 
 Sand hath filled up the palaces of old, 
 Seaweed o'ergrown the halls of revelry. 
 Dash o'er them, Ocean, in thy scornful play ! 
 Man yields them to decay. 
 
 Yet more, the billows and the depths have more. 
 High hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast : 
 They hear not now the booming waters roar, 
 The battle-thunders will not break their rest. 
 Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave ! 
 Give back the true and brave ! 
 
 Give back the lost and lovely, those for whom 
 The place was kept at board and hearth so long, 
 The prayer went up through midnight's breathless gloom, 
 And the vain yearning woke midst festal song. 
 Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o'erthrown ; 
 But all is not thine own. 
 
 To thee the love of woman hath gone down ; 
 Dark flow thy tides o'er manhood's noble head, 
 O'er youth's bright locks, and beauty's flowery crown : 
 Yet must thou hear a voice, restore the dead ! 
 Earth shall reclaim her precious things from thee : 
 Restore the dead, thou Sea ! 
 
 FELICIA HEMANS. 
 
570 THE ARMADA. 
 
 THE ARMADA. 
 
 A TTEND, all ye who list to hear our noble England's 
 _1JL praise; 
 I tell of the thrice-famous deeds she wrought in ancient 
 
 days, 
 
 When that great fleet invincible against her bore in vain 
 The richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest hearts of Spain, 
 
 It was about the lovely close of a warm summer day 
 There came a gallant merchant-ship full sail to Plymouth 
 
 Bay: 
 Her crew hath seen Castile's black fleet beyond Aurigny's 
 
 isle, 
 
 At earliest twilight, on the waves lie heaving many a mile. 
 At sunrise she escaped their van, by God's especial grace ; 
 And the tall " Pinta " till the noon had held her close in 
 
 chase. 
 
 Forthwith a guard at every gun was placed along the wall ; 
 The beacon blazed upon the roof of Edgecumbe's lofty 
 
 hall; 
 
 Many a light fishing-bark put out to pry along the coast, 
 And with loose rein and bloody spur rode inland many a 
 
 post. 
 
 With his white hair unbonneted, the stout old sher- 
 iff comes : 
 Behind him march the halberdiers ; before him sound the 
 
 drums ; 
 His yeomen round the market- cross make clear an ample 
 
 space, 
 For there behooves him to set up the standard of her 
 
 Grace. 
 
THE ARMADA. 571 
 
 And haughtily the trumpets peal, and gayly dance the 
 
 bells, 
 
 As slow upon the laboring wind the royal blazon swells. 
 Look how the Lion of the Sea lifts up his ancient crown, 
 And underneath his deadly paw treads the gay lilies 
 
 down. 
 So stalked he when he turned to flight, on that famed 
 
 Picard field, 
 Bohemia's plume, and Genoa's bow, and Caesar's eagle 
 
 shield : 
 So glared he when at Agincourt in wrath he turned to 
 
 bay, 
 And crushed and torn^beneath his claws the princely 
 
 hunters lay. 
 Ho ! strike the flagstaff deep, sir knight ; ho ! scatter 
 
 flowers, fair maids ; 
 Ho, gunners ! fire a loud salute ; ho, gallants ! draw your 
 
 blades ; 
 Thou sun, shine on her joyously; ye breezes, waft her 
 
 wide, 
 Our glorious SEMPER EADEM, the banner of our pride. 
 
 The freshening breeze of eve unfurled that banner's 
 massy fold ; 
 
 The parting gleam of sunshine kissed that haughty scroll 
 of gold ; 
 
 Night sank upon the dusky beach and on the purple 
 sea; 
 
 Such night in England ne'er had been, nor e'er again 
 shall be. 
 
 From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from Lynn to Mil- 
 ford Bay, 
 
 That time of slumber was as bright and busy as the day ; 
 
572 THE ARMADA. 
 
 For swift to east, and swift to west, the ghastly war-flame 
 
 spread ; 
 High on St. Michael's Mount it shone, it shone on 
 
 Beachy Head. 
 Far on the deep each Spaniard saw along each southern 
 
 shire, 
 Cape beyond cape, in endless range, those twinkling 
 
 points of fire. 
 The fisher left his skiff to rock on Tamar's glittering 
 
 waves ; 
 The rugged miners poured to war from Mendip's sunless 
 
 caves ; 
 O'er Longleat's towers, o'er Cranbourne's oaks, the fiery 
 
 herald flew, 
 He roused the shepherds of Stonehenge, the rangers of 
 
 Beaulieu. 
 Right sharp and quick the bells all night rang out from 
 
 Bristol town, 
 And ere the day three hundred horse had met on Clifton 
 
 Down. 
 
 The sentinel on Whitehall Gate looked forth into the night, 
 And saw o'erhanging Richmond Hill the streak of blood- 
 red light. 
 Then bugle's note and cannon's roar the death-like 
 
 silence broke, 
 
 And with one start and with one cry the royal city woke. 
 At once on all her stately gates arose the answering fires ; 
 At once the wild alarum clashed from all her reeling 
 
 spires ; 
 From all the batteries of the Tower pealed loud the voice 
 
 of fear, 
 And all the thousand masts of Thames sent back a louder 
 
 cheer ; 
 
THE ARMADA. 573 
 
 And from the furthest wards was heard the rush of hurry- 
 ing feet, 
 And the broad streams of pikes and flags rushed down 
 
 each -roaring street. 
 
 And broader still became the blaze, and louder still the din, 
 As fast from every village round the horse came spurring in ; 
 And eastward straight from wild Blackheath the warlike 
 
 errand went, 
 And roused in many an ancient hall the gallant squires 
 
 of Kent. 
 Southward from Surrey's pleasant hill flew those bright 
 
 couriers forth ; 
 High on bleak Hampstead's swarthy moor they started 
 
 for the north ; 
 And on and on, without a pause, untired, they bounded 
 
 still ; 
 All night from tower to tower they sprang ; they sprang 
 
 from hill to hill, 
 Till the proud peak unfurled the flag o'er Darwin's rocky 
 
 dales, 
 Till like volcanoes flared to heaven the stormy hills of 
 
 Wales ; 
 Till twelve fair counties saw the blaze on Malvern's lonely 
 
 height ; 
 Till streamed in crimson on the wind the Wrekin's crest 
 
 of light ; 
 Till broad and fierce the star came forth on Ely's stately 
 
 fane, 
 And tower and hamlet rose in arms o'er all the boundless 
 
 plain ; 
 
 Till Belvoir's lordly terraces the sign to Lincoln sent, 
 And Lincoln sped the message on o'er the wide vale of 
 
 Trent ; 
 
574 TH E SHIPWRECK. 
 
 Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burned on Gaunt's em- 
 battled pile, 
 
 And the red glare on Skiddaw roused the burghers of 
 Carlisle. 
 
 THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY. 
 
 THE SHIPWRECK. 
 
 BUT list ! a low and moaning sound 
 At distance heard, like a spirit's song ; 
 And now it reigns above, around, 
 
 As if it called the ship along. 
 The moon is sunk, and a clouded gray 
 
 Declares that her course is run ; 
 And like a god who brings the day, 
 
 Up mounts the glorious sun. 
 Soon as his light has warmed the seas, 
 From the parting cloud fresh blows the breeze ; 
 And that is the spirit whose well-known song 
 Makes the vessel to sail in joy along. 
 No fears hath she : her giant form 
 O'er wrathful surge, through blackening storm, 
 Majestically calm would go 
 Mid the deep darkness white as snow ; 
 But gently now the small waves glide, 
 Like playful lambs o'er a mountain's side. 
 So stately her bearing, so proud her array, 
 The main she will traverse for ever and aye. 
 Many ports will exult at the gleam of her mast 
 Hush, hush, thou vain dreamer ! this hour is her last. 
 Five hundred souls in one instant of dread 
 
THE SHIPWRECK. 575 
 
 Are hurried o'er the deck, 
 And fast the miserable ship 
 
 Becomes a lifeless wreck. 
 Her keel hath struck on a hidden rock, 
 
 Her planks are torn asunder, 
 And down come her masts with a reeling shock, 
 
 And a hideous crash like thunder. 
 Her sails are draggled in the brine, 
 
 That gladdened late the skies ; 
 And her pennant, that kissed the fair moonshine, 
 
 Down many a fathom lies. 
 Her beauteous sides, whose rainbow hues 
 
 Gleamed softly from below, 
 And flung a warm and sunny flush 
 
 O'er the wreaths of murmuring snow, 
 To the coral-rocks are hurrying down 
 To sleep amid colors as bright as their own. 
 Oh ! many a dream was in the ship 
 
 An hour before her death ; 
 And sights of home with sighs disturbed 
 
 The sleeper's long-drawn breath. 
 Instead of the murmur of the sea, 
 The sailor heard the humming-tree, 
 
 Alive through all its leaves, 
 The hum of the spreading sycamore 
 That grows before his cottage-door, 
 And the swallow's song in the eaves. 
 His arms enclosed a blooming boy, 
 Who listened with tears of sorrow and joy 
 
 To the dangers his father had passed ; 
 And his wife by turns she wept and smiled 
 As she looked on the father of her child 
 
 Returned to her heart at last. 
 
576 THE OCR AX. 
 
 He wakes at the vessel's sudden roll, 
 And the rush of waters is in his soul. 
 Astounded, the reeling deck he paces, 
 Mid hurrying forms and ghastly faces. 
 
 The whole ship's crew are there 
 Wailing around and overhead, 
 Brave spirits stupefied or dead, 
 
 And madness and despair. 
 
 Now is the ocean's bosom bare, 
 
 Unbroken as the floating air ; 
 
 The ship hath melted quite away, 
 
 Like a struggling dream at break of day. 
 
 No image meets my wandering eye, 
 
 But the new-risen sun and the sunny sky. 
 
 Though the night-shades are gone, yet a vapor dull 
 
 Bedims the waves so beautiful, 
 
 While a low and melancholy moan 
 
 Mourns for the glory that hath flown. 
 
 JOHN WILSON (CHRISTOPHER NORTH). 
 
 THE OCEAN. 
 (FROM "THE COURSE OF TIME.") 
 
 GREAT Ocean ! strongest of Creation's sons, 
 Unconquerable, unreposed, untired, 
 That rolled the wild, profound, eternal bass, 
 In nature's anthem, and made music such 
 As pleased the ear of God ; original, 
 Unmarred, unfaded work of Deity, 
 And unburlesqued by mortal's puny skill. 
 From age to age enduring and unchanged ; 
 
THE OCEAN. 577 
 
 Majestical, inimitable, vast; 
 
 Loud uttering satire day and night on each 
 
 Succeeding race and little pompous work 
 
 Of man. Unfallen, religious, holy Sea ! 
 
 Thou bowedst thy glorious head to none, fearedst none, 
 
 Heardst none, to none didst honor, but to God 
 
 Thy Maker, only worthy to receive 
 
 Thy great obeisance. Undiscovered Sea ! 
 
 Into thy dark, unknown, mysterious caves, 
 
 And secret haunts unfathomably deep, 
 
 Beneath all visible retired, none went 
 
 And came again to tell the wonders there. 
 
 Tremendous Sea ! what time thou lifted up 
 
 Thy waves on high, and with thy winds and storms 
 
 Strange pastime took, and shook thy mighty sides 
 
 Indignantly, the pride of navies fell ; 
 
 Beyond the arm of help, unheard, unseen, 
 
 Sunk friend and foe, with all their wealth and war ; 
 
 And on thy shores, men of a thousand tribes, 
 
 Polite and barbarous, trembling stood, amazed, 
 
 Confounded, terrified, and thought vast thoughts 
 
 Of ruin, boundlessness, omnipotence, 
 
 Infinitude, eternity ; and thought, 
 
 And wondered still, and grasped and grasped, and 
 
 grasped, 
 
 Again ; beyond her reach exerting all 
 The soul to take thy great idea in, 
 To comprehend incomprehensible, 
 And wondered more, and felt their littleness. 
 Self- purify ing, unpolluted Sea ! 
 Lover unchangeable, thy faithful breast 
 Forever heaving to the lovely moon, 
 That like a shy and holy virgin, robed 
 
578 . THE AMBER-WHALE. 
 
 In saintly white, walked nightly in the heavens, 
 
 And to thy everlasting serenade 
 
 Gave gracious audience, nor was wooed in vain. 
 
 ROBERT POLLOK. 
 
 THE AMBER-WHALE. 
 
 WE were down in the Indian Ocean, after sperm, and 
 three years out, 
 
 The last six months in the tropics, and looking in vain for 
 a spout, 
 
 Five men up on the royal yards, weary of straining their 
 sight, 
 
 And every day like its brother, just morning and noon 
 and night. 
 
 Nothing to break the sameness, water and wind and sun 
 
 Motionless, gentle, and blazing, never a change in one. 
 
 Every day like its brother : when the noonday eight-bells 
 came, 
 
 'Twas like yesterday ; and we seemed to know that to- 
 morrow would be the same. 
 
 The foremast hands had a lazy time : there was never a 
 thing to do ; 
 
 The ship was painted, tarred down, and scraped ; and 
 the mates had nothing new. 
 
 We'd worked at sinnet and ratline till there wasn't a yarn 
 to use ; 
 
 And all we could do was watch and pray for a sperm- 
 whale's spout, or news. 
 
 It was whaler's luck of the vilest sort ; and, though many 
 a volunteer 
 
 Spent his watch below on the lookout, never a whale came 
 near, 
 
THE AMBER-WHALE. 579 
 
 At least of the kind we wanted. There were lots of whales 
 
 of a sort, 
 Killers and finbacks, and such like, as if they enjoyed the 
 
 sport 
 
 Of seeing a whale-ship idle ; but we never lowered a boat 
 For less than a blackfish there's no oil in a killer's or 
 
 finback's coat. 
 There was rich reward for the lookout men, tobacco for 
 
 even a sail, 
 And a barrel of oil for the lucky dog who'd be first to 
 
 "raise " a whale. 
 The crew was a mixture from every land, and many a 
 
 tongue they spoke ; 
 And when they sat in the fo'castle, enjoying an evening 
 
 smoke, 
 There were tales told, youngster, would make you stare, 
 
 stories of countless shoals 
 
 Of devil-fish in the Pacific, and right-whales away at the poles. 
 There was one of those fo'castle yarns that we always 
 
 loved to hear. 
 
 Kanaka and Maori and Yankee, all lent an eager ear 
 To that strange old tale that was always new, the won- 
 derful treasure-tale 
 Of an old Down-Eastern harpooner who had struck an 
 
 amber-whale. 
 Ay, that was a tale worth hearing, lads : if 'twas true we 
 
 couldn't say, 
 Or if 'twas a yarn old Mat had spun to while the time away. 
 
 " It's just fifteen years ago," said Mat, " since I shipped 
 
 as harpooner 
 On board a bark in New Bedford, and came cruising 
 
 somewhere near 
 
580 THE AMBER-WHALE. 
 
 To this whaling-ground we're cruising now. But whales 
 
 were plenty then, 
 And not like now, when we scarce get oil to pay for the 
 
 ship and men. 
 There were none of these oil-wells running then, at 
 
 least what shore-folk term 
 
 An oil-well in Pennsylvania ; but sulphur-bottom and sperm 
 Were plenty as frogs in a mud-hole, and all of 'em big 
 
 whales too : 
 
 One hundred barrels for sperm-whales, and for sulphur- 
 bottom, two. 
 
 You couldn't pick out a small one : the littlest calf or cow 
 Had a sight more oil than the big bull-whales we think so 
 
 much of now. 
 We were more to the east, off Java Straits, a little below 
 
 the mouth, 
 A hundred and five to the east'ard, and nine degrees to 
 
 the south ; 
 And that was as good a whaling-ground for middle-sized, 
 
 handy whales 
 
 As any in all the ocean ; and 'twas always white with sails 
 From Scotland and Hull and New England, for the 
 
 whales were thick as frogs, 
 And 'twas little trouble to kill 'em then, for they lay as 
 
 quiet as logs. 
 And every night we'd go visiting the other whale-ships 
 
 'round, 
 Or p'r'aps we'd strike on a Dutchman, calmed off the 
 
 Straits, and bound 
 To Singapore or Batavia, with plenty of schnapps to 
 
 sell 
 For a few whales' teeth, or a gallon of oil, and the latest 
 
 news to tell. 
 
THE AMBER-WHALE. 581 
 
 And in every ship of that whaling-fleet was one wonder- 
 ful story told, 
 
 How an amber-whale had been seen that year that was 
 worth a mint of gold. 
 
 And one man, mate of a Scotchman, said he'd seen, away 
 to the west, 
 
 A big school of sperm, and -one whale's spout was twice 
 as high as the rest. 
 
 And we knew that that was the amber-whale, for we'd 
 often heard before 
 
 That his spout was twice as thick as the rest, and a hun- 
 dred feet high or more. 
 
 And often, when the lookout cried, l He blows ! ' the 
 very hail 
 
 Thrilled every heart with the greed of gold, for we 
 thought of the amber-whale. 
 
 " But never a sight of his spout we saw till the season 
 
 there went round, 
 And the ships ran down to the south'ard to another 
 
 whaling-ground. 
 We staid to the last off Java ; and then we ran to the 
 
 west, 
 To get our recruits at Mauritius, and give the crew a 
 
 rest. 
 Five days we ran in the trade-winds ; and the boys were 
 
 beginning to talk 
 
 Of their time ashore, and whether they'd have a donkey- 
 ride, or a walk, 
 And whether they'd spend their money in wine, bananas, 
 
 or pearls, 
 Or drive to the sugar-plantations to dance with the Creole 
 
 girls. 
 
582 THE AMBER-WHALE. 
 
 But they soon got something to talk about. Five days 
 
 we ran west-sou'-west ; 
 But the sixth day's log-book entry was a change from all 
 
 the rest, 
 For that was the day the masthead men made every face 
 
 turn pale, 
 With the cry that we all had dreamt about, ' HE BLOWS ! 
 
 THE AMBER-WHALE ! ' 
 
 And every man was motionless ; and every speaker's 
 
 lip 
 Just stopped as it was, with the word half said. There 
 
 wasn't a sound in the ship 
 Till the captain hailed the masthead, ' Where away is the 
 
 whale you see ? ' 
 And the cry came down again, ' He blows ! about four 
 
 points on our lee, 
 And three miles off, sir, there he blows ! he's going to 
 
 leeward fast ! ' 
 And then we sprang to the rigging, and saw the great 
 
 whale at last. 
 
 " Ah, shipmates ! that was a sight to see. The water was 
 
 smooth as a lake ; 
 And there was the monster rolling, with a school of whales 
 
 in his wake. 
 They looked like pilot-fish round a shark, as if they were 
 
 keeping guard ; 
 And, shipmates, the spout of that amber-whale was high 
 
 as a skysail-yard. 
 There was never a ship's crew worked so quick as our 
 
 whalemen worked that day, 
 When the captain shouted, 'Swing the boats, and be 
 
 ready to lower away ! ' 
 
THE AMBER-WHALE. 583 
 
 Then, ( A pull on the weather-braces, men ! Let her head 
 
 fall off three points ! ' 
 And off she swung with a quarter-breeze straining the old 
 
 ship's joints. 
 The men came down from the mastheads, and the boats' 
 
 crews stood on the rail, 
 Stowing the lines and irons, and fixing paddles and 
 
 sail. 
 And, when all was ready, we leant on the boats, and 
 
 looked at the amber's spout, 
 That went up like a monster fountain with a sort of a 
 
 rumbling shout, 
 Like a thousand railroad-engines puffing away their 
 
 smoke. 
 
 He was just like a frigate's hull capsized, and the sway- 
 ing water broke 
 Against the sides of the great stiff whale. He was steering 
 
 south by west, 
 For the Cape, no doubt ; for a whale can shape a course 
 
 as well as the best. 
 We soon got close as was right to go ; for the school 
 
 might hear a hail, 
 Or see the bark, and that was the last of our Bank-of- 
 
 England whale. 
 ' Let her luff,' said the old man gently. ' Now, lower 
 
 away, my boys, 
 And pull for a mile, then paddle and mind that you 
 
 make no noise.' 
 
 " A minute more, and the boats were down ; and out 
 
 from the hull of the bark 
 They shot with a nervous sweep of the oars, like dolphins 
 
 away from a shark. 
 
584 THE AMBER-WHALE. 
 
 Each officer stood in the stern, and watched, as he held 
 
 the steering oar ; 
 And the crews bent down to their pulling as they never 
 
 pulled before. 
 
 " Our mate was as thorough a whaleman as I ever met 
 
 afloat ; 
 And I was his harpooner that day, and sat in the bow of 
 
 the boat. 
 His eyes were set on the whales ahead, and he spoke in 
 
 a low, deep tone, 
 And told the men to be steady and cool, and the whale 
 
 was all our own. 
 And steady and cool they proved to be : you could read 
 
 it in every face, 
 And in every straining muscle, that they meant to win 
 
 that race. 
 1 Bend to it, boys, for a few strokes more : bend to it 
 
 steady and long ! 
 Now, in with your oars, and paddles out all together, 
 
 and strong ! ' 
 Then we turned, and sat on the gunwale, with our faces 
 
 to the bow ; 
 And the whales were right ahead, no more than four 
 
 ships' length off now. 
 There were five of 'em, hundred-barrellers, like guards 
 
 round the amber-whale ; 
 
 And to strike him we'd have to risk being stove by cross- 
 ing a sweeping tail ; 
 
 But the prize and the risk were equal. ' Mat,' now whis- 
 pers the mate, 
 1 Are your irons ready? ' ' Ay, ay, sir ! ' ' Stand up, 
 
 then, steady, and wait 
 
THE AMBER-WHALE. 585 
 
 Till I give the word, then let 'em fly, and hit him below 
 
 the fin 
 As he rolls to wind'ard. Start her, boys ! Now's the time 
 
 to slide her in ! 
 Hurrah ! that fluke just missed us. Mind, as soon as 
 
 the iron's fast, 
 Be ready to back your paddles. Now in for it, boys, at 
 
 last! 
 Heave ! Again ! ' 
 
 " And two irons flew : the first one sank in the joint, 
 Tween the head and hump, in the muscle; but the 
 
 second had its point 
 Turned off by striking the amber case, coming out again 
 
 like a bow ; 
 And the monster carcass quivered, and rolled with pain 
 
 from the first deep blow. 
 Then he lashed the sea with his terrible flukes, and 
 
 showed us many a sign 
 That his rage was roused. 'Layoff!' roared the mate, 
 
 ' and all keep clear of the line ! ' 
 And that was a timely warning, for the whale made an 
 
 awful breach 
 Right out of the sea ; and 'twas well for us that the boat 
 
 was beyond the reach 
 Of his sweeping flukes, as he milled around, and made 
 
 for the captain's boat, 
 That was right astern. And, shipmates, then my heart 
 
 swelled up in my throat 
 At the sight I saw. The amber-whale was lashing the sea 
 
 with rage, 
 And two of his hundred-barrel guards were ready now to 
 
 engage 
 
586 THE AMBER-WHALE. 
 
 In a bloody fight ; and with open jaws they came to their 
 
 master's aid. 
 Then we knew the captain's boat was doomed. But the 
 
 crew were no whit afraid : 
 They were brave New-England whalemen. And we saw 
 
 the harpoon er 
 Stand up to send in his irons as soon as the whales came 
 
 near. 
 Then we heard the captain's order, ' Heave ! ' and saw 
 
 the harpoon fly, 
 As the whales closed in with their open jaws : a shock, 
 
 and a stifled cry, 
 Was all that we heard ; then we looked to see if the crew 
 
 were still afloat ; 
 But nothing was there save a dull red patch, and the 
 
 boards of the shattered boat. 
 
 " But that was no time for mourning words. The other 
 
 two boats came in, 
 
 And one got fast on the quarter, and one aft the star- 
 board fin 
 Of the amber-whale. For a minute he paused, as if he 
 
 were in doubt 
 As to whether 'twas best to run or fight. ' Lay on ! ' the 
 
 mate roared out, 
 ' And I'll give him a lance ! ' The boat shot in ; and the 
 
 mate, when he saw his chance 
 Of sending it home to the vitals, four times he buried his 
 
 lance. 
 A minute more, and a cheer went up, when we saw that 
 
 his aim was good ; 
 For the lance had struck in a life-spot, and the whale was 
 
 spouting blood. 
 
THE AMBER-WHALE. 587 
 
 But now came the time of danger, for the school of 
 
 whales around 
 Had aired their flukes ; and the cry was raised, ' Look 
 
 out ! they're going to sound ! ' 
 
 And down they went with a sudden plunge, the amber- 
 whale the last, 
 While the lines ran smoking out of the tubs, he went to 
 
 the deep so fast. 
 Before you could count your fingers, a hundred fathoms 
 
 were out ; 
 And then he stopped, for a wounded whale must come to 
 
 the top and spout. 
 We hauled slack line as we felt him rise ; and when he 
 
 came up alone, 
 And spouted thick blood, we cheered again, for we knew 
 
 he was all our own. 
 He was frightened now, and his fight was gone : right 
 
 round and round he spun, 
 As if he was trying to sight the boats, or find the best side 
 
 to run. 
 But that was the minute for us to work : the boats hauled 
 
 in their slack, 
 And bent on the drag-tubs over the stern to tire and hold 
 
 him back. 
 The bark was five miles to wind'ard, and the mate gave 
 
 a troubled glance 
 At the sinking sun, and muttered, ' Boys, we must give 
 
 him another lance, 
 
 Or he'll run till night ; and, if he should head to wind- 
 'ard in the dark, 
 We'll be forced to cut loose, and leave him, or else lose 
 
 run of the bark.' 
 
588 THE AMBER-WHALE. 
 
 So we hauled in close, two boats at once, but only fright- 
 ened the whale ; 
 And, like a hound that was badly whipped, he turned, 
 
 and showed his tail, 
 With his head right dead to wind'ard ; then as straight 
 
 and as swift he sped, 
 As a hungry shark for a swimming prey, and, bending 
 
 over his head, 
 
 Like a mighty plume went his bloody spout. Ah, ship- 
 mates ! that was a sight 
 Worth a life at sea to witness. In his wake the sea was 
 
 white, 
 As you've seen it after a steamer's screw, churning up like 
 
 foaming yeast ; 
 And the boats went hissing along at the rate of twenty 
 
 knots at least, 
 With the water flush with the gunwale ; and the oars were 
 
 all apeak, 
 While the crews sat silent and quiet, watching the long 
 
 white streak 
 That was traced by the line of our passage. We hailed 
 
 the bark as we passed, 
 And told them to keep a sharp lookout from the head of 
 
 every mast ; 
 'And if we're not back by sundown,' cried the mate, 
 
 ' you keep a light 
 At the royal cross-trees. If he dies, we may stick to the 
 
 whale all night.' 
 
 " And past we swept with our oars apeak, and waved our 
 
 hands to the hail 
 Of the wondering men on the taffrail, who were watching 
 
 our amber-whale 
 
THE AMBER-WHALE. 589 
 
 As he surged ahead, just as if he thought he could tire his 
 
 enemies out. 
 I was almost sorrowful, shipmates, to see, after each red 
 
 spout, 
 That the great whale's strength was failing : the sweep of 
 
 his flukes grew slow, 
 Till at sundown he made about four knots, and his spout 
 
 was weak and low. 
 Then said the mate to his boat's crew, ' Boys, the vessel 
 
 is out of sight 
 To the leeward : now, shall we cut the line, or stick to 
 
 the whale all night ? ' 
 ' We'll stick to the whale ! ' cried every man. ' Let the 
 
 other boats go back 
 To the vessel, and beat to wind'ard, as well as they can, 
 
 in our track.' 
 It was done as they said : the lines were cut, and the 
 
 crews cried out, ' Good speed ! ' 
 As we swept along in the darkness, in the wake of our 
 
 monster steed, 
 That went plunging on, with the dogged hope that he'd 
 
 tire his enemies still 
 But even the strength of an amber-whale must break 
 
 before human will. 
 By little and little his power had failed as he spouted his 
 
 blood away, 
 Till at midnight the rising moon shone down on the great 
 
 fish as he lay 
 Just moving his flukes ; but at length he stopped, and 
 
 raising his square, black head 
 As high as the topmast cross-trees, swung round, and fell 
 
 over, dead. 
 
590 THE AMBER-WHALE. 
 
 "And then rose a shout of triumph, a shout that was 
 
 more like a curse 
 Than an honest cheer; but, shipmates, the thought in 
 
 our hearts was worse, 
 And 'twas punished with bitter suffering. We claimed 
 
 the whale as our own, 
 And said that the crew should have no share of the wealth 
 
 that was ours alone. 
 We said to each other, ' We want their help till we get 
 
 the whale aboard : 
 So we'll let 'em think that they'll have a share till we get 
 
 the amber stored, 
 And then we'll pay them their wages, and send them 
 
 ashore, or afloat 
 If they show their temper' Ah, shipmates ! no wonder 
 
 'twas, that boat 
 And its selfish crew were cursed that night. Next day we 
 
 saw no sail ; 
 But the wind and sea were rising. Still we held to the 
 
 drifting whale, 
 (And a dead whale drifts to windward), going farther 
 
 away from the ship, 
 Without water, or bread, or courage to pray with heart or 
 
 lip 
 That had planned and spoken the treachery. The wind 
 
 blew into a gale, 
 And it screamed like mocking laughter round our boat 
 
 and the amber-whale. 
 
 " That night fell dark on the starving crew, and a hurri- 
 cane blew next day ; 
 
 Then we cut the line, and we cursed the prize as it drifted 
 fast away, 
 
THE AMBER-WHALE. 591 
 
 As if some power under the waves were towing it out of 
 
 sight ; 
 And there we were, without help or hope, dreading the 
 
 coming night. 
 Three days that hurricane lasted. When it passed, two 
 
 men were dead ; 
 And the strongest one of the living had not strength to 
 
 raise his head, 
 When his dreaming swoon was broken by the sound of a 
 
 cheery hail, 
 And he saw a shadow fall on the boat : it fell from the old 
 
 bark's sail ! 
 And when he heard their kindly words, you'd think he 
 
 should have smiled 
 With joy at his deliverance; but he cried like a little 
 
 child, 
 And hid his face in his poor weak hands, for he thought 
 
 of the selfish plan, 
 
 And he prayed to God to forgive them all. And, ship- 
 mates, I am the man, 
 The only one of the sinful crew that ever beheld his 
 
 home ; 
 For, before the cruise was over, all the rest were under the 
 
 foam. 
 It's just fifteen years gone, shipmates," said old Mat, 
 
 ending his tale ; 
 
 "And I often pray that I'll never see another amber- 
 whale." 
 
 JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY. 
 
592 IMPATIENCE. 
 
 IMPATIENCE. 
 
 I SEE the ships go sailing, sailing, 
 (My feet are fettered to the shore,) 
 Their prows with many a voyage are hoar. 
 See ! on the far horizon paling, 
 They sink, and are no more. 
 
 I see the birds go flying, flying ; 
 In swaying line, and whirling ring, 
 'Twixt blue and blue, their way they wing : 
 But the swift flocks through ether plying 
 To me no message bring. 
 
 I see the Moon go riding, riding, 
 Through heavenly paths, on golden wheels. 
 Her passing kiss the Ocean feels, 
 But, in his bosom swiftly hiding 
 His joy, no word reveals. 
 
 O golden moon, and snowy pinions 
 Of birds that fly, and ships that mate 
 Their speed with birds, in royal state 
 Sweep proudly through your wide dominions ! 
 And I I only wait. 
 
 " OWEN INNSLY.' 
 
 TO THE OCEAN. 
 
 SHALL I rebuke thee, Ocean, my old love, 
 That once, in rage with the wild winds at strife, 
 Thou darest menace my unit of a life, 
 Sending my clay below, my soul above, 
 
TO THE OCEAN. 
 
 593 
 
 Whilst roared thy waves like lions where they rove 
 By night, and bound upon their prey by stealth ? * 
 Yet didst thou ne'er restore my fainting health ? 
 Didst thou ne'er murmur gently like the dove ? 
 Nay, didst thou not against my own dear shore 
 Full break, last link between my land and me ? 
 My absent friends talk in thy very roar ; 
 In thy waves' beat their kindly pulse I see ; 
 And, if I must not see my England more, 
 Next to her soil, my grave be found in thee ! 
 
 THOMAS HOOD. 
 
INDEX OF AUTHORS. 
 
 A. 
 
 ALDRICH, THOMAS BAILEY. PAGE. 
 
 Sea-Drift 421 
 
 The Lady of Castelnore 353 
 
 ALLEN, ELIZABETH AKERS [Florence Percy}. 
 
 Restlessness 450 
 
 The Silver Bridge 448 
 
 ALLINGHAM, WILLIAM. 
 
 The Pilot-Boat 166 
 
 The Sailor 15 
 
 ANDREWS, WILLIAM P. 
 
 Homeward 130 
 
 ANONYMOUS. 
 
 A Ballad of Nantucket 162 
 
 Babette 324 
 
 Boatman's Hymn [ Translated by Ferguson] 563 
 
 By the Sea 4 3I 
 
 Deep-Sea Soundings 135 
 
 God Bless the Ships 29 
 
 Missing \Tinsl ey's Magazine] 390 
 
 Song 264 
 
 Song [ Translation A nonymous ; North A merican Re-view] . . . 422 
 
 Summer Longings 268 
 
 The Boatie Rows 284 
 
 The Enchanted Island 36 
 
 The Leak in the Dike 49 
 
 The Little Seaman [Translation Anonymous; Foreign Quarterly 
 
 Review] 45 
 
 The Relic on the Rocks [All the Year Round] . 395 
 
 595 
 
596 INDEX OF AUTHORS. 
 
 ANONYMOUS, continued. PAGE. 
 
 The Story of a Stowaway [Punc/i] 514 
 
 The Temple 184 
 
 Voices of the Sea 382 
 
 Waves [The Dial] 135 
 
 ARNOLD, GEORGE. 
 
 From "Drift" 322 
 
 Jubilate 44 
 
 ARNOLD, MATTHEW. 
 
 Dover Beach 479 
 
 The Forsaken Merman 338 
 
 B. 
 
 BARTON, BERNARD. 
 
 First Sight of the Sea 439 
 
 BATES, KATHARINE LEE. 
 
 Out of Sight of Land 82 
 
 BEDDOES, THOMAS LOVELL. 
 
 To Sea 246 
 
 BENNETT, WILLIAM C. 
 
 Over the Sea 280 
 
 BONAR, HORATIUS. 
 
 No more Sea 140 
 
 BOURDILLON, F. W. 
 
 'Tis Love's to Love the Sea 401 
 
 BOWEN, HERBERT W. 
 
 A Tear 400 
 
 BOWLES, WILLIAM LISLE. 
 
 At Dover Cliffs 215 
 
 BOWRING, EDGAR ALFRED. 
 
 Calm at Sea 164 
 
 Song 140 
 
 The Fisherman 333 
 
 BOYESEN, HjALMAR HjORTH. 
 
 The Sea 547 
 
 BRADLEY, MARY E. 
 
 A Wind from the Sea 356 
 
 Song 259 
 
 BRAINARD, JOHN GARDINER CAULKINS. 
 
 The Deep 144 
 
 The Sea-Bird's Song 241 
 
 BRIGGS, WILLIAM M. 
 
 The Haunted Glen 542 
 
 BROOKS, CHARLES T. 
 
 To the Sea 530 
 
 BROWNELL, HENRY HOWARD. 
 
 Alone . 425 
 
 At Sea 175 
 
INDEX OF AUTHORS. 597 
 
 BROWNING, ELIZABETH BARRETT. PAGE. 
 
 A Sabbath Morning at Sea 503 
 
 BROWNING, ROBERT. 
 
 From " Paracelsus " - t 
 
 Meeting at Night !6 2 
 
 Parting at Morning 3 4 3 
 
 BRYANT, WILLIAM CULLEN. 
 
 A Hymn of the Sea X g 4 
 
 A Song of Pitcairn's Island 4ig 
 
 Sonnet 433 
 
 The Tides I4 6 
 
 BUCHANAN, ROBERT. 
 
 Faces on the Wall 444 
 
 The Water Wraith . . . . 13 
 
 BURNS, JAMES DRUMMOND. 
 
 By the Seaside ,6j 
 
 BYRON, GEORGE GORDON NOEL. 
 
 From " Childe Harold's Pilgrimage " 49 i 
 
 From " Don Juan " 523 
 
 c. 
 
 CAMPBELL, THOMAS. 
 
 Ye Mariners of England 287 
 
 GARY, ALICE. 
 
 A Sea-Song 285 
 
 The Fire by the Sea I3 8 
 
 The Might of Love i 5 8 
 
 GARY, PHCEBE. 
 
 Ebb-Tide 35I 
 
 CHENEDOLLE, CHARLES DE. 
 
 Ode to the Sea [Translation Anonymous] 512 
 
 CLARK, SIMEON TUCKER. 
 
 Why the Sea Complains 245 
 
 CLARKE, JAMES FREEMAN. 
 
 White-capped Waves i 2I 
 
 CLEMMER, MARY. 
 
 By the Sea 336 
 
 CLOUGH, ARTHUR HUGH. 
 
 Becalmed at Sea [Qua Cursum Ventus\ 98 
 
 Farewell 294 
 
 Song ..... 444 
 
 COFFIN, ROBERT BARRY [Barry Gray\. 
 
 Ships at Sea 44 6 
 
 COLERIDGE, SAMUEL TAYLOR. 
 
 The Rime of the Ancient Mariner 57 
 
 COLLIER, THOMAS STEPHENS. 
 
 A Departing Ship 295 
 
 At Sea 
 
 293 
 
598 INDEX OF AUTHORS. 
 
 COLLIER, THOMAS STEPHENS, continued, PAGE. 
 
 From "The Sea" 225 
 
 On the Shore 445 
 
 Storm-Waves 286 
 
 The Helmsman 125 
 
 The Old Commodore 289 
 
 COOKE, HELEN M. 
 
 Sea-Music 376 
 
 CORNWALL, BARRY [Bryan Waller Procter}. 
 
 Address to the Ocean 520 
 
 The Sea 274 
 
 COWPER, WILLIAM. 
 
 The Castaway 191 
 
 CRABBE, GBORGE. 
 
 The Various Aspects of the Sea 286 
 
 CUNNINGHAM, ALLAN. 
 
 A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea 260 
 
 CURTIS, GEORGE WILLIAM. 
 
 Ebb and Flow 322 
 
 Music in the Air 296 
 
 337 
 
 D. 
 
 BALL* ONGARO, FRANCESCO. 
 
 The Ring of the Last Doge [Translated by HoweUs] 169 
 
 DANA, RICHARD HENRY. 
 
 Thou Little Beach-Bird 243 
 
 DAVIES, JOHN. 
 
 The Sea 310 
 
 DEFOREST, J. W. 
 
 The Sea-Maiden 131 
 
 DIBDIN, CHARLES. 
 
 Poor Jack 248 
 
 The Standing Toast 275 
 
 The Tar for all Weathers 102 
 
 DICKENS, CHARLES. 
 
 The Song of the Wreck 206 
 
 DOBELL, SIDNEY. 
 
 How's my Boy ? 16 
 
 DODGE, MARY MAPES. 
 
 The Child and the Sea 87 
 
 DORR, JULIA CAROLINE RIPLEY. 
 
 Easter Morning 416 
 
 " God Knows " 233 
 
 Hilda, Spinning 347 
 
 DOUBLEDAY, THOMAS. 
 
 The Sea-Cave 443 
 
INDEX OF AUTHORS. 599 
 
 DOUDNEY, SARAH. PAGE. 
 
 The Fisherman's Widow 383 
 
 DRAKE, JOSEPH RODMAN. 
 
 From " Culprit Fay " 518 
 
 DUFFIELD, SAMUEL WILLOUGHBV. 
 
 At the Harbor-Mouth 23 
 
 Jetsam. Introductory Poem xi 
 
 Land-locked 408 
 
 Lars' Song 74 
 
 On the Strand 183 
 
 Tendimus in Latium - 169 
 
 Vineta 473 
 
 DULCKEN, H. W. 
 
 The Sea-Captain's Farewell to his Child 216 
 
 E. 
 
 " ELIOT, GEORGE " [Marian Evans Cross], 
 
 From " The Spanish Gypsy " 491 
 
 EMERSON, RALPH WALDO. 
 
 From " Each and All" 352 
 
 Seashore 356 
 
 " EMERSON, RUTH " [Sarah Foster Davis], 
 
 Idling 534 
 
 To a Fossil Shell 181 
 
 EVALD, JOHANNES. 
 
 Song 234 
 
 F. 
 
 FALCONER, ROBERT. 
 
 From " The Shipwreck " 475 
 
 FARNINGHAM, MARIANNE. 
 
 " God knows " 189 
 
 FERGUSON, SIR SAMUEL. 
 
 Boatman's Hymn 563 
 
 The Forging of the Anchor 427 
 
 FIELDS, JAMES THOMAS. 
 
 Morning and Evening by the Sea 443 
 
 On a Book of Sea-Mosses 376 
 
 GARVIE, THOMAS. 
 
 Drowned 219 
 
 GAY, JOHN. 
 
 Sweet William's Farewell to Black-eyed Susan 266 
 
 GEIBEL, EMMANUEL. 
 
 Wellen-Geheimness [Translation Anonymous] 563 
 
 GERMAN, FROM THE. 
 
 The Sea [Translated by Pike] 280 
 
6 00 INDEX OF AUTHORS. 
 
 GILDER, RICHARD WATSON. PAGE. 
 
 A Barren Stretch that slants to the Salt Sea's Gray 337 
 
 Listening to Music 98 
 
 The New Day 23 
 
 " GLYNDON, HOWARD" [Laura C. /?. Searing}. 
 
 Drifting Apart 393 
 
 The Fishers go down to Sea 122 
 
 GOETHE, JOHANN WOLFGANG VON. 
 
 Calm at Sea [Translated by Bowring\ 164 
 
 The Fisherman f Translated by Bowring\ 333 
 
 GREEN, ANNA KATHARINE. 
 
 Pearls 400 
 
 GREENE, ROBERT. 
 
 From " A Looking-Glass for London and England" 224 
 
 H. 
 
 HAMILTON, EUGENE LEE. 
 
 Sonnet. Sea-Shell Murmurs 360 
 
 HARTE, FRANCIS BRET. 
 
 A Greyport Legend 350 
 
 Grandmother Tenterden 186 
 
 The Two Ships 244 
 
 To a Sea-Bird ' 77 
 
 HAYDEN, HENRY C. 
 
 Four Songs to the Sea 276 
 
 HAYNE, PAUL H. 
 
 In Harbor 457 
 
 HEINE, HEINRICH. 
 
 Song [ Translated by Boivring] 140 
 
 HEMANS, FELICIA. 
 
 The Treasures of the Deep 568 
 
 HERVARAR SAGA, FROM THE. 
 
 Song of the Berserks 193 
 
 HEY, WII.HELM. 
 
 God at Sea [Translated by Piatt} 168 
 
 HOARE, PRINCE. 
 
 The " Arethusa" 477 
 
 HOLMES, OLIVER WENDELL. 
 
 The Chambered Nautilus 270 
 
 The Steamboat 252 
 
 HOOD, THOMAS. 
 
 The Boy at the Nore 95 
 
 To the Ocean 592 
 
 HOUGHTON, GEORGE. 
 
 Evening 238 
 
 HOWELLS, WILLIAM DEAN. 
 
 The Ring of the Last Doge 169 
 
INDEX OF AUTHORS. 60 1 
 
 HUNT, LEIGH. PAGE. 
 
 A Tune on the Water 254 
 
 Leander Swimming 535 
 
 HUTCHINSON, ELLEN MACKAY. 
 
 A Cry from the Shore 247 
 
 I. 
 
 INGELOW, JEAN. 
 
 From " Brothers and a Sermon " 75 
 
 From " Supper at the Mill " 413 
 
 Sailing beyond Seas 251 
 
 Sea-Mews in Winter Time 402 
 
 The High Tide on the Coast of Lincolnshire 433 
 
 The Long White Seam 271 
 
 The Mariner's Cave 362 
 
 The Morning Watch 471 
 
 Winstanley 64 
 
 " INNSLY, OWEN" [Lucy White jfenntson]. 
 
 Impatience 592 
 
 JOHNS,' J. J. 
 
 A Stowaway 448 
 
 JOHNSON, ROSSITER. 
 
 My Ship 54 
 
 On the Cliff 320 
 
 K. 
 
 KALBECK. 
 
 Homeward [ Translated by A ndrews\ 130 
 
 KEATS, JOHN. 
 
 On the Sea 214 
 
 KIMBALL, HARRIET McEwEN. 
 
 Sonnets 118 
 
 KINGSLEY, CHARLES. 
 
 Song , . 4 8 
 
 Song from " The Water Babies " 476 
 
 The Night-Bird 265 
 
 The Sands o' Dee 62 
 
 The Three Fishers 79 
 
 The Tide-Rock 321 
 
 L. 
 
 LARCOM, LUCY. 
 
 Hannah Binding Shoes 373 
 
 Skipper Ben 328 
 
602 INDEX OF AUTHORS. 
 
 LATHROP, GEORGE PARSONS. PAGE. 
 Sailor's Song 123 
 
 LEAR, EDWARD. 
 
 Thejumblies 84 
 
 LELAND, CHARLES GODFREY. 
 
 Mountain and Sea 262 
 
 The Language of the Sea 240 
 
 LINLEY, GEORGE. 
 
 Though Lost to Sight, to Memory Dear 242 
 
 LOBO, FRAN-CISCO RODRIGUEZ. 
 
 Sonnet 215 
 
 LOCKHART'S SPANISH BALLADS. 
 
 Count Arnaldos 4 
 
 The Song of the Galley 164 
 
 LONGFELLOW, HENRY WADSWORTH. 
 
 A Summer Day by the Sea 411 
 
 Chrysaor 3 
 
 The Lighthouse 116 
 
 The Tides 442 
 
 LOVER, SAMTEL. 
 
 From " Handy Andy " 258 
 
 LOWELL, JAMES RUSSELL. 
 
 The Sirens . 313 
 
 LVTTON, EDWARD BULWER, LORD. 
 
 The Beacon 104 
 
 M. 
 
 MACAULAY, THOMAS BABINGTON. 
 
 The Armada 570 
 
 The Last Buccaneer 201 
 
 MACDONALD, GEORGE. 
 
 A Song of the Sea 240 
 
 Legend of the Corrievrechan 18 
 
 The Dead Hand 327 
 
 The Earl o' Quarterdeck in 
 
 The Sea-Shell 257 
 
 The Waters are Rising and Flowing 244 
 
 MACKAY, CHARLES. 
 
 The Sailor's Wife 281 
 
 MALLOCH, W. H. 
 
 Night Song 129 
 
 MANGAN, JAMES CLARENCE. 
 
 The Mariner's Bride 239 
 
 MCANDREW, MRS. B. 
 
 The Song of the Sea 318 
 
 " MEREDITH, OWEN " [Lord Robert Bulwer-Lytton\. 
 
 From " Clytemnestra " 101 
 
INDEX OF AUTHORS. 603 
 
 " MEREDITH, OWEN," continued. PAGE. 
 
 From " Lucile " 323 
 
 The Mermaiden 276 
 
 The Shore 440 
 
 To 102 
 
 MICKLE, WILLIAM JULIUS. 
 
 The Sailor's Wife 311 
 
 MILLER, " JOAQUIN " \Cincinnatus Hiner Miller\. 
 
 My Ship Comes in 91 
 
 Unloved and Alone 14 
 
 MITCHEL, WALTER. 
 
 Tacking Ship off Shore 24 
 
 MONTGOMERY, JAMES. 
 
 The Ocean 536 
 
 MOORE, THOMAS. 
 
 A Reflection at Sea 500 
 
 Come o'er the Sea 167 
 
 From " Lalla Rookh " 263 
 
 Oh, had we some Bright Little Isle of our Own 81 
 
 Song 398 
 
 The Meeting of the Ships 194 
 
 MOTHERWELL, WlLLIAM. 
 
 The Master of Weemys 91 
 
 MOULTON, LOUISE CHANDLER. 
 
 Alone by the Bay 415 
 
 A Quest 145 
 
 MiJLLER, WlLHELM. 
 
 Vineta [Translated by Duffiel<f\ 473 
 
 MULOCK, DINAH MARIA [Mrs. Craik\. 
 
 A Dream of Death 63 
 
 For Music 398 
 
 In Swanage Bay 202 
 
 On the Seashore 388 
 
 Sitting on the Shore 399 
 
 The Fisher-Maid 334 
 
 MYERS, FREDERIC W. H. 
 
 Wind, Moon, and Tides 425 
 
 N. 
 
 NEW, HERBERT. 
 
 Voices of the Sea 153 
 
 o. 
 
 O'CONNOR, JOSEPH. 
 
 If the Wind Rise 453 
 
 OLD ENGLISH BALLAD. 
 
 The Demon Lover 26 
 
604 INDEX OF AUTHORS. 
 
 OLD SCOTTISH BALLAD. PAGE. 
 
 Sir Patrick Spens 496 
 
 O'REILLY, JOHN BOYLE. 
 
 Prelude to "The Amber- Whale" 218 
 
 The Amber-Whale 578 
 
 The Fishermen of Wexford 153 
 
 The Flying Dutchman 297 
 
 The Last of the " Narwhale " 556 
 
 OSBORN, ALICE C. 
 
 A Sea-View 451 
 
 P. 
 
 PARDOE, JULIA. 
 
 The Beacon-Light 157 
 
 PEARCE, WILLIAM. 
 
 Heaving the Lead 90 
 
 PELTON, MARION L. 
 
 After the Storm 308 
 
 PERCIVAL, JAMES GATES. 
 
 The Coral-Grove 178 
 
 "PERCY, FLORENCE" [Elizabeth Akers Allen]. 
 
 My Ship 383 
 
 PHELPS, ELIZABETH STUART. 
 
 Rafe's Chasm, Cape Ann 452 
 
 Saturday Night in the Harbor 426 
 
 What the Sea says to the Shore 345 
 
 What the Shore says to the Sea 344 
 
 PIATT, JOHN JAMES. 
 
 God at Sea 168 
 
 PIKE, M. C. 
 
 The Sea 280 
 
 PITT, WILLIAM. 
 
 The Sailor's Consolation 185 
 
 POE, EDGAR ALLAN. 
 
 Annabel Lee 120 
 
 The City in the Sea 521 
 
 POLLARD, JOSEPHINE. 
 
 The Singers of the Sea 182 
 
 POLLOCK, EDWARD. 
 
 Olivia 235 
 
 POLLOK, ROBERT. 
 
 The Ocean 576 
 
 PRESTON, MARGARET JUNKIN. 
 
 Alcyone" 482 
 
 The Lady Riberta's Harvest 40 
 
 PROCTER, ADELAIDE ANNE. 
 
 The Storm 279 
 
INDEX OF AUTHORS. 605 
 
 PROCTER, BRYAN WALLER [" Barry Cornwall"}. PAGE. 
 
 Address to the Ocean 520 
 
 Is my Lover on the Sea? 355 
 
 The Sea 532 
 
 The Sea, in Calm '.'.'. 165 
 
 R. 
 
 REDI, FRANCESCA. 
 
 A Tune on the Waters [Translated by Hunt} 254 
 
 REILEY, MARY T. 
 
 Melusina 286 
 
 RICH, HIRAM. 
 
 In the Sea 222 
 
 ROSSETTI, CHRISTINA GEORGIANA. 
 
 By the Sea 3 8 g 
 
 Sleep at Sea 277 
 
 ROSSETTI, DANTE GABRIEL. 
 
 The Sea-Limits 
 
 361 
 
 RUCKERT, FRIEDRICH. 
 
 A Tear [ Translated by Bowen] 400 
 
 RUSKIN, JOHN. 
 
 The Old Seaman 255 
 
 s. 
 
 SANDARS, EDMUND. 
 
 The Sea I75 
 
 SANGSTER, MARGARET E. 
 
 A Day by the Sea 1IO 
 
 Wild Weather Outside 142 
 
 SARGENT, EPES. 
 
 A Life on the Ocean-Wave 454. 
 
 A Summer Noon at Sea 502 
 
 SCHIT.LER, JOHANN CHRISTOPH FRIEDRICH VON. 
 
 The Diver 3 o 
 
 SCOTT, CLEMENT W. 
 
 The Holy Light 55 
 
 SCOTT, SIR WALTER. 
 
 Song of the Mermaids and Mermen 414 
 
 The Maid of Isla 326 
 
 SEMEDO, BELCHIOR MANGEL CURVO. 
 
 Sonnet [ Translated by Bryant} 433 
 
 SHAKSPEARE, WILLIAM. 
 
 From " King Richard III." 404 
 
 Song ' 2? 8 
 
 SHARP, WILLIAM. 
 
 Shells on the Seashore 338 
 
606 IXDEX OF AUTHORS. 
 
 SHELLEY, PERCY BYSSHE. PAGE. 
 
 A Vision of the Sea 506 
 
 From " Prometheus Unbound " 506 
 
 Stanzas written in Dejection, near Naples 392 
 
 SILL, EDWARD ROWLAND. 
 
 A Tropical Morning at Sea 291 
 
 SMITH, ALEXANDER. 
 
 From " A Life Drama " 335 
 
 SMITH, ELIZABETH OAKES. 
 
 Jack Humphrey's Oath 8 
 
 The Drowned Mariner 148 
 
 The Fisher's Wedding 261 
 
 SOUTH EY, CAROLINE. 
 
 Mariner's Hymn 480 
 
 SOUTHEY, ROBERT. 
 
 Funeral at Sea 487 
 
 Henry the Hermit 455 
 
 Sonnet 449 
 
 The Inchcape Rock 37 
 
 SPANISH, FROM THE. 
 
 The Mariner's Bride [Translated by Mangaii\ 239 
 
 SPENSER, EDMUND. 
 
 From " The Faerie Queene " 533 
 
 SPOFFORD, HARRIET PRESCOTT. 
 
 Left Ashore 493 
 
 STEDMAN, EDMUND CLARENCE. 
 
 Surf 307 
 
 The Lord's Day Gale 466 
 
 STERLING, JOHN. 
 
 The Sea-Maid 250 
 
 STODDARD, RICHARD HENRY. 
 
 Hymn to the Sea 461 
 
 Out to Sea 195 
 
 The Sea 269 
 
 STOLBERG, FRIEDERICH LEOPOLD, GRAF zu. 
 
 To the Sea [Translated by Brooks} 53 
 
 STORM, THEODORE. 
 
 On the Strand [Translated by Duffield] 183 
 
 SUCKLING, SIR JOHN. 
 
 From " Love's World " 265 
 
 SWIFT, JONATHAN. 
 
 AtHolyhead '73 
 
 SWINBURNE, ALGERNON CHARLES. 
 
 By the North Sea 474 
 
 Child's Song in Winter 196 
 
 From " The Triumph of Time " 173 
 
 The Sailing of the " Swallow " 5< 
 
INDEX OF AUTHORS. 607 
 
 T. 
 
 TAYLOR, BAYARD. PAGE. 
 
 The Waves 272 
 
 Wind and Sea 80 
 
 TAYLOR, WILLIAM. 
 
 Song of the Berserks 193 
 
 TENNYSON, ALFRED. 
 
 A Sea-Shell 424 
 
 Break, Break, Break 161 
 
 From " In Memoriam " 170 
 
 The Mermaid 406 
 
 The Merman 404 
 
 The " Revenge " 208 
 
 The Sailor- Boy 562 
 
 The Sea-Fairies 411 
 
 The Voice and the Peak 179 
 
 The Voyage of Maeldune 548 
 
 THACKERAY, WILLIAM MAKEPEACE. 
 
 Little Billee 99 
 
 The White Squall 5 
 
 THAXTER, CELIA. 
 
 Revery 88 
 
 The Cruise of the " Mystery " 537 
 
 The Pimpernel 358 
 
 The Sandpiper 423 
 
 The Watch of Boon Island 330 
 
 With the Tide 21 
 
 TJLLLEY, W. J. 
 
 The Mystic Steersman 409 
 
 TRENCH, ARCHBISHOP RICHARD CHENEVIX. 
 
 At Sea ' 289 
 
 TROWBRIDGE, JOHN TOWNSEND. 
 
 At Sea 137 
 
 TURNER, ALICE. 
 
 Remembrance 217 
 
 TURNER, CHARLES [TENNYSON]. 
 
 The Ocean 218 
 
 The Seaside 200 
 
 u. 
 
 UHLAND, JOHANN LUDWIG. 
 
 Hopes and Waves [Translation Anonymous} 401 
 
 V. 
 
 VAN DUZEE, IRA D. 
 
 The Sea 151 
 
608 INDEX OF AUTHORS. 
 
 W. 
 
 WEATHERLY, FREDERICK E. PAGE. 
 
 Nancy Lee 127 
 
 Polly 128 
 
 WEEKS, ROBERT K. 
 
 By the Bay 223 
 
 Calm and Cold 290 
 
 Song 293 
 
 On the Beach 442 
 
 On the Shore 445 
 
 WELBY, AMELIA B. 
 
 Twilight at Sea 157 
 
 WHITTIER, JOHN GREENLEAF. 
 
 A Sea-Dream 564 
 
 The Fishermen 528 
 
 The "Three Bells" 78 
 
 WILDE, OSCAR. 
 
 Silhouettes 387 
 
 WILLIAMS, ALFRED M. 
 
 The Sea-Serpent 220 
 
 WILSON, JOHN [" Christopher North"}. 
 
 The Shipwreck 574 
 
 WOOLSON, CONSTANCE FENNIMORE. 
 
 The Florida Beach 380 
 
 WORDSWORTH, WILLIAM. 
 
 By the Seaside 374 
 
 It is a Beauteous Evening 343 
 
 The Sailor's Mother 316 
 
INDEX OF POEMS. 
 
 A. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Address to the Ocean Procter 520 
 
 After the Storm . Pelton 308 
 
 Alcyone Preston. 482 
 
 Alone Brownell 425 
 
 Alone by the Bay Moulton . . - 415 
 
 Annabel Lee Poe 120 
 
 Amber- Whale, The O'Reilly 578 
 
 " Arethusa," The Prince Hoare 477 
 
 Armada, The Macaulay 570 
 
 At Dover Cliffs Bowles 215 
 
 At Holyhead Swift 173 
 
 At Sea Brownell 175 
 
 At Sea Collier 293 
 
 At Sea Trench . . 289 
 
 At Sea Trowbridge 137 
 
 At the Harbor-Mouth Dujfteld 23 
 
 B. 
 
 Barren Stretch that slants to the Salt Sea's 
 
 Gray, A Gilder 337 
 
 Babette Anonymous 324 
 
 Ballad of Nantucket, A Anonymous 162 
 
 Beacon, The Lytton 104 
 
 Beacon-Light, The Pardoe 157 
 
 Becalmed at Sea (Qua Cursum Ventus) . Clough 98 
 
 609 
 
6 10 INDEX OF PO.}fS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Boatie Rows, The Unknown 
 
 Boatman's Hymn Anonymous 563 
 
 Boy at the Nore, The Hood 95 
 
 Break, Break, Break Tennyson 161 
 
 " Brothers and a Sermon," From .... Ingelow 75 
 
 By the Bay Week* 223 
 
 By the North Sea Swinburne 474 
 
 By the Sea Anonymous 431 
 
 By the Sea Clemmer 336 
 
 By the Sea C. G. Rossetti 389 
 
 By the Seaside J. D. Burns 161 
 
 By the Seaside Wordsworth 374 
 
 C. 
 
 Calm and Cold Weeks 290 
 
 Calm at Sea Bowring 164 
 
 Castaway, The Copper 191 
 
 Chambered Nautilus, The Holmes 270 
 
 " Childe Harold's Pilgrimage," From . . Byron 491 
 
 Child and the Sea, The Dodge 87 
 
 Child's Song in Winter Swinburne 196 
 
 Chrysaor Longfellow 3 
 
 City in the Sea, The Poe 521 
 
 " Crytemnestra," From " Owen Meredith " . . . . 101 
 
 Come o'er the Sea . Moore 167 
 
 Coral-Grove, The Percrval 178 
 
 Count Amaldos Lockharfs Spanish Ballads, 4 
 
 Cruise of the " Mystery," The Thaxter 537 
 
 Cry from the Shore, A Hutchinson 247 
 
 " Culprit Fay," From Drake 518 
 
 D. 
 
 Day by the Sea, A Sangster no 
 
 Dead Hand, The Macdonald 327 
 
 Deep, The Brainard 144 
 
 Deep-Sea Soundings Anonymous 135 
 
 Demon Lover, The Old English Ballad .... 26 
 
 Departing Ship, A Collier 295 
 
 Diver, The Schiller 30 
 
 " Don Juan," From Byron 523 
 
 Dover Beach Matthew Arnold 479 
 
 Dream of Death, A Mulock 63 
 
 "Drift," From George Arnold 3*2 
 
 Drifting Apart " Howard Glyndon "... 393 
 
 Drowned Garvie 219 
 
 Drowned Mariner, The E. O. Smith 148 
 
INDEX OF POEMS. 6ll 
 E. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 " Each and All," From Emerson 352 
 
 Earl o" Quarterdeck, The Macdonald in 
 
 Easter Morning Dorr 416 
 
 Ebb and Flow Curtis 322 
 
 Ebb-Tide Phcebe Gary 351 
 
 Enchanted Island, The ....... Anonymous 36 
 
 Evening Houghton 238 
 
 F. 
 
 Faces on the Wall Buchanan 444 
 
 Faerie Queene," From " The Spenser 533 
 
 Farewell Clough 294 
 
 Fire by the Sea, The Alice Gary 138 
 
 First Sight of the Sea . Barton 439 
 
 Fisher-Maid, The Mulock 334 
 
 Fisherman, The Bowring 333 
 
 Fisherman's Widow, The Doudney 385 
 
 Fishermen, The Whittier 528 
 
 Fishermen of Wexford, The O'Reilly 153 
 
 Fishers go down to Sea, The " Howard Glyndon " . . . 122 
 
 Fisher's Wedding, The E. O. Smith 261 
 
 Florida Beach, The Woolson 380 
 
 Flying Dutchman, The O'Reilly 297 
 
 Forging of the Anchor, The Ferguson 427 
 
 For Music Mulock 398 
 
 Forsaken Merman, The ....... Matthew Arnold 338 
 
 Four Songs to the Sea Hayden 276 
 
 Funeral at Sea Southey ........ 487 
 
 G. 
 
 God at Sea Piatt 168 
 
 God bless the Ships A nonymous 29 
 
 "God Knows" Farningham 189 
 
 " God Knows " Dorr 233 
 
 Grandmother Tenterden Harte 186 
 
 Greyport Legend, A Harte 350 
 
 H. 
 
 " Handy Andy," From Lover 258 
 
 Hannah Binding Shoes Larcom 373 
 
 Haunted Glen, The Briggs 542 
 
 Heaving the Lead Pearce 90 
 
 Helmsman, The Collier 125 
 
 Henry the Hermit Southey 455 
 
612 INDEX OF POEMS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 High Tide on the Coast of Lincolnshire, The Ingelow ........ 433 
 
 Hilda, Spinning .......... Dorr ......... 347 
 
 Holy Light, The ......... C. W. Scott ....... 55 
 
 Homeward ........... Andrews ....... 130 
 
 Hopes and Waves ......... Anonymous, Translation . 401 
 
 How's my Boy? ......... Dobell ......... T 6 
 
 Hymn of the Sea, A ........ Bryant ........ Ig4 
 
 Hymn to the Sea ......... Stoddard ....... 4 6i 
 
 I. 
 
 Idling ............. " Ruth Emerson " .... 534 
 
 If the Wind Rise ......... O'Connor ....... 453 
 
 Impatience ........... " Owen Innsly " ..... 592 
 
 Inchcape Rock, The ........ Southey ........ 37 
 
 In Harbor ........... Hayne ... ..... 457 
 
 " In Memoriam," From ....... Tennyson ....... 170 
 
 In Swanage Bay ......... Mulock ........ 202 
 
 In the Sea ............ Rich ......... 222 
 
 It is a Beauteous Evening ...... Wordsworth ...... 343 
 
 Is my Lover on the Sea ? ....... Procter ........ 355 
 
 Jack Humphrey's Oath ....... E. O. Smith ...... 8 
 
 Jetsam ............. Duffield, Introductory Poem, xi 
 
 Jubilate ............ George Arnold ..... 44 
 
 Jumblies, The .......... Lear ......... 84 
 
 K. 
 
 " King Richard III.," From ..... Shakspeare ....... 404 
 
 L. 
 
 Lady of Castelnore, The ....... Aldrich ........ 353 
 
 Lady Riberta's Harvest, The ..... Preston ........ 40 
 
 " Lalla Rookh," From ....... Moore ......... 263 
 
 Land-Locked ........... Duffield ........ 408 
 
 Language of the Sea, The ...... Leland ........ 240 
 
 liars' Song ........... Duffield ........ 74 
 
 Last Buccaneer, The ........ Macaulay ....... 201 
 
 Last of the " Narwhale," The ..... O'Reilly ........ 556 
 
 Leak in the Dike, The ....... A nonymous ....... 49 
 
 Leander Swimming ......... Hunt ......... 535 
 
 Left Ashore ........... Spofford ........ 493 
 
 Legend of the Corrievrechan ..... Macdonald ....... 18 
 
 Life Drama," From " A ....... Alexander Smith .... 335 
 
INDEX OF POEMS. 613 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Life on the Ocean- Wave, A Sargent 454 
 
 Lighthouse, The Longfellow 116 
 
 Listening to Music Gilder 98 
 
 Little Billee Thackeray 99 
 
 Little Seaman, The From the Swedish .... 45 
 
 Long White Seam, The Ingelow 271 
 
 Looking-Glass for London and England," 
 
 From "A Greene 224 
 
 Lord's Day Gale, The Stedman 466 
 
 " Love's World," From Suckling 265 
 
 " Lucile," From " Owen Meredith " . . . . 323 
 
 M. 
 
 Maid of Isla, The Scott 326 
 
 Mariner's Bride, The Mangan 239 
 
 Mariner's Cave, The Ingelow 362 
 
 Mariner's Hymn Caroline Southey .... 480 
 
 Master of Weemys, The Motherwell 91 
 
 Meeting at Night Robert Browning .... 162 
 
 Meeting of the Ships, The Moore 194 
 
 Melusina Reiley 386 
 
 Mermaid, The Tennyson 406 
 
 Mermaiden, The " Owen Meredith " . . . . 276 
 
 Merman, The Tennyson 404 
 
 Might of Love, The Alice Gary 158 
 
 Missing Anonymous 390 
 
 Morning and Evening by the Sea .... Fields 443 
 
 Morning Watch, The iitgelow 471 
 
 Mountain and Sea Leland 262 
 
 Music in the Air Curtis 296 
 
 My Ship " Florence Percy " . . . . 383 
 
 My Ship comes in Miller 91 
 
 My Ship Johnson 54 
 
 Mystic Steersman, The Tilley 409 
 
 N. 
 
 Nancy Lee Weatherly 127 
 
 New Day, The Gilder 23 
 
 Night-Bird, The Kingslcy 265 
 
 Night Song Malloch 129 
 
 No More Sea Bonar 140 
 
 o. 
 
 Ocean, The Montgomery 536 
 
 Ocean, The . Robert Pollok 576 
 
6 14 INDEX OF POEMS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Ocean, The Charles (Tennyson) Turner, 218 
 
 Ode to the Sea Anonymous, Translation . 512 
 
 Oh, had we Some Bright Little Isle of our 
 
 Own ! Moore 81 
 
 Old Commodore, The Collier 289 
 
 Old Seaman, The Ruskin 255 
 
 Olivia Edward Pollock 235 
 
 On a Book of Sea-Mosses Fields 376 
 
 On the Beach Weeks 442 
 
 On the Cliff Johnson 320 
 
 On the Sea Keats 214 
 
 On the Seashore Mnlock 388 
 
 On the Shore Collier 445 
 
 On the Shore Weeks 445 
 
 On the Strand Duffield 183 
 
 Out of Sight of Land Bates 82 
 
 Out to Sea Stoddard 195 
 
 Over the Sea Bennett 280 
 
 P. 
 
 " Paracelsus," From Robert Browning .... 71 
 
 Parting at Morning Robert Browning .... 343 
 
 Pearls Green 400 
 
 Pilot-Boat, The Allingham 166 
 
 Pimpernel, The Thaxter 358 
 
 Polly Weatherly 128 
 
 Poor Jack Dibdin 248 
 
 Prelude to " The Amber-Whale " . . . . O'Reilly 218 
 
 " Prometheus Unbound," From .... Shelley 506 
 
 Q. 
 
 Qua Cursum Ventus [Becalmed at Sea] . Clongh 98 
 
 Quest, A Moulton 145 
 
 R. 
 
 Rafe's Chasm, Cape Ann Phelps 452 
 
 Reflection at Sea, A Moore 5 
 
 Relic on the Rocks, The A nonymous 395 
 
 Remembrance Alice Turner 217 
 
 Restlessness Allen 45 
 
 " Revenge," The Tennyson 208 
 
 Revery Thaxter . 88 
 
 Rime of the Ancient Mariner, The . . . Coleridge -57 
 
 Ring of the Last Doge, The HowelU 168 
 
INDEX OF POEMS. 615 
 S. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Sabbath Morning at Sea, A E, B. Browning 503 
 
 Sailing beyond Seas Ingelow 251 
 
 Sailing of the " Swallow," The .... Swinburne 500 
 
 Sailor, The Allingham 15 
 
 Sailor-Boy, The Tennyson 562 
 
 Sailor's Consolation, The Pitt 185 
 
 Sailor's Mother, The Wordsworth 316 
 
 Sailor's Song Lathrop 123 
 
 Sailor's Wife, The Mackay 281 
 
 Sailor's Wife, The Mickle 311 
 
 Sandpiper, The Thaxter 423 
 
 Sands o' Dee, The Kingsley 62 
 
 Saturday Night in the Harbor Phelps 426 
 
 Sea," From " The Collier 225 
 
 Sea, The Boyesen 547 
 
 Sea, The " Barry Cornwall "... 274 
 
 Sea, The - . Davis 310 
 
 Sea, The Pike 280 
 
 Sea, The Procter 532 
 
 Sea, The Sandars 175 
 
 Sea, The Stoddard 269 
 
 Sea, The Van Duzee 151 
 
 Sea-Bird's Song, The Brainard 241 
 
 Sea-Captain's Farewell to his Child, The . Dulcken 216 
 
 Sea-Cave, The Doubleday 443 
 
 Sea-Dream, A Whittier 564 
 
 Sea-Drift Aldrich 421 
 
 Sea-Fairies, The Tennyson 411 
 
 Sea, In Calm, The Procter 165 
 
 Sea- Limits, The D, G. Rossetti 361 
 
 Sea-Maid, The Sterling 250 
 
 Sea-Maiden, The DeForest 131 
 
 Sea-Mews in Winter Time Ingelow 402 
 
 Sea-Music Cooke 376 
 
 Sea-Serpent, The Williams 220 
 
 Sea-Shell, A Tennyson 424 
 
 Sea-Shell, The Macdonald 257 
 
 Seashore Emerson 396 
 
 Seaside, The Charles ( Tennyson} Turner, 200 
 
 Sea-Song, A Alice Gary 285 
 
 Sea-View, A Osborne 451 
 
 Shells on the Seashore Sharp 338 
 
 Ships at Sea Coffin 446 
 
 Shipwreck," From " The Falconer 475 
 
 Shipwreck, The Wilson 574 
 
 Shore, The " Owen Meredith " . . . . 440 
 
6i6 INDEX OF POEMS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Silhouettes Wilde 387 
 
 Silver Bridge, The Allen 448 
 
 Singers of the Sea, The Pollard 182 
 
 Sirens, The Lowell 3*3 
 
 Sir Patrick Spens Old Scottish Ballad ... 496 
 
 Sitting on the Shore Mithick 399 
 
 Skipper Ben Larcom 328 
 
 Sleep at Sea C. G. Rossetti 377 
 
 Song Anonymous 264 
 
 Song Bowring 140 
 
 Song Bradley 259 
 
 Song Clough 444 
 
 Song Curtis 337 
 
 Song Evald 234 
 
 Song Kingsley 48 
 
 Song Moore 398 
 
 Song " North American Review" 422 
 
 Song Weeks 293 
 
 Song Shakspeare 278 
 
 Song of Pitcairn's Island, A Bryant 419 
 
 Song of the Berserks Taylor 193 
 
 Song of the Galley, The Lockhart's Spanish Ballads, 164 
 
 Song of the Mermaids and Mermen . . . Walter Scott 414 
 
 Song of the Sea, A Wacdonald 240 
 
 Song of the Sea, The Me Andrew 318 
 
 Song of the Wreck, The Dickens 206 
 
 Sonnet A damson 215 
 
 Sonnet Bryant 433 
 
 Sonnet Southey 449 
 
 Sonnets Kimball 118 
 
 Sonnet. Sea-Shell Murmurs Hamilton 360 
 
 Spanish Gypsy," From " The " George Eliot" 491 
 
 Standing Toast, The Dibdin 275 
 
 Stanzas written in Dejection Shelley 392 
 
 Steamboat, The Holmes 252 
 
 Storm, The A.A.Procter 279 
 
 Storm-Waves Collier 286 
 
 Story of a Stowaway, The " Punch " 514 
 
 Stowaway, A Johns 448 
 
 Summer Day by the Sea, A . . . . . Longfellow 411 
 
 Summer Longings Anonymous 268 
 
 Summer Noon at Sea, A Sargent 502 
 
 "Supper at the Mill," From Ingelow 4 J 3 
 
 Surf Stedman 37 
 
 Swanage Bay, In Mulock 202 
 
 Sweet William's Farewell to Black-Eyed 
 
 Susan Gay 266 
 
INDEX OF POEMS. 617 
 T. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Tacking Ship off Shore Mitchel 24 
 
 Tar for all Weathers, The Dibdiu 102 
 
 Tear, A Boiven 400 
 
 Temple, The Anonymous 184 
 
 Tendimus in Latium Dujfield 169 
 
 Though Lost to Sight Linley 242 
 
 Thou Little Beach-Bird Dana 243 
 
 " Three Bells," The Whittier . 78 
 
 Three Fishers, The Kingsley 79 
 
 Tides, The Bryant 146 
 
 Tides, The Longfellow 442 
 
 Tide-Rock, The Kingsley 321 
 
 'Tis Love's to love the Sea Bourdillon 401 
 
 To a Fossil Shell " Ruth Emerson " . . . . 181 
 
 To a Sea-Bird Harte 77 
 
 To " Owen Meredith " . . . . 102 
 
 To the Ocean Hood 592 
 
 To Sea Beddoes 246 
 
 To the Sea Brooks 530 
 
 " Treasures of the Deep," The Hemans . , 568 
 
 Triumph of Time," From " The .... Swinburne 173 
 
 Tropical Morning at Sea, A Sill 291 
 
 Twilight at Sea Welby 157 
 
 Two Ships, The Harte 244 
 
 Tune on the Water, A Hunt 254 
 
 u. 
 
 Unloved and Alone Miller 14 
 
 V. 
 
 Various Aspects of the Sea ,....-. Crabbe 286 
 
 Vineta Dujfield 473 
 
 Vision of the Sea, A Shelley 506 
 
 Voice and the Peak, The Tennyson 179 
 
 Voices of the Sea A nonymous 382 
 
 Voices of the Sea New 153 
 
 Voyage of Maeldune, The Tennyson 548 
 
 w. 
 
 Watch of Boon Island, The Thaxter 330 
 
 Water Babies," Song from "The .... Kingsley 476 
 
 Waters are Rising and Flowing, The . . Macdonald 244 
 
 Water Wraith, The Buchanan 13 
 
 Waves " The Dial" 135 
 
 Waves, The Bayard Taylor 272 
 
618 INDEX OF POEMS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Wellen-Geheimness Anonymous, Translation, . 563 
 
 Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea, A .... Cunningham. 260 
 
 What the Sea says to the Shore .... Phelps 345 
 
 What the Shore says to the Sea .... Phelps 344 
 
 White-Capped Waves Clarke 121 
 
 White Squall, The Thackeray 5 
 
 Wild Weather Outside Sangster 142 
 
 Wind and Sea Bayard Taylor 80 
 
 Wind from the Sea, A Bradley 356 
 
 Wind, Moon, and Tides Myers 425 
 
 Winstanley Ingelow 64 
 
 With the Tide Thaxter 21 
 
 Why the Sea complains Clark 245 
 
 Y. 
 
 Ye Mariners of England Campbell 287 
 
THE ONLY COMPLETE LINE OF POETS PUBLISHED IN 
 THIS COUNTRY. 
 
 CROWELL'S 
 
 RED LINE POETS. 
 
 59 Volumes. 12mo. Per Volume, $1.25. 
 
 GILT EDGES, RED LINE BORDERS, ILLUSTRATED, 
 AND ELEGANTLY BOUND in new and beautiful designs. 
 
 The NEW DESIGNS for the covers are especially 
 attractive and in keeping with the superior quality of 
 paper, presswork and binding, which combine to make 
 this series so justly popular with the trade and the 
 general public, whose demands during the past year 
 have severely taxed our ability to supply promptly. 
 
 We would call special attention to our new ALLI- 
 GATOR LEATHER BINDINGS, which will prove 
 an attractive feature, and are offered at very low 
 rates. 
 
 The following now comprise the list: 
 
 *AURORA LEIGH. 
 
 HOOD. 
 
 *POE (EDGAR A.). 
 
 *BROWNING (MRS.). 
 
 ILIAD. 
 
 POPE. 
 
 *BROWNING (ROBERT). 
 
 IRISH MELODIES. 
 
 ^PROCTER. 
 
 *BURNS. 
 
 *JEAN INGELOW. 
 
 *RED LETTKR POEMS. 
 
 *BYRON. 
 
 KEATS. 
 
 *ROSSETTI (DANTE G.). 
 
 CAMPBELL. 
 
 *LADY OF THE LAKE. 
 
 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 CHAUCER. 
 
 *LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 *SCHILLER. 
 
 COLERIDGE. 
 
 *LAY OF THE LAST MIN- 
 
 *SCOTT. 
 
 COOK (ELIZA). 
 
 STREL. 
 
 *SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 COWPER. 
 
 *LUCILE. 
 
 *SHELLEY. 
 
 CRABBE. 
 
 MACAULAY. 
 
 SHIPTON (ANNA). 
 
 DANTE. 
 
 *MARMION. 
 
 SPENSER. 
 
 DRYDEN. 
 
 *MEREDITH (OWEN). 
 
 SURF AND WAVE. 
 
 *ELIOT (GEORGE). 
 
 *MlLTON. 
 
 *SWINBURNE. 
 
 *FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 MULOCK (MISS). 
 
 *TENNYSON. 
 
 *FAUST (GOETHE'S). 
 
 *MOORE. 
 
 THOMSON. 
 
 GOETHE'S POEMS. 
 
 ODYSSEY. 
 
 TUPPER. 
 
 *GOLDSMITH. 
 
 OSSIAN. 
 
 VIRGIL. 
 
 *HEMANS. 
 
 PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 WHITE (KiRKE). 
 
 HERBERT. 
 
 POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
 
 *WORDSWORTH. 
 
 The above are also furnished with PLAIN EDGES, NOT ILLUSTRATED, at $1.00 
 per volume. 
 
 Those marked with an asterisk (*) furnished in ALLIGATOR LEATHER, at $3.00 
 per volume. 
 
 For Sale by all Booksellers. 
 
 Thomas Y. Crowell & Co., 13 Astor Place, N.Y. 
 
POPULAR POETS. 
 
 Crowell's Favorite Illustrated Edition. 
 
 WITH DESIGNS BY 
 
 TAYLOR, MERRILL, WOODWARD, SCHELL, GIFFORD, GARRETT, HAYDEN, 
 and other eminent artists. 
 
 Printed on fine Calendered Paper, bound in attractive style for 
 Holiday Gifts. Sq. 8vo, Gilt Edge, S3. 50 per vol. Full Mor. Antique 
 or Tree Calf, !$6.OO. 
 
 AURORA LEIGH. 
 
 BROWNING (MRS.)- 
 
 BROWNING (ROBERT). 
 
 BURNS. 
 
 BYRON. 
 
 DANTE. 
 
 FAVORITE. 
 
 FAUST. 
 
 GOLDSMITH. 
 
 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 LADY OF THE LAKE. 
 
 LAY OF THE LAST 
 
 MINSTREL. 
 
 LUCILE. 
 M ARM ION. 
 
 MEREDITH (OWEN). 
 
 MILTON. 
 
 MOORE. 
 
 SCOTT. 
 
 SWINBURNE. 
 
 TENNYSON. 
 
 The illustrations for these volumes are deserving of especial mention, 
 having been prepared at great expense, a large proportion of them 
 engraved by Geo. T. Andrew, whose work on " The Cambridge Book of 
 Poetry " adds so much to its value. 
 
 The paper, printing, and binding are also first-class in all respects, and 
 no effort has been spared to make this series attractive and popular. 
 
 The price has also been fixed at a low rate, in order to insure the favor 
 of the public ; and it is hoped that this line of Poets will prove adapted 
 to the wants of those desiring attractive books at popular prices. 
 
 Thomas Y. Crowell & Co., 13 Astor Place, N.Y. 
 
"Remember Jacob Abbott's sensible rule to give children something that 
 
 they are growing up to, not away from, and keep down the 
 
 stock of children's books to the very best." 
 
 CLASSIC JUVENILES 
 
 BY JACOB ABBOTT, 
 
 ''The, Prince of Writers for the Young." 
 
 " Jacob Abbott's books con- 
 tain so much practical wisdom 
 concerning the every-day life 
 of children, and so many les- 
 sons in honor, truthfulness, 
 and courtesy, that they should 
 not be left out of the libraries 
 of boys and girls." From 
 "Books for Ihe Young " com- 
 piled by C. M. Htu-ins, Libra- 
 ricm of the Hartford Library 
 Association. 
 
 ABBOTT'S AMERICAN HISTORIES FOR YOUTH. 
 
 Illustrated by Darley, Herrick, Chapiii, and others. 12mo . 
 
 8 vols. 
 
 . $10.00 
 
 I. Aboriginal America. 
 II. Discovery of America. 
 
 III. The Southern Colonies. 
 
 IV. The Northern Colonies. 
 
 V. "Wars of the Colonies. 
 VI. The Revolt of the Colonies. 
 VII. The War of the Revolution. 
 VIII. George Washington. 
 
 THE ROT.T.O BOOKS. 14 vols. Illustrated. IGmo 14.00 
 
 Rollo Learning to Talk. Rollo's Museum. 
 
 Rollo Learning to Read. Rollo's Travels. 
 
 Rollo at Work. Rollo's Correspondence. 
 
 Rollo at Play. Rollo's Philosophy Water. 
 
 Rollo at School. Rollo's Philosophy Air. 
 
 Rollo's Vacation. Rollo's Philosophy Fire. 
 
 Rollo's Experiments. Rollo's Philosophy Sky. 
 
 THE JONAS BOOKS. 6 vols. Illustrated. 16mo 6.00 
 
 Jonas a Judge. Jonas's Stories. 
 
 Caleb in Town. Jonas on a Farm in Summer. 
 
 Caleb in the Country. Jonas on a Farm in Winter. 
 
 THE LUCY BOOKS. 6 vols. Illustrated. 16mo 6.00 
 
 Lucy Among the Mountains. Lucy at Study. 
 
 Lucy's Conversations. Lucy at Play. 
 
 Lucy on the Sea Shore. Stories Told to Cousin Lucy, 
 
 AUGUST STORIES. 4 vols. Illustrated. 16mo 5.00 
 
 August and Elvie. I Schooner Mary Ann. 
 
 Hunter and Tom. 1 Granville Valley. 
 JUNO STORIES. 4 vols. Illustrated. 16mo 5.00 
 
 Hubert. I Juno on a Journey. 
 
 Juno and Georgie. Mary Osborne. 
 
STANDARD AND MISCELLANEOUS 
 BOOKS. 
 
 The Cambridge Book of Poetry and Song. Selected from 
 
 English and American Authors, by CHAKLOTTE P, BATES, compiler 
 of " The Longfellow Birthday Book," Seven Voices of Sympathy," 
 etc. Illustrated by the best artists. Containing many selections 
 found in no other compilation. Carefully indexed and a most at- 
 tractive and valuable Book of Reference. Royal Svo. 
 
 Cloth, ffilt .... 0.00 I Full morocco . . $10.00 
 Half morocco . . . 7.50 | Tree calf . . . .12.00 
 
 Surf and Wave. A Collection of Poems and Ballads of the Sea. 
 
 Compiled by ANNA L. WABD. Finely Illustrated. 12mo. . . 2.00 
 Gilt edge " 
 
 A Dictionary of Poetical Quotations. Based upon that of 
 Henry G. Bohn. .:ul Enlarged by the addition 
 
 of over 1200 Quotations. Crown Svo. Bevelled "boards . . . 2.50 
 Interleaved edition .......... 3.50 
 
 Foster's Cyclopaedias of Illustrations. Containing over 16,000 
 Quotation's from Prose and Poetic Literature, on all Subjects which 
 come within the ran ire of Christian Teaching. Prose Illustrations, 
 Vols. I. and II.; Poetical Illustrations, Vols. I. and II. Price in 
 Cloth, 5.00; in Sheep. So. 00 per volume. 
 
 Conybeare & Howson's Life of St. Paul. 12mo. Illustrated 
 
 edition .... S'1.50 | Popular edition . . . 1.00 
 
 Muller's Life of Trust. 12mo 1.50 
 
 Fleetwood's Life of Christ. X2mo 1.50 
 
 Smith's Bible Dictionary. Svo 2.00 
 
 Anna Shipton's Works. Ten vols. IGnio. Cloth . . . 7.50 
 
 Paper 2.50 
 
 Charles Lamb's Works. Three vols. 12mo 3.75 
 
 Disraeli's Works. Six vols. 12mo 7.50 
 
 Hallam's Works. Six vols. 12 mo 7.50 
 
 Milinau's Works. Eight vols. I2mo 12.00 
 
 Dickens' Works. Fifteen vols. 12mo 18.75 
 
 Thackeray's Works. Eleven vols. 12mo 13.75 
 
 Waverly Novels. Twelve vols. 12mo 15.00 
 
 Hume's England. Three vols. 12mo 4.50 
 
 Shakespeare. Svo. 73 Illustrations. Plain edge .... 3.00 
 
 lire .... 3.50 | Sheep 3.50 
 
 Goethe's Works. People's edition. Five vols. 12mo. . . . 7.50 
 
 Cambridge edition. Ten vols. Svo. Gilt top 15.00 
 
 Flowers of the Field and Forest. With Fourteen Colored Plates 
 of Wild Flowers, from Originals, bv ISAAC SPRAGUE. Quarto. 
 
 Elegantly bound . 6.00 
 
 Beautiful Wild Flowers of America. Fourteen Superbly Col- 
 ored Plates, from original Water-Color Drawings after Nature, by 
 
 ISAAC SPRAGUE. Quarto. Gilt ". 6.00 
 
 Beautiful Ferns. Containing Fourteen Superbly Colored Plates of 
 
 our American Ferns. Quarto. Gilt 6.00 
 
 History of Architecture in all Countries. By JAMES FER- 
 
 - x. Royal Svo. Two vols. Per vol. .".... H.OO 
 
BY WILLIAM M. THAYER. 
 
 The Poor Boy and the Merchant Prince; OR, THE LIFE OP 
 
 AMOS LAWRENCE. 16mo $1.00 
 
 The Good Girl and the True Woman; OR, THE LIFE OF 
 
 MARY LYON. 16mo 1.00 
 
 Nelson ; OR, How A COUNTRY BOY MADE HIS WAY IN THE CITY. 
 Being Incidents in the Life of a Successful Merchant of Boston. 
 16mo 1.25 
 
 Mr. Thayer has written many books for juvenile readers, and all 
 his works are stimulating and helpful to young people who desire 
 to succeed in life. 
 
 Christmas Plum-Pudding Stories. A charming collection of 
 
 stories by popular writers. Illustrated. Quarto .... 1.50 
 
 Off to the Wilds. By GEO. MANVILLE FENN. A Story of Hunt- 
 ing Adventures in South Africa. A favorite book with' the boys. 
 Sq. 8vo. Fully Illustrated 1.75 
 
 The Mutiny on Board the Leander. By BERNARD HELDMANN. 
 A Story of Strange Adventures in the Southern Pacific. Sq. 8vo. 
 24 Illustrations 1.75 
 
 Martin the Skipper. By JAMES F. COBB, author of " The Watch- 
 ers on the Longships," etc. A Tale for Boys and Seafaring 
 Folk. 12mo 1.50 
 
 The Watchers on the Longships. By JAMES F. COBB. A Stoiy 
 of Thrilling Interest, founded on fact," illustrating Moral Heroism 
 and Faithfulness to Duty. 12mo 1.50 
 
 A Home in the Holy Land. By Mrs. FINN. An excellent and 
 faithful Description of Home Life in the Holy Land at the Present 
 Day. 12mo 1.50 
 
 Dora's Boy. By Mrs. ELLEN Ross. A well-written and entertain- 
 ing Story for Boys, illustrating the Practical Beauty of True Chris- 
 tianity. 12mo 1.25 
 
 The Farmer Boy; OR, How HE BECAME COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF. 
 
 The Life of George Washington. By Uncle Juvenal. 16mo . 1.00 
 
 A Year at Poplar Row. By MARCH ELLINWOOD. A noble ideal 
 
 of Christian Girlhood and Young Womanhood. 16mo . . .1.00 
 
 Almost too Late. By Mrs. H. B. PAUL. 16mo . . . .1.00 
 Knowing and Doing. By Mrs. H. B. PAUL. 16mo . . . 1.00 
 
 Two companion books illustrating the gi-aces of overcoming evil 
 with good, industry, patience in trials, etc. 
 
 Three Judges. By ISRAEL P. WARREN. 16mo . . . .1.25 
 
 A capitally told true story of the three judges of the court which 
 beheaded Charles I. in the times of the English Revolution, 1640- 
 1659. Introduction by Rev. Leonard Bacon, D.D. 
 
 Chauncey Judd. BY ISRAEL P. WARREN. 16mo. . . . 1.25 
 
 A stow of the American Revolution. Though a true story it is 
 told in such a way as to have more than the interest of fiction. 
 Patriotism and religion are inculcated. 
 
THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE 
 STAMPED BELOW 
 
 AN INITIAL FINE OF 25 CENTS 
 
 WILL. BE ASSESSED FOR FAILURE TO RETURN 
 THIS BOOK ON THE DATE DUE. THE PENALTY 
 WILL INCREASE TO SO CENTS ON THE FOURTH 
 DAY AND TO $1.OO ON THE SEVENTH DAY 
 OVERDUE. 
 
 
 
 LD 21-100m-12, '43 (8796s) 
 
MALCOLM 
 MAC NEIL 
 
 NEW - OLD - RARE 
 se MCALLISTER ST. 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO 
 
 IV529784 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY