Toward the deep mid-ocean Tides ran and swift winds blew; It must be there those Islands Await the longing view. Their shores are soft with verdure, Their skies for ever fair, And always is the fragrance Of blossoms on the air. I set our 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. MY SEAWARD WINDOW. 135 MY SEAWARD WINDOW. THE sweet moon rules the east to-night, To show the sun she too can shine, From his forsaken cell of night She builds herself a jewelled shrine. From my lone window look I forth Where the grim headlands point to sea, And think how out between them passed The ship that bore my friend from me. A track of silvery splendor leads To where my straining sight was stayed ; It may be there our two souls met, And vows of earnest import made. But then the autumn noontide glow O’er the still sea stretched far and wide, While kneeling, watching from the cliff, “My friend is dear to me!” I cried. My little children dancing cried, “Why do you kneel and gaze so far ? " “I kneel to bless my parting friend, And even ye forgotten are.” Sung lonely to yon wintry skies?” JULIA Ward Howe. THE SEA. FOR 'OR 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, They ebb away in order as before. JOHN DAVIES, 1596. BY THE SEA. IT The holy time is quiet as a nun The gentleness of heaven is on the sea; THE MARINERS. 137 Dear child ! dear girl ! that walkest with me here, If thou appear untouched by solemn thought, Thy nature is not therefore less divine : Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year, WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. THE MARINERS. RAISE we the yard and ply the oar, The breeze is calling us swift away; Our boat no more can stay, can stay. When the blast flies fast in the clouds on high, And billows are roaring loud below, The boatman's song, in the stormy sky, Still dares the gale to blow, to blow. The timber that frames his faithful boat Was dandled in storms on the mountain peaks, And in storms, with a bounding keel, 'twill float, And laugh when the sea-fiend shrieks, and shrieks. And then, in the calm and glistening nights, We have tales of wonder, and joy, and fear, And deeds of the powerful ocean sprites, With which our hearts we cheer, we cheer. For often the dauntless mariner knows That he must sink to the land beneath, Where the diamond on trees of coral grows, In the emerald halls of Death, of Death. Onward we sweep through smooth and storm ; We are voyagers all in shine or gloom ; JOHN STERLING. THE SEA. THE The blue, the fresh, the ever free! I'm on the sea ! I'm on the sea ! I love, oh how I love to ride |