Would remind them forevermore The joyous bridegroom bows his head; .Of their native forests they should not And in tears the good old Master 'The ocean old, Centuries old, Strong as youth, and as uncontrolled, Up and down the sands of gold. Heaves with the heaving of his breast. With her foot upon the sands, Her snow-white signals fluttering, blend- The bride of the gray old sea. On the deck another bride The prayer is said, The service read, Shakes the brown hand of his son, Down his own the tears begin to run. The shepherd of that wandering flock, Of the sailor's heart, All its pleasures and its griefs, And lift and drift, with terrible force, The thrill of life along her keel, And lo! from the assembled crowd "Take her, O bridegroom, old and gray, How beautiful she is! She lies within those arms, that press ward steer! The moistened eye, the trembling lip, Sail forth into the sea of life, Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State ! Were shaped the anchors of thy hope! JUST above yon sandy bar, 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 And the gleam of that single star Falls the trail of its golden splendor, 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! THE SECRET OF THE SEA. AH! what pleasant visions haunt me All my dreams, come back to me. Sails of silk and ropes of sandal, Such as gleam in ancient lore; And the singing of the sailors, And the answer from the shore! Most of all, the Spanish ballad Haunts me oft, and tarries long, Of the noble Count Arnaldos And the sailor's mystic song, Like the long waves on a sea-beach, Where the sand as silver shines, With a soft, monotonous cadence, Flow its unrhymed lyric lines; Telling how the Count Arnaldos, With his hawk upon his hand, Saw a fair and stately galley, Steering onward to the land ; THE twilight is sad and cloudy, But in the fisherman's cottage Close, close it is pressed to the window, Were looking into the darkness, And a woman's waving shadow Now bowing and bending low. What tale do the roaring ocean, And the night-wind, bleak and wild, As they beat at the crazy casement, Tell to that little child? And why do the roaring ocean, And the night-wind, wild and bleak, As they beat at the heart of the mother, Drive the color from her cheek? SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT. SOUTHWARD with fleet of ice Sailed the corsair Death; And the east-wind was his breath. His lordly ships of ice Glisten in the sun; On each side, like pennons wide, His sails of white sea-mist Eastward from Campobello Sir Humphrey Gilbert sailed; Alas! the land-wind failed, And ice-cold grew the night; He sat upon the deck, The Book was in his hand; He said," by water as by land!" In the first watch of the night, The fleet of Death rose all around. The moon and the evening star Were hanging in the shrouds ; Seemed to rake the passing clouds. They grappled with their prize, Southward through day and dark, Southward, forever southward, They drift through dark and day; And like a dream, in the Gulf Stream Sinking, vanish all away. 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 |