The Home Book of Verse Volume Iii Part 60

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 mane,--as I do here.

George Gordon Byron [1788-1824]

ON THE SEA

It keeps eternal whisperings around Desolate sh.o.r.es, 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 sh.e.l.l Be moved for days from whence it sometime fell, When last the winds of heaven were unbound.

Oh ye! who have your eye-b.a.l.l.s 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 [1795-1821]

"WITH s.h.i.+PS THE SEA WAS SPRINKLED"

With s.h.i.+ps the sea was sprinkled far and nigh, Like stars in heaven, and joyously it showed; Some lying fast at anchor in the road, Some veering up and down, one knew not why.

A goodly vessel did I then espy Come like a giant from a haven broad; And l.u.s.tily along the bay she strode, Her tackling rich, and of apparel high.

This s.h.i.+p was naught to me, nor I to her, Yet I pursued her with a lover's look; This s.h.i.+p to all the rest did I prefer: When will she turn, and whither? She will brook No tarrying; where she comes the winds must stir: On went she,--and due north her journey took.

William Wordsworth [1770-1850]

A SONG OF DESIRE

Thou dreamer with the million moods, Of restless heart like me, Lay thy white hands against my breast And cool its pain, O Sea!

O wanderer of the unseen paths, Restless of heart as I, Blow hither, from thy caves of blue, Wind of the healing sky!

O treader of the fiery way, With pa.s.sionate heart like mine, Hold to my lips thy healthful cup Brimmed with its blood-red wine!

O countless watchers of the night, Of sleepless heart like me, Pour your white beauty in my soul, Till I grow calm as ye!

O sea, O sun, O wind and stars, (O hungry heart that longs!) Feed my starved lips with life, with love, And touch my tongue with songs!

Frederic Lawrence Knowles [1869-1905]

THE PINES AND THE SEA

Beyond the low marsh-meadows and the beach, Seen through the h.o.a.ry trunks of windy pines, The long blue level of the ocean s.h.i.+nes.

The distant surf, with hoa.r.s.e, complaining speech, Out from its sandy barrier seems to reach; And while the sun behind the woods declines, The moaning sea with sighing boughs combines, And waves and pines make answer, each to each.

O melancholy soul, whom far and near, In life, faith, hope, the same sad undertone Pursues from thought to thought! thou needs must hear An old refrain, too much, too long thine own: 'Tis thy mortality infects thine ear; The mournful strain was in thyself alone.

Christopher Pea.r.s.e Cranch [1813-1892]

SEA FEVER

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky, And all I ask is a tall s.h.i.+p and a star to steer her by; And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking, And a gray mist on the sea's face, and a gray dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied; And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying, And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the seagulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gipsy life, To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife; And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover, And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

John Masefield [1878-

HASTINGS MILL

As I went down by Hastings Mill I lingered in my going To smell the smell of piled-up deals and feel the salt wind blowing, To hear the cables fret and creak and the ropes stir and sigh (s.h.i.+pmate, my s.h.i.+pmate!) as in days gone by.

As I went down by Hastings Mill I saw a s.h.i.+p there lying, About her tawny yards the little clouds of sunset flying; And half I took her for the ghost of one I used to know (s.h.i.+pmate, my s.h.i.+pmate!) many years ago.

As I went down by Hastings Mill I saw while I stood dreaming The flicker of her riding light along the ripples streaming, The bollards where we made her fast and the berth where she did lie (s.h.i.+pmate, my s.h.i.+pmate!) in the days gone by.

As I went down by Hastings Mill I heard a fellow singing, Chipping off the deep sea rust above the tide a-swinging, And well I knew the queer old tune and well the song he sung (s.h.i.+pmate, my s.h.i.+pmate!) when the world was young.

And past the rowdy Union Wharf, and by the still tide sleeping, To a randy dandy deep sea tune my heart in time was keeping, To the thin far sound of a shadowy watch a-hauling, And the voice of one I knew across the high tide calling (s.h.i.+pmate, my s.h.i.+pmate!) and the late dusk falling!

Cecily Fox-Smith [1882-

"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 s.h.i.+p flies, and leaves Old England on the lee.

O 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 s.h.i.+p 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 wind is piping loud, my boys, The lightning flashes free-- While the hollow oak our palace is, Our heritage the sea.

Allan Cunningham [1784-1842]