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No more, no more
The worldly shore
Upbraids me with its loud uproar:
With dreamful eyes
My spirit lies
Under the walls of Paradise!
THOMAS BUCHANAN READ.
Tacking Ship Off Shore*
The weather-leech of the topsail shivers,
The braces are taut, the lithe boom quivers,
Open one point on the weather-bow,
Is the light-house tall on Fire Island Head.
I stand at the wheel, and with eager eye
The ship bends lower before the breeze,
As her broadside fair to the blast she lays; * By courtesy of The Churchman.
The World of Waters
The And she swifter springs to the rising seas, World of As the pilot calls, "Stand by for stays!"
It is silence all, as each in his place,
With the gathered coil 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,
No time to spare! It is touch and go;
As my weight on the whirling spokes I throw,
High o'er the knight-heads flies the spray,
As I answer, Ay, ay, sir! Ha-a-rd a-lee!"
With the swerving leap of a startled steed
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;
And spanker slats, and the mainsail flaps;
And thunders the order, "Tacks and sheets!" World of
'Mid the rattle of blocks and the tramp of the
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,
"Let go, and haul!" "Tis the last command,
With its breakers white on the shingly shore.
What matters the reef, or the rain, or the squall?
And so off shore let the good ship fly;
In my fo'castle bunk, in a jacket dry.
Eight bells have struck, and my watch is below.
Heave at the windlass!-Heave O, cheerly, men!
Heave all at once, with a will!
The tide quickly making,
Our cordage a-creaking,
Fare you well, sweethearts!—Heave O, cheerly,
Fare you well, frolic and sport!
The good ship all ready,
Each dog-vane is steady,
The wind blowing dead out of port,
Once in blue water-Heave O, cheerly, men!
And curtsey politely,
And carry a bone in her mouth,
Short cruise or long cruise-Heave O, cheerly,
Jolly Jack Tar thinks it one.
No latitude dreads he
Of White, Black, or Red Sea,
One other turn, and Heave O, cheerly, men!
Our money, how went it?
We shared it and spent it;
Next year we'll come back with some more,
The World of
The Coral Grove
Deep in the wave is a coral grove,
The floor is of sand, like the mountain drift;
Their boughs where the tides and billows flow.
For the winds and waves are absent there;
And the sands are bright as the stars that glow
There, with its waving blade of green,