No more, no more Upbraids me with its loud uproar! My spirit lies Under the walls of Paradise! Thomas Buchanan Read [1822-1872] HOW'S MY BOY?” "Ho, sailor of the sea! How's my boy-my boy?" "What's your boy's name, good wife, And in what good ship sailed he?" "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, Brass button 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, I'd sing him o'er the town! The Long White Seam Why should I speak low, sailor?" "How's my boy-my boy? Be she afloat, or be she aground, Sinking or swimming, I'll be bound, I say, how's my John?" "Every man on board went down, 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?" 1613 Sydney Dobell [1824-1874] THE LONG WHITE SEAM As I came round the harbor buoy, It's aye sewing ashore, my dear, It's reef and furl, and haul the line, I climbed to reach her cottage door; O 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. Aye longing to list anew, Awake and in my dream, But never a song she sang like this, Fair fall the lights, the harbor lights, And peace drop down on that low roof And the voice, my dear, that rang so clear For O, for O, with brows bent low Jean Ingelow [1820-1897] STORM SONG THE clouds are scudding across the moon; A misty light is on the sea; The wind in the shrouds has a wintry tune, Brothers, a night of terror and gloom Speaks in the cloud and gathering roar; . Thank God, He has given us Broad sea-room, A thousand miles from shore. Down with the hatches on those who sleep! Though the rigging shriek in his terrible grip, The Mariner's Dream Hark! how the surges o'erleap the deck! Yet, courage, brothers! we trust the wave, Be it still with a cheery heart! 1615 Bayard Taylor [1825-1878] THE MARINER'S DREAM IN slumbers of midnight the sailor-boy lay; His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind; He dreamed of his home, of his dear native bowers, Then Fancy her magical pinions spread wide, The jessamine clambers in flowers o'er the thatch, And the voices of loved ones reply to his call. A father bends o'er him with looks of delight; And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds dear. The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast; Ah! whence is that flame which now bursts on his cye? Ah! what is that sound which now larums his ear? 'Tis the lightning's red glare, painting hell on the sky! "Tis the crash of the thunder, the groan of the sphere! He springs from his hammock, he flies to the deck; Like mountains the billows tremendously swell; In vain the lost wretch calls on mercy to save; Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell, And the death-angel flaps his broad wing o'er the wave! O sailor-boy, woe to thy dream of delight! In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss. Where now is the picture that Fancy touched bright, Thy parents' fond pressure, and love's honeyed kiss? O sailor-boy! sailor-boy! never again Shall home, love, or kindred thy wishes repay; Unblessed and unhonored, down deep in the main, Full many a fathom, thy frame shall decay. No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee, On a bed of green sea-flowers thy limbs shall be laid,- Days, months, years, and ages shall circle away, O sailor-boy! sailor-boy! peace to thy soul! William Dimond [1780?-1837?] |