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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 [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,
I'll swear you are no sailor,
Blue jacket or no,

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,
About my own boy John?
If I was loud as I am proud

I'd sing him o'er the town!

The Long White Seam

Why should I speak low, sailor?"
"That good ship went down."

"How's my boy-my boy?
What care I for the ship, sailor,
I never was aboard her.

Be she afloat, or be she aground,

Sinking or swimming, I'll be bound,
Her owners can afford her!

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,
The lights began to gleam,
No wave the land-locked water stirred,
The crags were white as cream;
And I marked my love by candlelight
Sewing her long white seam.

It's aye sewing ashore, my dear,
Watch and steer at sea,

It's reef and furl, and haul the line,
Set sail and think of thee.

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,
Sewing her long white seam.

Fair fall the lights, the harbor lights,
That brought me in to thee,

And peace drop down on that low roof
For the sight that I did see,

And the voice, my dear, that rang so clear
All for the love of me.

For O, for O, with brows bent low
By the candle's flickering gleam,
Her wedding-gown it was she wrought,
Sewing the long white seam.

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,
And the foam is flying free.

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!
The wild and whistling deck have we;
Good watch, my brothers, to-night we'll keep,
While the tempest is on the sea!

Though the rigging shriek in his terrible grip,
And the naked spars be snapped away,
Lashed to the helm, we'll drive our ship
In the teeth of the whelming spray!

The Mariner's Dream

Hark! how the surges o'erleap the deck!
Hark! how the pitiless tempest raves!
Ah, daylight will look upon many a wreck
Drifting over the desert waves.

Yet, courage, brothers! we trust the wave,
With God above us, our guiding chart.
So, whether to harbor or ocean-grave,

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;
But watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away,
And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind.

He dreamed of his home, of his dear native bowers,
And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn;
While Memory stood sideways, half covered with flowers,
And restored every rose, but secreted its thorn.

Then Fancy her magical pinions spread wide,
And bade the young dreamer in ecstasy rise;
Now far, far behind him the green waters glide,
And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes.

The jessamine clambers in flowers o'er the thatch,
And the swallow sings sweet from her nest in the wall;
All trembling with transport he raises the latch,

And the voices of loved ones reply to his call.

A father bends o'er him with looks of delight;
His check is impearled with a mother's warm tear;

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;
Joy quickens his pulses, his hardships seem o'er;
And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest,—
"O God! thou hast blessed me,-I ask for no more."

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;
Amazement confronts him with images dire;
Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel a wreck;
The masts fly in splinters; the shrouds are on fire.

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,
Or redeem form or fame from the merciless surge;
But the white foam of waves shall thy winding-sheet be,
And winds, in the midnight of winter, thy dirge!

On a bed of green sea-flowers thy limbs shall be laid,-
Around thy white bones the red coral shall grow;
Of thy fair yellow locks threads of amber be made,
And every part suit to thy mansion below.

Days, months, years, and ages shall circle away,
And still the vast waters above thee shall roll;
Earth loses thy pattern forever and aye,-

O sailor-boy! sailor-boy! peace to thy soul!

William Dimond [1780?-1837?]

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