Drifting 1563 O broad-armed fisher of the deep! whose sports can equal thine? The Dolphin weighs a thousand tons, that tugs thy cable line; And night by night 'tis thy delight, thy glory day by day, Slow swaying in the heaving wave, that round about thee bend, With sounds like breakers in a dream blessing their ancient friend- Oh, couldst thou know what heroes glide with larger steps round thee, Thine iron side would swell with pride-thou'dst leap within the sea! Give honor to their memories who left the pleasant strand grave So freely, for a restless bed amid the tossing wave! Oh, though our anchor may not be all I have fondly sung, Honor him for their memory whose bones he goes among! Samuel Ferguson [1810-1886] DRIFTING My soul to-day Is far away, Sailing the Vesuvian Bay; My winged boat, A bird afloat, Swings round the purple peaks remote: Round purple peaks It sails, and seeks Blue inlets and their crystal creeks, Through deeps below, A duplicated golden glow. Far, vague, and dim, The mountains swim; While on Vesuvius' misty brim, With outstretched hands, The gray smoke stands O'erlooking the volcanic lands. Here Ischia smiles O'er liquid miles; And yonder, bluest of the isles, Calm Capri waits, Her sapphire gates Beguiling to her bright estates. I heed not, if My rippling skiff Float swift or slow from cliff to cliff; With dreamful eyes My spirit lies Under the walls of Paradise. Under the walls Where swells and falls The Bay's deep breast at intervals, Blown softly by, A cloud upon this liquid sky. The day, so mild, Is Heaven's own child, With Earth and Ocean reconciled; The airs I feel Around me steal Are murmuring to the murmuring keel. Drifting Over the rail My hand I trail Within the shadow of the sail, The cooling sense Glides down my drowsy indolence. With dreamful eyes My spirit lies Where Summer sings and never dies,— O'erveiled with vines She glows and shines Among her future oil and wines. Her children, hid The cliffs amid, Are gamboling with the gamboling kid; Or down the walls, With tipsy calls, Laugh on the rocks like waterfalls. The fisher's child, With tresses wild, Unto the smooth, bright sand beguiled, With glowing lips Sings as she skips, Or gazes at the far-off ships. Yon deep bark goes Where traffic blows, From lands of sun to lands of snows; This happier one, Its course is run From lands of snow to lands of sun. O happy ship, To rise and dip, With the blue crystal at your lip! O happy crew, My heart with you Sails, and sails, and sings anew! 1565 No more, no more Upbraids me with its loud uproar! My spirit lies Under the walls of Paradise! Thomas Buchanan Read [1822-1872] "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, If I was loud as I am proud 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? I'm not their mother How's my boy-my boy? Tell me of him and no other! How's my boy-my boy?" 1567 Sydney Dobell [(1824-1874] THE LONG WHITE SEAM As I came round the harbor buoy, No wave the land-locked water stirred, It's aye sewing ashore, my dear, It's reef and furl, and haul the line, I climbed to reach her cottage door; 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. |
