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! 1569 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, A father bends o'er him with looks of delight; 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 eye? 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?] The Inchcape Rock 1571 THE INCHCAPE ROCK No stir in the air, no stir in the sea, Without either sign or sound of their shock, The holy Abbot of Aberbrothok Had placed that bell on the Inchcape Rock; When the rock was hid by the surges' swell, The Sun in heaven was shining gay, The sea-birds screamed as they wheeled around, The buoy of the Inchcape Bell was seen, He felt the cheering power of spring, His eye was on the Inchcape float; And I'll plague the Abbot of Aberbrothok." The boat is lowered, the boatmen row, Down sank the Bell with a gurgling sound; The bubbles rose, and burst around. Quoth Sir Ralph, "The next who comes to the Rock Will not bless the Abbot of Aberbrothok." Sir Ralph, the Rover, sailed away, So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky On the deck the Rover takes his stand; Quoth Sir Ralph, "It will be lighter soon, "Canst hear," said one, "the breakers roar? For yonder, methinks, should be the shore." "Now where we are I cannot tell, But I wish we could hear the Inchcape Bell." They hear no sound; the swell is strong; Sir Ralph, the Rover, tore his hair; |