DEEP-SEA SOUNDINGS. There are just one or two we won't refuse, If they come by, to help us now and then; And not all these idle grown men. And don't lose an instant of the day, 123 ANON. DEEP-SEA SOUNDINGS. MARINER, what of the deep? This of the deep: Twilight is there, and solemn, changeless calm; Hither shall come no farther sacrifice; Never again the anguished clutch at life, Mariner, what of the deep? This of the deep: Solitude dwells not there, though silence reign; Heavy the waves that superincumbent press, Mariner, what of the deep? This of the deep: Though we have travelled past the line of day, Couched on the wrecks begemmed with pearls of time; Down where the waves are stilled, the sea shines clear; Deeper than life, the plan of life doth lie. He who knows all fears naught. Great Death shall die. FROM "IN MEMORIAM." FAIR ship that from the Italian shore Sailest the placid ocean plains, With my lost Arthur's loved remains, ANON. FROM "IN MEMORIAM.” So draw him home to those that mourn Ruffle thy mirrored mast, and lead Thy sliding keel, till Phosphor, bright Sleep, gentle heavens, before the prow; My friend, the brother of my love! Till all my widowed race be run; I hear the noise about thy keel; I hear the bell struck in the night; I see the sailor at the wheel. Thou bringest the sailor to his wife, And travelled men from foreign lands; And thy dark freight, a vanished life. 125 To rest beneath the clover sod, That takes the sunshine and the rains, Or where the kneeling hamlet drains The chalice of the grapes of God; Than if with thee the roaring wells Should gulf him fathom deep in brine, And hands so often clasped in mine Should toss with tangle and with shells. Thou comest much wept for; such a breeze For I in spirit saw thee move Through circles of the bounding sky, Mid-ocean spare thee, sacred bark, So kind an office hath been done, Such precious relics brought by thee; Till all my widowed race be run. ALFRED TENNYSON. UNDER THE SURFACE. 127 UNDER THE SURFACE. N I. On the surface, foam and roar, Restless heave and passionate dash; Shingle rattle along the shore, Gathering boom and thundering crash. Under the surface, soft green light, A hush of peace and an endless calm, Wind and waves from a choral height Falling sweet as a far-off psalm. On the surface, swell and swirl, Tossing weed and drifting waif, Broken spars that the mad waves whirl, Where round wreck-watching rocks they chafe. Under the surface, loveliest forms, Feathery fronds with crimson curl, Treasures too deep for the raid of storms, II. On the surface, lilies white, A painted skiff with a singing crew, Sky reflections soft and bright, Tremulous crimson, gold, and blue. |