DOWN ON THE SHORE.

163

DOWN ON THE SHORE.

OWN on the shore, on the sunny shore !

Dov

Where the salt smell cheers the land;

Where the tide moves bright under boundless light,

And the surge on the glittering strand;

Where the children wade in the shallow pools,
Or run from the froth in play;

Where the swift little boats with milk-white wings
Are crossing the sapphire bay,

And the ship in full sail, with a fortunate gale,
Holds proudly on her way.

Where the nets are spread on the grass to dry,

And asleep, hard by, the fishermen lie,

Under the tent of the warm blue sky,

With the hushing wave on its golden floor
To sing their lullaby.

Down on the shore, on the stormy shore!
Beset by a growling sea,

Whose mad waves leap on the rocky steep,

Like wolves up a traveller's tree.

Where the foam flies wide, and an angry blast
Blows the curlew off with a screech;

Where the brown sea-wrack, torn up by the roots,
Is flung out of fishes' reach;

Where the tall ship rolls on the hidden shoals,
And scatters her planks on the beach.

Where slate and straw through the village spin,
And a cottage fronts the fiercest din,
With a sailor's wife sitting sad within,
Hearkening the wind and water's roar,
Till at last her tears begin.

WILLIAM ALLINGHAM.

BY THE MORNING SEA.

THE

~HE wind shakes up the sleepy clouds
To kiss the ruddied morn,

And from their awful misty shrouds

The mountains are new-born : The sea lies fresh with open eyes;

Night-fears and moaning dreams,
Brooding like clouds on nether skies,
Have sunk below, and beams
Dance on the floor like golden flies,
Or strike with joyful gleams

Some white-winged ship, a wandering star
Of ocean, piloting afar.

In brakes, in woods, in cottage-eaves,

The early birds are rife,

Quick voices thrill the sprinkled leaves
In ecstasy of life;

With silent gratitude of flowers

The morning's breath is sweet,

And cool with dew, that freshly showers

Round wild things' hasty feet.

WAITING BY THE SEA.

But the heavenly guests of tranquil hours

To inner skies retreat,

From human thoughts of lower birth

That stir upon the waking earth.

Across a thousand leagues of land
The mighty sun looks free,
And in their fringe of rock or sand
A thousand leagues of sea.
Lo! I, in this majestic room,
As real as the sun,

Inherit this day and its doom
Eternally begun.

A world of men the rays illume,
God's men, and I am one.

But life that is not pure and bold
Doth tarnish every morning's gold.

165

WILLIAM ALLINGHAM.

WAITING BY THE SEA.

ALONE upon the windy hills

I stand and face the open sea,

And drink the southern breeze that fills
The sails that bring my love to me.

Far out the shores and woodlands reach,
Till lost in mists of pearly gray,
Or crossed by lines of yellow beach
And flashing breakers far away.

Alone upon the windy slopes,

I watch the long, blue, level wall Of ocean, where my winged hopes, Like fluttering sea-birds, fly and call.

O happy pilot-boats that dance
Across the sparkling miles of sea,
O greet her, should ye meet by chance
The ship that bears my love to me !

And does she lean upon the deck,

And strain her eyes till land appears, As I to catch the white-winged speck That clears away my gathering fears?

By long, low beach and wooded crag
The crowded sails go glimmering past;
But none that bear the well-known flag
And pennon streaming from the mast.

O ocean, wrinkling in the sun!

O breeze, that blowest from the sea! Waft into port, ere day is done,

My love, my life, again to me!

She comes, she comes! I see the sails,
Like rounded sea-shells full and white;

I hear the booming gun that hails
The coming of my heart's delight.

THE MUSIC OF THE SEA.

I hear the sailors' distant song,

They crowd the deck in bustling glee;
And there is one amid the throng
Who waves a rosy scarf to me.

The sun has set, the air is still,
The twilight reddens o'er the sea,
The full moon rises o'er the hill,
But joy like sunrise shines for me.

167

C. P. CRANCH.

THE MUSIC OF THE SEA.

From "The Golden Legend."

THE night is calm and cloudless,

And still as still can be,

And the stars come forth to listen
To the music of the sea.

They gather, and gather, and gather,
Until they crowd the sky,
And listen, in breathless silence,

To the solemn litany.

It begins in rocky caverns,

As a voice that chants alone

To the pedals of the organ

In monotonous undertone;
And anon from shelving beaches,
And shallow sands beyond,
In snow-white robes uprising,
The ghostly choirs respond.