[Written at Scarborough, in the Summer of 1805.] ALL hail to the ruins, the rocks, and the shores! Now brilliant with sunbeams and dimpled with oars, Now dark with the fresh-blowing gale, With the waters divided the land, His ramparts of rocks round the continent And cradled the deep in his hand, While soft o'er thy bosom the cloud-shadows sail, And leap o'er the bounds of his birth, If man may transgress his eternal command, And the silver-winged sea-fowl on high, Like meteors bespangle the sky, Or dive in the gulf, or triumphantly ride, Like foam on the surges, the swans of the tide. To ravage the uttermost earth, And violate nations and realms that should be From the tumult and smoke of the city set free, There are, gloomy Ocean, a brotherless clan, With eager and awful delight, From the crest of the mountain I gaze upon thee, and am changed at the sight; And moves on thy waters, wherever they roll, From the day-darting zone to the night-shadowed pole. My spirit descends where the dayspring is born, And the breezes that rock the light cradle of morn Are sweet as the Phoenix's pyre. O regions of beauty, of love and desire! O gardens of Eden! in vain Placed far on the fathomless main, Who traverse thy banishing waves, From the homes of their kindred, their fore- Love, friendship, and conjugal bliss, The shark hears their shrieks, and, ascending Demands of the spoiler his share of the prey. Then joy to the tempest that whelms them beneath, And makes their destruction its sport; But woe to the winds that propitiously breathe, Where the vultures and vampires of Mammon Where Nature with Innocence dwelt in her Where Europe exultingly drains youth, The life-blood from Africa's veins; When pure was her heart and unbroken her Where man rules o'er man with a merciless rod, And spurns at his footstool the image of God! truth. When the sun o'er the ocean descending in smiles, But firm as our rocks, and as free as our waves, Sinks softly and sweetly to rest? No!-Father of mercy! befriend the opprest; And slave and his master devoutly unite To walk in thy freedom and dwell in thy light! As homeward my weary-winged Fancy extends Ah me! what new prospects, new horrors, arise! All foaming, and panting with blood; For Britannia is wielding the trident to-day, And hurling her thunder with absolute sway She triumphs; the winds and the waters conspire But the cries of the fatherless mix with her praise, And the tears of the widow are shed on her bays. O Britain, dear Britain! the land of my birth; O Isle most enchantingly fair! The spears of the Romans we broke, We never stooped under their yoke. Thou Pearl of the Ocean! thou Gem of the And bends above our heads the flowering locust Serene and mild, the untried light May have its dawning ; And, as in summer's northern night The evening and the dawn unite, Bends like an arch of fire the glowing sunset sky! So then, beach, bluff, and wave, farewell! No token stone nor glittering shell, But long and oft shall Memory tell Of this brief thoughtful hour of musing by the Sea. JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. TWILIGHT AT SEA. THE twilight hours, like birds, flew by, Ten thousand stars were in the sky, Had caught a star in its embrace, OCEAN. AMELIA B. WELBY. FROM "THE COURSE OF TIME," BOOK L GREAT Ocean! strongest of creation's sons, The sunset hues of Time blend with the soul's In nature's anthem, and made music such As pleased the ear of God! original, Loud uttering satire, day and night, on each Giving a hint of that which changes not. A load your Atlas shoulders cannot lift? Then I unbar the doors: my paths lead out RALPH WALDO EMERSON. DOVER BEACH. THE sea is calm to-night, The tide is full, the moon lies fair Where the ebb meets the moon-blanched sand, Of pebbles which the waves suck back, and fling, MATTHEW ARNOLD. THE DISAPPOINTED LOVER. FROM "THE TRIUMPH OF TIME." I WILL go back to the great sweet mother I will go down to her, I and none other, O fair green-girdled mother of mine, Sea, that art clothed with the sun and the rain, Thy large embraces are keen like pain. I shall sleep, and move with the moving ships, This woven raiment of nights and days, Were it once cast off and unwound from me, Naked and glad would I walk in thy ways, Alive and aware of thy waves and thee; Clear of the whole world, hidden at home, ADDRESS TO THE OCEAN. O THOU vast Ocean! ever-sounding Sea! Ruffles its surface, and no spirits dare Clothed with the green, and crowned with the I love to wander on thy pebbled beach, foam, A pulse of the life of thy straits and bays, A vein in the heart of the streams of the Sea. Marking the sunlight at the evening hour, BRYAN WALLER PROCTER (Barry Cornwall). |