THE RHYME OF THE ANCIENT COASTER.
WRITTEN WHILE SAILING IN AN OPEN BOAT ON THE HUDSON RIVER,
BETWEEN STONY POINT AND THE HIGHLANDS, ON SEEING
THE WRECK OF AN OLD SLOOP, JUNE, 1821.
“And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.”
er side is in the water,
Her keel is in the sand,
And her bowsprit rests on the low gray rock
That bounds the sea and land.
Her deck is without a mast,
And sand and shells are there,
And the teeth of decay are gnawing her planks,
In the sun and the sultry air.
No more on the river’s bosom,
When sky and wave are calm,
And the clouds are in summer quietness
And the cool night-breath is balm,
Will she glide in the swan-like stillness
Of the moon in the blue above,
