MORNING
Morn on the waters! the glad bird flings
The diamond spray from his glittering wings.
Old ocean lieth in dreamless sleep,
As the slumber of childhood calmly deep,
Light falls the stroke of the fisher's oar,
As he leaves his cot by the shingly shore;
While the young wife's gaze, half sad, half bright,
Follows the frail bark's flashing flight.
Noon on the waters! O rustling breeze,
Sweet stealer 'mid old forest trees,
Wilt thou not thy sweet whisper keep
Nigh him who journeys the shadeless deep?
The wanderer dreams of the shadowy dell,
And the green-turfed, fairy-haunted well,
While the shafts of the noon-king's merciless might
Mingle day with sorrow, and death with light.
Night on the waters! murmuring hoarse,
The vexed deep threatens the bold bark's course,
The thunder-growl and the tempest moan
Sound like spirits that watch for the dying groan.
The storm-fiend sweeps o'er the starless waste,
And the unchained blasts to the gathering haste;
Man alone, unshaken, his course retains,
While the elements combat and chaos reigns.
