THE WATERS.
Ye have treasures and secrets, and guard them well—
For no stores will ye give, and no word will ye tell.
Ye spread your waves on the rifted strand;
Where the white foam spangles the golden sand;
And ebb away with the deep perfume
Of the citron branch and orange bloom.
Ye dash where the gloomy pine-tree grows,
Where the northern tempest beats and blows;
The thunder may burst and the wolf-dog bay,
But ye will be louder and bolder than they.
Ages ago ye wash'd the feet
Of cities that sent ye a galley fleet;
Cities, and galleys, and people, are gone,
But the great Waters still roll on:
Kingdoms and empires flourish no more,
But ye still dwell by the desolate shore—
As fresh in your brightness, as strong in your flood,
As when the Immortal One "saw ye were good."
For no stores will ye give, and no word will ye tell.
Ye spread your waves on the rifted strand;
Where the white foam spangles the golden sand;
And ebb away with the deep perfume
Of the citron branch and orange bloom.
Ye dash where the gloomy pine-tree grows,
Where the northern tempest beats and blows;
The thunder may burst and the wolf-dog bay,
But ye will be louder and bolder than they.
Ages ago ye wash'd the feet
Of cities that sent ye a galley fleet;
Cities, and galleys, and people, are gone,
But the great Waters still roll on:
Kingdoms and empires flourish no more,
But ye still dwell by the desolate shore—
As fresh in your brightness, as strong in your flood,
As when the Immortal One "saw ye were good."
Waters, ye are fair
In the winding River,
Running here, and twining there,
While the waking, twilight air,
Stirs the spreading sails ye bear,
To a flapping shiver.
"Outward bound," the stripling one
Sighs to see the setting sun;
And shadows lengthen on his heart,
As the rays that meet his gaze,
One by one depart.
"Outward bound" for many a year,—
A dream comes o'er his brain;
He looks into the lucid wave,
Where he was wont to plunge and lave
In waters cool and clear;
And wonders if the chance of time
Will bring him to his native clime
In the winding River,
Running here, and twining there,
While the waking, twilight air,
Stirs the spreading sails ye bear,
To a flapping shiver.
"Outward bound," the stripling one
Sighs to see the setting sun;
And shadows lengthen on his heart,
As the rays that meet his gaze,
One by one depart.
"Outward bound" for many a year,—
A dream comes o'er his brain;
He looks into the lucid wave,
Where he was wont to plunge and lave
In waters cool and clear;
And wonders if the chance of time
Will bring him to his native clime
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