SAILING SONG.
Oh! I love the winds when they spurn control,
For they suit my own bond-hating soul;
I like to hear them sweeping past,
Like the eagle's pinions, free and fast:
But a pang will rise, with sad alloy,
To soften my spirit, and sink my joy,
When I think how dismal their voices must be
To a mother who hath a child at sea.
For they suit my own bond-hating soul;
I like to hear them sweeping past,
Like the eagle's pinions, free and fast:
But a pang will rise, with sad alloy,
To soften my spirit, and sink my joy,
When I think how dismal their voices must be
To a mother who hath a child at sea.
SAILING SONG.
We have left the still earth for the billows and breeze,
'Neath the brightest of moons on the bluest of seas;
We have music, hark! hark! there's a tone o'er the deep
Like the murmuring breath of a lion asleep.
There's enough of bold dash in the rich foam that laves.
Just to whisper the slumber-wrapt might of the waves;
But yet there's a sweetness about the full swell
Like the song of the mermaid—the voice of the shell.
'Neath the brightest of moons on the bluest of seas;
We have music, hark! hark! there's a tone o'er the deep
Like the murmuring breath of a lion asleep.
There's enough of bold dash in the rich foam that laves.
Just to whisper the slumber-wrapt might of the waves;
But yet there's a sweetness about the full swell
Like the song of the mermaid—the voice of the shell.
We have jewels. Oh! what is your casket of gems
To the pearls hanging thick on the red coral stems?
Are there homes of more light than the one where we are?
For it nestles the dolphin and mirrors the star.
We may creep, we may scud, we may rest, we may fly;
There's no check to our speed, there's no dust for our eye;
Oh well may our spirits grow wild as the breeze,
'Neath the brightest of moons on the bluest of seas!
To the pearls hanging thick on the red coral stems?
Are there homes of more light than the one where we are?
For it nestles the dolphin and mirrors the star.
We may creep, we may scud, we may rest, we may fly;
There's no check to our speed, there's no dust for our eye;
Oh well may our spirits grow wild as the breeze,
'Neath the brightest of moons on the bluest of seas!
25
