AT SEA.
IGHT frowns again upon the deep,Yet o'er the wave we mark
The silvery folds of spray, which tell
Our lonely pathway dark.
Hark to old ocean's weird harp,—
With dripping finger light,
The breeze awakes the rippling keys
To solemn Psalm of night.
With dripping finger light,
The breeze awakes the rippling keys
To solemn Psalm of night.
Nor sculptur'd hills in misty view,
Cheer us with hope of land;
Nor flowers breathe their incense sweet
Upon our floating band.
Cheer us with hope of land;
Nor flowers breathe their incense sweet
Upon our floating band.
But gallantly, and stately still,
Our ship rides through the foam;
While faints in gathering mist of night
Our country and our home.
Our ship rides through the foam;
While faints in gathering mist of night
Our country and our home.
"Asia;" 1855.
