Poems (Cook)/Stanzas by the Seaside

by Eliza Cook

STANZAS BY THE SEA-SIDE.

Beautiful Ocean, how I loved thy face
 When mine was fresh and sparkling as thine own
When my bold footstep took its toppling place,
 To see thee rise upon thy rock-piled throne.

Oh how I loved thee, when I bent mine car
 To listen to the rosy sea-shell's hum,
And stood in ecstasy of joyous fear,
 Daring thy broad and bursting wave to come.

When my wild breast beat high to see thee leap
 In stormy wrath around the beacon light:
And my eye danced to see thee swell and sweep,
 Like a blind lion, wasting all thy might.

I loved thee when, upon the shingle stones,
 I heard thy glassy ripples steal and drip,
With the soft gush and gently murmur'd tones
 That dwell upon an infant's gurgling lip.

I loved thee with a childish, dreaming zeal,
 That gazed in rapture and adored with soul;
And my proud heart, that stood like temper'd steel
 Before harsh words, melted beneath thy roll.

Thou wert a part of God; and I could find
 Almighty tidings in thy mystic speech:
Thou couldst subdue my strangely wayward mind:
 And tune the string no other hand could reach.

Eloquent Ocean, how I worshipp'd thee,
 Ere my young breath knew what it was to sigh;
Ere I had proved one cherish'd flower to be
 A thing of brightness, nurtured but to die.

Years have gone by since those light-footed days,
 And done their work, as years will ever do;
Setting their thorny barriers in Life's maze,
 And burying Hope's gems of rarest hue.

I have endured the pangs that all endure,
 Whose pulses quicken at the world's rude touch:
Who dream that all they trust in must be sure,
 Though sadly taught that they may trust too much.

The cypress branch has trail'd upon my way,
 Leaving the darkest shadow Death can fling;
My lips have quiver'd while they strove to pray;
 Draining the deepest cup that Grief can bring.

I have conn'd o'er the lessons hard to learn—
 I have pluck'd Autumn leaves in fair Spring-time:
I have seen loved ones go and ne'er return;
 And rear'd high shrines for ivy-stalks to climb.

My chords of Feeling have been sorely swept;
 Rousing the strain whose echo ever floats;
And mournful measures, one by one, have crept
 After the sweet and merry prelude notes.

Yet, noble Ocean, do I hail thee now,
 With the exulting spirit-gush of old;
The same warm glory lights my breast and brow,
 Spreading unbidden-gleaming uncontroll'd.

Scaling the green crag while thy rough voice raves;
 Here am I sporting on thy lonely strand;
Shrieking with glee, while hunted by thy waves;
 Foam on my feet, and sea-weed in my hand.

I stand again beside thee as I stood
 In panting youth, watching thy billows break;
Fix'd by the strong spell of thy headlong flood;
 Even as the bird is charm-bound by the snake.

Thou bringest visions-would that they could last!—
 Thou makest me a laughing child once more;
Casting away the garner of the Past,
 Heedless of all that Fate may have in store.

I feel beside thee like a captive one,
 Whose riven fetter-links are left behind;
I love thee as the flower loves the sun;
 I greet thee as the incense greets the wind.

Thou wilt be haunting me when I am found
 Amid the valleys and green slopes of earth;
And I shall hear thy stunning revel-round,
 And see the gem-spray scatter'd in thy mirth.

Creation's first and greatest—though we part—
 Though with thy worshipp'd form I may not dwell;
Thou art among the idols of my heart
 To which it never breathes the word—Farewell!