Poems (Whitney)/Hymn to the sea
HYMN TO THE SEA.
Along yon soft tumultuousness, the Dawn Reaches a glowing hand, and the mute world Thrills back to life. This lustrous blossom, curledIn on its dreaming heart, feels the forlornOld Shadow lift, and guardedly disclosesIts wayside cheer; and endless waves away Bide the slow triumph of the Light, Rejoicing in the infinite And quenchless possibility of Day;Day,—that at least shall win far more than darkness loses.
Over those morning waves, or when the bare Stars glow, or Moon her tireless lover nears, The eternal Beauty that these countless yearsMakes earthly musings so divinely fair,Broods listening to the prophecy thou chantest—The subtle breath of mortal sympathies Is she, wooing us unto right In unsuspected ways; a lightFrom inmost heaven tempered to dreaming eyes,A sweet foreshadow of the joy for which thou pantest.
Roll in from far thy deep broad-skirted thunder, Whereon the wild winds fawn! Thy voice by day— But Night adopts and trances it awayInfo its clear, sad universe of wonder.O weary of life's lavish, shallow sound,Enrich me beyond hunger with that tone! Tell in what deep, gray solitude, It may be born, what caverns rude;Still haunt it; and if the infinite AloneTouch it himself with calm and utterance so profound.
Hark'ning through all the music of her leaves And inland murmurs, o'er the seaward steep, The stately Summer leans, while dim winds sweepHer shining tresses back—and half she grievesThat thou disdain'st with thy hoar wreaths, to twineHer fleeting gifts.—Yet hast thou tender fancies; Broodings of love when young winds cease, And silence deepens into peace;And leadest with Day and Night immortal dances,Crowned with fresh marriage-blooms and lotus-cups divine.
Upon the broad, gray, gleaming beach I saw, Last night, that phantom-light of thy desire, Orb large and slow in the East, dropping pale fireAlong thy deep'ning tumult, so to drawOld love-dreams out:—for countless leagues she had comeO'er kindred foam; her footfalls echoing yet In the deep breast of Aral—through Caspian and Euxine, and the blueOf that famed gulf in earth's broad girdle set,With endless voice of waves calling to shores long dumb.
With all her loveliness earth leaves me sad, And sadder for her loveliness. My hills Are sacred chalices which eve o'erfillsWith vintage for young gods; and deeply gladIn the sweet clasp of vernal boughs, the airAt night-fall swoons;—but hauntings unexplained Steal in; earth looks half wild and lone, And from her eyes I veil my own,And lay my heart to hers—the unattained,Youth's aching world of incompleteness throbbing there,
But thou, shout on through heaven's soft, circling spheres, Still promising with that great voice of power A joy to every heart, a day, an hourTo come, outweighing all these silent years!Afar thou veil'st thy kingliness in mist,And stretchest in the heaven's most deep embrace, Like the great Future, waste and gray, Dissolving day to yesterday—But what fair shores thou lapp'st in azure peace!—What isles of joyous palms with tropic starlight kissed!
I am borne outward by this fragrant breeze, That seems to press its warm lips to the sand, And then away, beyond the singing land,To that hoar silence of the lone mid seas,Where thou, in unrelated strength, a bareVast heart, throbbest beneath the eternal eye:— Life soars like an enfranchised flame; The needy doubt, the hope, that came Before the laggard dawn to wake me, fly,And dim Eternity flows in like silent air.
Do tempests swing thee, or deep, choral nights Chant unto murmurous slumber, yield me still The calm of hushed abysses!—human illPatience transfigures on her visioned heights.Thou dost not rive the blood-drenched deck apart,Nor whelm the slaver's freight of woes, but soft On patient, swelling breast upborne, Waftest the dismal burthen on,As trusting in the love that waits aloft,And the slow germ of good in man's unquiet heart.
Ah, meagre happiness, and hopes that reach To some dull dream, a vapor of the sense, And on the plain of the old PermanenceAre but as hasty flashes in the beachOf idle footprints! O make more divineGlad Sea, our thoughts—nor may we dully grope 'Mid slavish fears, while thou dost girth The continents and isles with mirth,And music of unconquerable hope That Joy and Beauty shall be earth's as they are thine!
O old consoler, that dost tenderly In thy great longing merge my day-born pain, Uplift me to the stature of your strain,And bid all lower aspiration flee!The nobler earth is built of stubborn good—Who brings his little vanity, his grave Appeal to men's applause and wonder, Warn him away with thy hoarse thunder,Flash o'er the graven sands a liberal wave,And let us know no more name, memory, or blood!
And call the regal shadows, 'mid the roar Of charging waves, the tumult and the smoke,— That fine old Grecian in his threadbare cloak;The banner pastor by blue Zurich, o'erWhose vine-clad summits Alps looked not in vain;England's blind seer; Toussaint, the kingly heart Wearing his thrice-earned martyr crown; And all who silently let downThe rugged slopes whereon we toss apartSome herald-beam of the All-Fair, some love-bought pain.
Yet milder beams wooing the folded sight, Shed warmth far down in many a sunless nook: Thank God, there are no eyes in which we lookBut some heart's love doth lend them beauteous light!Dreams that prefigure hopes, and hopes that takeFresh courage from all life; from starlight bold Sung softly in by whip-poor-wills, And sunset's broad'ning sails o'er hillsAfar; and from the earth that grows not old,Float lightly o'er our heads whether we sleep or wake.
Alas! to her high place thro' sea-deep tears, Earth wins her long, slow, agonizing way! The base, triumphant Despot of a dayIs weary Anarch of a thousand years.And yet this many a spring the boughs are sheenWith the almost forgotten bloom! Call, Sea, Unto all faithful souls, Doubt not, Aspire to lead earth's struggling thoughtStill up, bring what from full hearts gushes free,He who doth blend and shape the whole finds nothing mean.
When morning, loosing from its crimson drifts, Some panting skylark overtakes, most tender Of such weak rivalship, and prone to renderHomage unto great-heartedness, it liftsThe breaking strain, and all along its linesOf thrilling light, its currents of pure air And rosy mists, winds it at will, Unites and separates, and stillWreathes it and builds anew beyond despair,Till light is song, song light thro' all heaven's steadfast
O know how all things change! Night's violet star Bloomed red erewhile; and thou, Sea, wearest away The glorious realm of a forgotten day,But lay'st the pillars of a fairer farDeep in thy caverned-bed; for all that everGathered about it men's delight or love, Or aught that simply blooms, or strives To make more beautiful our lives,In each new fabric of the world, is woveAfresh, and changes like the light, but passes never.