The sky o'erarches here, we feel the undulating deck beneath our feet, The tones of unseen mystery, the vague and vast suggestions of the briny world, the liquid-flowing syllables, The perfume, the faint creeking of the cordage, the melancholy rhythm, Then falter not, O book, fulfil your destiny, You not a reminiscence of the land alone, You too as a lone bark cleaving the ether, purpos'd I know not whither, yet ever full of faith, Consort to every ship that sails, sail you! Bear forth to them folded my love (dear mariners, for you I fold it here in every leaf); Speed on, my book! spread your white sails, my little bark, athwart the imperious waves; Chant on, sail on, bear o'er the boundless blue from me to every sea This song for mariners and all their ships. 1870. YET, YET, YE DOWNCAST HOURS Yet, yet, ye downcast hours, I know ye also; Weights of lead, how ye clog and cling at my ankles, Earth to a chamber of mourning turns-I hear the o'erweening, mocking voice, Matter is conqueror-matter, triumphant only, continues onward. Despairing cries float ceaselessly toward me, 15 20 5 The call of my nearest lover, putting forth, alarm'd, uncertain, Come tell me where I am speeding, tell me my destination. I understand your anguish, but I cannot help you; I approach, hear, behold the sad mouth, the look out of the eyes, your mute inquiry, Whither I go from the bed I recline on, come tell me. Old age, alarm'd, uncertain—a young woman's voice, appealing to me for comfort; A young man's voice, Shall I not escape? ΤΟ TO THE MAN-OF-WAR-BIRD Thou who hast slept all night upon the storm, As to the light emerging here on deck I watch thee Far, far at sea, 5 After the night's fierce drifts have strewn the shore with wrecks, With re-appearing day as now so happy and serene, The rosy and elastic dawn, the flashing sun, 1Ο The limpid spread of air cerulean, Thou also re-appearest. Thou born to match the gale (thou art all wings), To cope with heaven and earth and sea and hurricane, Thou ship of air that never furl'st thy sails, Days, even weeks, untired and onward, through spaces, realms gyrating, At dusk that look'st on Senegal, at morn America, That sport'st amid the lightning-flash and thunder-cloud, In them, in thy experiences, had'st thou my soul, These gorges, turbulent-clear streams, this naked freshness, I know thee, savage spirit-we have communed together; To fuse within themselves its rules precise and delicatesse? and polish'd arch forgot? But thou that revelest here, spirit that form'd this scene, 1879. 1881. 15 20 5 10 WITH HUSKY-HAUGHTY LIPS, O SEA With husky-haughty lips, O sea! Where day and night I wend thy surf-beat shore, Thy ample, smiling face, dash'd with the sparkling dimples of the sun, Thy unsubduedness, caprices, wilfulness; Great as thou art above the rest, thy many tears-a lack from all eternity in thy content (Naught but the greatest struggles, wrongs, defeats, could make thee greatest-no less could make thee); Thy lonely state something thou ever seek'st and seek'st, yet never gain'st, Surely some right withheld—some voice, in huge monotonous rage, of Some vast heart, like a planet's, chain'd and chafing in those breakers; And rhythmic rasping of thy sands and waves, And serpent hiss, and savage peals of laughter, And undertones of distant lion roar (Sounding, appealing to the sky's deaf ear-but now, rapport for once, A phantom in the night thy confidant for once), The first and last confession of the globe, Outsurging, muttering from thy soul's abysms, Thou tellest to a kindred soul. 1884. GOOD-BYE, MY FANCY Good-bye, my Fancy! Farewell, dear mate, dear love! I'm going away, I know not where, Or to what fortune, or whether I may ever see you again, Now for my last-let me look back a moment; Long have we lived, joy'd, caress'd together; Delightful!-now separation-Good-bye, my Fancy. Yet let me not be too hasty: Long indeed have we lived, slept, filter'd, become really blended into one; Then if we die we die together (yes, we 'll remain one), If we go anywhere we 'll go together to meet what happens, May-be it is yourself now really ushering me to the true songs (who May-be it is you the mortal knob really undoing, turning-so now finally, Good-bye and hail! my Fancy. 1891. RICHARD HENRY STODDARD LEONATUS The fair boy Leonatus, It was his duty evermore To tend the Lady Imogen; By peep of day he might be seen To wake the sleepy waiting-maid, Who rose, and when she had arrayed ΙΟ 15 5 |