« 上一页继续 »
The twilight is sad and cloudy,
The wind blows wild and free, And like the wings of sea-birds
Flash the white caps of the sea.
But in the fisherman's cottage
There shines a ruddier light, And a little face at the window
Peers out into the night.
Close, close it is pressed to the window,
As if those childish eyes Were looking into the darkness,
To see some form arise.
And a woman's waving shadow
Is passing to and fro, Now rising to the ceiling,
Now bowing and bending low.
What tale do the roaring ocean,
And the night-wind, bleak and wild, As they beat at the crazy casement,
Tell to that little child ?
And why do the roaring ocean,
And the night-wind, wild and bleak, As they beat at the heart of the mother, Drive the color from her cheek ?
H. W. LONGFELLOW.
See where, upon the blue and waveless deep,
BARRY CORNWALL. THE FISHERMEN.
Three fishers went sailing out into the West,
Out into the West as the sun went down, Each thought of the woman who loved him the best,
And the children stood watching them out of the town; For men must work, and women must weep, And there's little to earn, and many to keep,
Though the harbor bar be moaning.
Three wives sat up in the light-house tower
And trimmed the lamps as the sun went down, And they looked at the squall, and they looked at the
shower, And the rack it came rolling up, ragged and brown; But men must work, and women must weep, Though storms be sudden, and waters deep,
And the harbor bar be moaning.
Three corpses lay out on the shining sands
In the morning gleam as the tide went down,
For those who will never come back to the town ;
ABOVE the headlands massy, dim,
A swelling glow, a fiery birth, A marvel in the sky doth swim,
Advanced upon the hush of earth.
The globe, o'erhanging bright and brave
The pale green-glimmering ocean-floor, Silvers its wave, its rustling wave
Soft folded on the shelving shore.
O lonely moon, a lonely place
GLIDE ON, MY BARK.
Glide on, my bark; the summer's tide
Her countless gems to deck the wave; Whilst moonlight shines like mimic dayGlide on, my bark, thy moonlit way.
Glide on, my bark! how sweet to rove,
Except the water's gentle swell;