« 上一页继续 »
How looks Appledore in a storm?
I have seen it when its crags seemed frantic,
Butting against the maddened Atlantic, When surge after surge would heap enorme
Cliffs of emerald topped with snow,
That lifted and lifted, and then let go A great white avalanche of thunder,
A grinding, blinding, deafening ire Monadnock might have trembled under;
And the island, whose rock-roots pierce below
To where they are warmed with the central fire, You could feel its granite fibres racked
As it seemed to plunge with a shudder and thrill
Right at the breast of the swooping hill,
While the sea drew its breath in hoarse and deep, And the next vast breaker curled its edge,
Gathering itself for a mightier leap.
North, east, and south, there are reefs and breakers
You would never dream of in smooth weather, That toss and gore the sea for acres,
Bellowing, and gnashing, and snarling together ;
Look northward, where Duck Island lies,
A row of pillars still and white,
That glimmer and then are out of sight,
While you crossed the gusty desert by night,
The lantern stands ninety feet o'er the tide ;
And surging bewilderment wild and wide, Where the breakers struggle left and right,
Then a mile or more of rushing sea, And then the light-house slim and lone ; And whenever the whole weight of ocean is thrown Full and fair on White Island head,
A great mist-jötun you will see
Lifting himself up silently
Groping after the little tower
Till the monster's arms of a sudden drop,
And silently and fruitlessly
You, meanwhile, where drenched you stand,
Awaken once more to the rush and roar, And on the rock-point tighten your hand, As you turn and see a valley deep,
That was not there a moment before,
Of toppling billow, whose instant fall
Must sink the whole island once for all — Or watch the silenter, stealthier seas
Feeling their way to you more and more ; If they once should clutch you high as the knees, They would hurl you down like a sprig of kelp, Beyond all reach of hope or help ;And such in a storm is Appledore.
J. R. LOWELL.
TAE tide has ebbed away ; No more wild surgings 'gainst the adamant rocks, No swayings of the sea-weed false that mocks
The hues of gardens gay ;
No laugh of little wavelets at their play; No lucid pools reflecting Heaven's browBoth storm and calm alike are ended now.
The bare grey rocks sit lone ;
To vex it with loud moan;
Only some weedy fragment blackening thrown
Afar the mountains rise,
Seaward, a white bird flies;
A bird ? Nay, seems it rather in these eyes An angel ; o'er Eternity's dim sea, Beck’ning --Come thou where all we glad souls be.'
O life! O silent shore,
But sorrowful no more! —
Would we were disembodied souls to soar, And like white sea-birds wing the Infinite Deep!Till then, Thou, Just One! wilt our spirits keep.
The water rolled - the water swelled,
A fisher sat thereby ;
His line with dreamy eye:
The parted waves unclose,
A water maiden rose.
She sang to him, she spake to him, —
• My brood why lurest thou, With human wit and human craft,
Up to the deadly glow?
Our peaceful lives are passed,
And breathe free health at last.
* Bathes not the golden sun his face
The moon too in the sea;
More beautiful to see?