The pleasant books, that silently among Our household treasures take familiar places, And are to us as if a living tongue Spake from the printed leaves or pictured faces! Perhaps on earth I never shall behold, With eye of sense, your outward form and semblance; Therefore to me ye never will grow old, But live for ever young in my remembrance. Never grow old, nor change, nor pass away! Not chance of birth or place has made us friends, With the same hopes and fears and aspirations. Therefore I hope to join your seaside walk, The grand, majestic symphonies of ocean. Therefore I hope, as no unwelcome guest, At your warm fireside, when the lamps are lighted, To have my place reserved among the rest, Nor stand as one unsought and uninvited! BY THE SEASIDE. THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP. "BUILD me straight, O worthy Master! Staunch and strong, a goodly vessel, That shall laugh at all disaster, And with wave and whirlwind wrestle!" The merchant's word Delighted the Master heard; For his heart was in his work, and the heart A quiet smile played round his lips, As the eddies and dimples of the tide That steadily at anchor ride. And with a voice that was full of glee, And first with nicest skill, and art, A little model the Master wrought, That with a hand more swift and sure And eight round towers, like those that frown Upon the drawbridge and the moat. And he said with a smile, "Our ship, I wis, Shall be of another form than this!" It was of another form, indeed; Built for freight, and yet for speed, A beautiful and gallant craft; Broad in the beam, that the stress of the blast, Pressing down upon sail and mast, Might not the sharp bows overwhelm ; With graceful curve and slow degrees, That she might be docile to the helm, In the ship-yard stood the Master, That should laugh at all disaster, And with wave and whirlwind wrestle! Covering many a rood of ground, Lay the timber piled around; Timber of chestnut, and elm, and oak, The knarred and crooked cedar knees; And the banks of the roaring Roanoke! To note how many wheels of toil One thought, one word, can set in motion ! There's not a ship that sails the ocean, But every climate, every soil, Must bring its tribute, great or small, The sun was rising o'er the sea, Framed and launched in a single day. Had hewn and laid them every one, Beautiful they were, in sooth, The heir of his dexterity, The heir of his house, and his daughter's hand, When he had built and launched from land What the elder head had planned. “Thus,” said he, "will we build this ship! Lay square the blocks upon the slip, And follow well this plan of mine. all that is unsound beware; For only what is sound and strong |