A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA. 135

A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA.

A

WET sheet and a flowing sea,—

A wind that follows fast,

That fills the white and rustling sail,

And bends the gallant mast,—
And bends the gallant mast, my boys,

While, like the eagle free,

Away the good ship flies, and leaves
Old England on the lee.

Oh for a soft and gentle wind!
I heard a fair one cry;

But give to me the snoring breeze,
And white waves heaving high,-
And white waves heaving high, my boys,
The good ship tight and free
The world of waters is our home,
And merry men are we.

There's tempest in yon hornèd moon,

And lightning in yon cloud;

And hark the music, mariners!
The wind is piping loud,—
The wind is piping loud, my boys,
The lightning flashing free ;

While the hollow oak our palace is,

Our heritage the sea.

Allan Cunningham.

MID-OCEAN.

WILD fields of ocean, piling heap on heap,

Thy mountainous wealth of water, but to fling

Abroad in splendthrift haste, still gathering And scattering to the winds what none would keep; Thou canst not know so sweet a thing as sleep

For all thy toil; nor hope whereto to cling.— Plowed by the winds in one unending springWhat harvest, of the storm, hast thou to reap ?

My spirit owns, but will not bend before

This dull brute might and purposeless, of thine ;
The sea-bird resting on thy wave is more
Than thou, by all its faculty divine

To suffer; pang is none in this thy roar,
And all the joy that lifts thy wave is mine!

Emily Pfeiffer.

Co

COME HOME.

OME home, come home! and where is home for me,

Whose ship is driving o'er the trackless sea?

To the frail bark here plunging on its way,
To the wild waters, shall I turn and say,
To the plunging bark, or to the salt sea foam,
You are my home.

Fields once I walked in, faces once I knew,

Familiar things so old my heart believed them true,

SELF-DEPENDENCE.

These far, far back, behind me lie, before

137

The dark clouds mutter, and the deep seas roar, And speak to them that 'neath and o'er them roam No words of home.

Beyond the clouds, beyond the waves that roar,
There may indeed, or may not be, a shore,
Where fields as green, and hands and hearts as true,
The old forgotten semblance may renew

And offer exiles driven far o'er the salt sea-foam
Another home.

But toil and pain must wear out many a day,
And days bear weeks, and weeks bear months away,
Ere, if at all, the weary traveller hear,

With accents whispered in his wayworn ear,

A voice he dares to listen to, say, Come
To thy true home.

Come home, come home! and where a home hath he Whose ship is driving o'er the driving sea?

Through clouds that mutter, and o'er waves that roar, Say shall we find, or shall we not, a shore

That is, as is not ship or ocean foam,

Indeed our home?

A. H. Clough.

SELF-DEPENDENCE.

EARY of myself, and sick of asking

WEA

What I am, and what I ought to be, At this vessel's prow I stand, which bears me Forward, forward, o'er the starlit sea.

And a look of passionate desire

O'er the sea and to the stars I send ;

"Ye who from my childhood up have calm'd me, Calm me, ah, compose me to the end!

"Ah, once more," I cried "ye stars, ye waters, On my heart your mighty charm renew;

Still, still let me, as I gaze upon you,

Feel my soul becoming vast-like you!"

From the intense, clear, star-sown vault of heaven,
Over the lit sea's unquiet way,

In the rustling night air came the answer—
"Wouldst thou be as these are? Live as they.

“Unaffrighted by the silence round them,
Undistracted by the sights they see,

These demand not that the things without them
Yield them love, amusement, sympathy.

"And with joy the stars perform their shining
And the sea its long moon-silver'd roll.
For self-poised they live, nor pine with noting
All the fever of some differing soul.

"Bounded by themselves, and unregardful
In what state God's other works may be,
In their own tasks all their powers pouring,
These attain the mighty life you see"

O air-born voice! long since, severely clear,
A cry like thine in mine own heart I hear :
"Resolve to be thyself; and know that he
Who finds himself loses his misery!"

Matthew Arnold.

COMING ACROSS.

139

E

COMING ACROSS.

VERY sail is full set, and the sky
And the sea blaze with light,

And the moon mid her virgins glides on
As St. Ursula might;

And the throb of the pulse never stops

In the heart of the ship,

As her measures of water and fire

She drinks down at a sip.

Yet I never can think, as I lie,

And so wearily toss,

That by saint or by star, or by ship,

I am coming across;

But by light which I know in dear eyes
That are bent on the sea,

And the touch I remember of hands
That are waiting for me

By the light of the eyes I could come,
If the stars should all fail;

And I think, if the ship should go down,
That the hands would prevail.

Ah! my darlings, you never will know
How I pined in the loss

Of

you all, and how breathless and glad I am coming across.

H. H.