Rich are the sea-gods ;-who gives gifts but they? They grope the sea for pearls, but more than pearls : They pluck Force thence, and give it to the wise. For every wave is wealth to Dædalus,

Wealth to the cunning artist who can work

This matchless strength. Where shall he find, O waves!

A load your Atlas shoulders cannot lift?

"I, with my hammer pounding evermore
The rocky coast, smite Andes into dust,
Strewing my bed, and in another age
Rebuild a continent of better men ;
Then I unbar the doors.

My paths lead out

The exodus of nations: I disperse

Men to all shores that front the hoary main.

"I, too, have arts and sorceries :

Illusion dwells forever with the wave.

I know what spells are laid. Leave me to deal
With credulous and imaginative man;

For, though he scoop my water in his palm,
A few rods off he deems it gems and clouds.
Planting strange fruits and sunshine on the shore,
I make some coast alluring, some lone isle,
To distant men, who must go there, or die."

R. W. Emerson,

THE SAND-PIPER,

A

THE SAND-PIPER.

CROSS the narrow beach we flit,

One little sand-piper and I,

And fast I gather, bit by bit,

The scattered driftwood bleached and dry.
The wild waves reach their hands for it,
The wild wind raves, the tide runs high,
As up and down the beach we flit,—
One little sand-piper and I.

Above our heads the sullen clouds
Scud black and swift across the sky;
Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds
Stand out the white lighthouses high.
Almost as far as eye can reach,

I see the close-reefed vessels fly,
As fast we flit along the beach,—
One little sand-piper and I.

I watch him as he skims along,
Uttering his sweet and mournful cry.
He starts not at my fitful song,
Or flash of fluttering drapery.
He has no thought of any wrong;

He scans me with a fearless eye.
Stanch friends are we, well tried and strong,
The little sand-piper and I.

Comrade, where wilt thou be to-night,
When the loosed storm breaks furiously?
My driftwood fire will burn so bright!
To what warm shelter canst thou fly?

61

I do not fear for thee though wroth
The tempest rushes through the sky :
For are we not God's children both,

Thou little sand-piper and I?

Celia Thaxter.

WOULD GOD I WERE NOW BY THE SEA!

OULD God I were now by the sea!

WOULD

By the winding wet-worn caves,

By the ragged rents of the rocks!

And that there as a bird I might be
White-winged with the sea-skimming flocks;
Where the spray and the breeze blow free
O'er the ceaseless mirth of the waves,
And dishevel their loose gray locks.

I would spread my wings to the moist, salt air,
And my wide white wings should carry me
Lifted up out over the sea,-

Carry I heed not where,

Somewhither far away,

Somewhither far from my hateful home,

Where the breast of the breeze is sprinkled with

spray,

Where the restless deep is maddened with glee;

Over the waves' wild ecstasy,
Through the wild blown foam !

Euripides.

LOW TIDE.

63

LOW TIDE.

UNDER the cliff I walk in silence,

While the intrepid waters flow,

And the white birds, lit by the sun into silver,
Glitter against the blue below;

And the tide is low.

Here, years ago, in golden weather,
Under the cliff, and close to the sea,
A pledge was given that made me master
Of all that ever was dear to me;

And the tide was low.

Only a little year fled by after,

Then my bride and I came once more,
And saw the sea, like a bird imprisoned,
Beating its wings 'gainst its bars, the shore ;
And the tide was low.

Now I walk alone by the filmy breakers,—
A voice is hushed I can never forget;
Upon my sea dead calm has fallen,
My ships are harbored, my sun is set;
And the tide is low.

Henry Abbey.

WHEN THE TIDE COMES IN.

W

HEN the tide comes in,

At once the shore and sea begin Together to be glad.

What the tide has brought

No man has asked, no man has sought :

What other tides have had

The deep sand hides away;
The last bit of the wrecks they wrought
Was burned up yesterday.

When the tide goes out,

The shore looks dark and sad with doubt. The landmarks are all lost.

For the tide to turn

Men patient wait, men restless yearn.
Sweet channels they have crossed,
In boats that rocked with glee,
Stretch now bare stony roads that burn
And lead away from sea.

When the tide comes in

In hearts, at once the hearts begin

Together to be glad.

What the tide has brought

They do not care, they have not sought.

All joy they ever had

The new joy multiplies;

All pain by which it may be bought

Seems paltry sacrifice.