LITMIR.BIZ

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With a gesture of command, Waved his hand; And at the word, Loud and sudden there was heard, All around them and below, The sound of hammers, blow on blow, Knocking away the shores and spurs. And see! she stirs! She starts—she moves—she seems to feel The thrill of life along her keel, And, spurning with her foot the ground, With one exulting, joyous bound, She leaps into the ocean's arms!

      And lo! from the assembled crowd There rose a shout, prolonged and loud, That to the ocean seemed to say, "Take her, O bridegroom, old and gray, Take her to thy protecting arms, With all her youth and all her charms!"

      How beautiful she is! How fair She lies within those arms, that press Her form with many a soft caress Of tenderness and watchful care! Sail forth into the sea, O ship! Through wind and wave, right onward steer! The moistened eye, the trembling lip, Are not the signs of doubt or fear.

      Sail forth into the sea of life, O gentle, loving, trusting wife, And safe from all adversity Upon the bosom of that sea Thy comings and thy goings be! For gentleness and love and trust Prevail o'er angry wave and gust; And in the wreck of noble lives Something immortal still survives!

      Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State! Sail on, O UNION, strong and great! Humanity with all its fears, With all the hopes of future years, Is hanging breathless on thy fate! We know what Master laid thy keel, What Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel, Who made each mast, and sail, and rope, What anvils rang, what hammers beat, In what a forge and what a heat Were shaped the anchors of thy hope! Fear not each sudden sound and shock, 'T is of the wave and not the rock; 'T is but the flapping of the sail, And not a rent made by the gale! In spite of rock and tempest's roar, In spite of false lights on the shore, Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee, Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears, Our faith triumphant o'er our fears, Are all with thee—are all with thee!

SEAWEED

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      When descends on the Atlantic

       The gigantic

      Storm-wind of the equinox,

      Landward in his wrath he scourges

       The toiling surges,

      Laden with seaweed from the rocks:

      From Bermuda's reefs; from edges

       Of sunken ledges,

      In some far-off, bright Azore;

      From Bahama, and the dashing,

       Silver-flashing

      Surges of San Salvador;

      From the tumbling surf, that buries

       The Orkneyan skerries,

      Answering the hoarse Hebrides;

      And from wrecks of ships, and drifting

       Spars, uplifting

      On the desolate, rainy seas;—

      Ever drifting, drifting, drifting

       On the shifting

      Currents of the restless main;

      Till in sheltered coves, and reaches

       Of sandy beaches,

      All have found repose again.

      So when storms of wild emotion

       Strike the ocean

      Of the poet's soul, erelong

      From each cave and rocky fastness,

       In its vastness,

      Floats some fragment of a song:

      Front the far-off isles enchanted,

       Heaven has planted

      With the golden fruit of Truth;

      From the flashing surf, whose vision

       Gleams Elysian

      In the tropic clime of Youth;

      From the strong Will, and the Endeavor

       That forever

      Wrestle with the tides of Fate

      From the wreck of Hopes far-scattered,

       Tempest-shattered,

      Floating waste and desolate;—

      Ever drifting, drifting, drifting

       On the shifting

      Currents of the restless heart;

      Till at length in books recorded,

       They, like hoarded

      Household words, no more depart.

CHRYSAOR

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      Just above yon sandy bar,

       As the day grows fainter and dimmer,

      Lonely and lovely, a single star

       Lights the air with a dusky glimmer

      Into the ocean faint and far

       Falls the trail of its golden splendor,

      And the gleam of that single star

       Is ever refulgent, soft, and tender.

      Chrysaor, rising out of the sea,

       Showed thus glorious and thus emulous,

      Leaving the arms of Callirrhoe,

       Forever tender, soft, and tremulous.

      Thus o'er the ocean faint and far

       Trailed the gleam of his falchion brightly;

      Is it a God, or is it a star

       That, entranced, I gaze on nightly!

THE SECRET OF THE SEA

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      Ah! what pleasant visions haunt me

       As I gaze upon the sea!

      All the old romantic legends,

       All my dreams, come back to me.

      Sails of silk and ropes of sandal,

       Such as gleam in ancient lore;

      And the singing of the sailors,

       And the answer from the shore!

      Most of all, the Spanish ballad

       Haunts me oft, and tarries long,

      Of the noble Count Arnaldos

       And the sailor's mystic song.

      Like the long waves on a sea-beach,

       Where the sand as silver shines,

      With a soft, monotonous cadence,

       Flow its unrhymed lyric lines:—

      Telling how the Count Arnaldos,

       With his hawk upon his hand,

      Saw a fair and stately galley,

       Steering onward to the land;—

      How he heard the ancient helmsman

       Chant a song so wild and clear,

      That the sailing sea-bird slowly

       Poised upon the mast to hear,

      Till his soul was full of longing,

       And he cried,

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