The World of Waters And bends the gallant mast, my boys, While, like the eagle free, Away the good ship flies, and leaves O for a soft and gentle wind! But give to me the snoring breeze There's tempest in yon hornèd moon, Our heritage the sea. ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. A Visit From the Sea* Far from the loud sea-beaches, Where he goes fishing and crying, Here in the inland garden, Why is the sea-gull flying? Here are no fish to dive for: Here is the corn and lea; Fresh is the river water, And quiet among the rushes; This is no home for the sea-gull, But for the rooks and thrushes. Pity the bird that has wandered! Let him come here no more! High on the sea-cliff ledges The white gulls are trooping and crying; Here among rooks and roses, Why is the sea-gull flying? ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. From "A Child's Garden of Verses." By permission of Charles Scribner's Sons. The World of Waters The World of Waters Drifting My soul to-day Is far away, Sailing the Vesuvian Bay; My winged boat, A bird afloat, Swings round the purple peaks remote: Round purple peaks It sails, and seeks Blue inlets and their crystal creeks, Through deeps below, A duplicated golden glow. Far, vague, and dim, Here Ischia smiles O'er liquid miles; And yonder, bluest of the isles, Calm Capri waits, Her sapphire gates Beguiling to her bright estates. *By courtesy of J. B. Lippincott & Co. I heed not, if My rippling skiff Float swift or slow from cliff to cliff; With dreamful eyes My spirit lies Under the walls of Paradise. Under the walls Where swells and falls The Bay's deep breast at intervals Blown softly by, A cloud upon this liquid sky. The day, so mild, Is Heaven's own child, With Earth and Ocean reconciled; Around me steal Are murmuring to the murmuring keel. Over the rail My hand I trail Within the shadow of the sail, The cooling sense Glides down my drowsy indolence. With dreamful eyes My spirit lies Where Summer sings and never dies, The World of Waters The World of Waters O'erveiled with vines She glows and shines Among her future oil and wines. Her children, hid The cliffs amid, Are gambolling with the gambolling kid, With tipsy calls, Laugh on the rocks like waterfalls. The fisher's child, With tresses wild, Unto the smooth, bright sand beguiled, Sings as she skips, Or gazes at the far-off ships. Yon deep bark goes Where traffic blows, From lands of sun to lands of snows; Its course is run From lands of snow to lands of sun. O happy ship, To rise and dip, With the blue crystal at your lip! O happy crew, My heart with you Sails, and sails, and sings anew! |