As the stars come out, and the night-wind Murmurs and scents of the infinite sea. B Matthew Arnold. A Green Wave ETWEEN the salt sea-send before A great green wave of shining light Above, the east wind shreds the sky William Sharp. "Pater vester pascit illa UR bark is on the waters! wide around, Shrieks to the levelled weapon's echoing sound: Thy gathering voice, and sought his native breeze; R. S. Hawker. Outward Bound TATELY yon vessel sails adown the tide, Joyful they enter on their ocean way, With shouts exulting leave their native land, Southey. "Where lies the land?" HERE lies the land to which the ship would go? W And where the land she travels from? Away, On sunny noons, upon the deck's smooth face, On stormy nights when wild north-westers rave, Where lies the land to which the ship would go? And where the land she travels from? Away, HIPS that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing, Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness; So on the ocean of life we pass and speak one another, Only a look, and a voice, then darkness again and a silence. Sea-farers Longfellow. HE steamers that put from the Clyde, To ply in the lanes of the sea. By fairway and channel and sound, By shoal and deep water they go, Guessing the course by the feel of the ground Nor'west in the track of the floe. And we steer them to harbours afar, Where the coral is furrowed by keels on the bar The anchorage dredged by the Lord. By the placid, palm-skirted bayou, In the days when they doubled the Horn, And what of the cargo ye bring For the venture ye bore overseas? In spite of the billow and breeze? Oh! we carry the keys of the earth, Wherever the beaches held tokens of worth And the guerdon for blood ye have shed? Oh! a grave where the dipsey is dim overhead, A chip from the flotsam of fame. Perceval Gibbon. Lost, with her crew of three hundred boys, on the last day of her voyage, March 23, 1876. She foundered off Portsmouth, from which town many of the boys came. U 66 P with the royals that top the white spread of her! Press her and dress her, and drive through the foam; The Island's to port, and the mainland ahead of her, Hey for the Warner and Hayling and Home! Bo'sun, O Bo'sun, just look at the green of it! Look at the red cattle down by the hedge! Look at the farmsteading—all that is seen of it, One little gable end over the edge!" "Lord! the tongues of them clattering, clattering, Spread the topgallants-oh, lay them out lustily! "Bo'sun, O Bo'sun, just see the long slope of it! Culver is there, with the cliff and the light. Tell us, oh tell us, now is there a hope of it? Shall we have leave for our homes for to-night?" |