A Song of Desire

1543

"WITH SHIPS THE SEA WAS SPRINKLED"

WITH ships the sea was sprinkled far and nigh,
Like stars in heaven, and joyously it showed;
Some lying fast at anchor in the road,

Some veering up and down, one knew not why.
A goodly vessel did I then espy

Come like a giant from a haven broad;
And lustily along the bay she strode,
Her tackling rich, and of apparel high.

This ship was naught to me, nor I to her,
Yet I pursued her with a lover's look;

This ship to all the rest did I prefer:

When will she turn, and whither? She will brook
No tarrying; where she comes the winds must stir:
On went she, and due north her journey took.
William Wordsworth [1770-1850]

A SONG OF DESIRE

THOU dreamer with the million moods,
Of restless heart like me,

Lay thy white hands against my breast
And cool its pain, O Sea!

O wanderer of the unseen paths,
Restless of heart as I,

Blow hither, from thy caves of blue,
Wind of the healing sky!

O treader of the fiery way,

With passionate heart like mine,
Hold to my lips thy healthful cup
Brimmed with its blood-red wine!

O countless watchers of the night,
Of sleepless heart like me,
Pour your white beauty in my soul,
Till I grow calm as ye!

O sea, O sun, O wind and stars,

(O hungry heart that longs!)

Feed my starved lips with life, with love,
And touch my tongue with songs!

Frederic Lawrence Knowles [1869-1905]

A SEA LYRIC

THERE is no music that man has heard
Like the voice of the minstrel Sea,
Whose major and minor chords are fraught
With infinite mystery—

For the Sea is a harp, and the winds of God
Play over his rhythmic breast,

And bear on the sweep of their mighty wings
The song of a vast unrest.

There is no passion that man has sung,
Like the love of the deep-souled Sea,

Whose tide responds to the Moon's soft light
With marvelous melody-

For the Sea is a harp, and the winds of God
Play over his rhythmic breast,

And bear on the sweep of their mighty wings
The song of a vast unrest.

There is no sorrow that man has known,
Like the grief of the wordless Main,
Whose Titan bosom forever throbs

With an untranslated pain

For the Sea is a harp, and the winds of God
Play over his rhythmic breast,

And bear on the sweep of their mighty wings
The song of a vague unrest.

William Hamilton Hayne [1856

WIND AND SEA

THE sea is a jovial comrade,
He laughs wherever he goes;

His merriment shines in the dimpling lines

That wrinkle his hale repose;

The Pines and the Sea

1545

He lays himself down at the feet of the Sun,

And shakes all over with glee,

And the broad-backed billows fall faint on the shore,
In the mirth of the mighty Sea!

But the Wind is sad and restless,

And cursed with an inward pain;

You may hark as you will, by valley or hill,

But you hear him still complain.

He wails on the barren mountains,
And shrieks on the wintry sea;

He sobs in the cedar, and moans in the pine,
And shudders all over the aspen tree.

Welcome are both their voices,

And I know not which is best,

The laughter that slips from the Ocean's lips,

Or the comfortless Wind's unrest.

There's a pang in all rejoicing,

A joy in the heart of pain,

And the Wind that saddens, the Sea that gladdens,

Are singing the selfsame strain!

Bayard Taylor [1825-1878]

THE PINES AND THE SEA

BEYOND the low marsh-meadows and the beach,
Seen through the hoary trunks of windy pines,
The long blue level of the ocean shines.
The distant surf, with hoarse, complaining speech,
Out from its sandy barrier seems to reach;
And while the sun behind the woods declines,

The moaning sea with sighing boughs combines,

And waves and pines make answer, each to each.

O melancholy soul, whom far and near,

In life, faith, hope, the same sad undertone

Pursues from thought to thought! thou needs must hear

An old refrain, too much, too long thine own:

'Tis thy mortality infects thine ear;

The mournful strain was in thyself alone.

Christopher Pearse Cranch [1813-1892]

"A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA”

A WET sheet and a flowing sea,

A wind that follows fast,

And 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.

O 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 flashes free

While the hollow oak our palace is,

Our heritage the sea.

Allan Cunningham [1784-1842]

THE SEA

THE sea! the sea! the open sea!
The blue, the fresh, the ever free!
Without a mark, without a bound,

It runneth the earth's wide regions round;
It plays with the clouds; it mocks the skies;
Or like a cradled creature lies.

I'm on the sea! I'm on the sea!

I am where I would ever be;

Sailor's Song

With the blue above, and the blue below,
And silence wheresoe'er I go;

If a storm should come and awake the deep,
What matter? I shall ride and sleep.

I love, O, how I love to ride
On the fierce, foaming, bursting tide,
When every mad wave drowns the moon
Or whistles aloft his tempest tune,
And tells how goeth the world below,
And why the sou'west blasts do blow.

I never was on the dull, tame shore,
But I loved the great sea more and more,
And backwards flew to her billowy breast,
Like a bird that seeketh its mother's nest;
And a mother she was, and is, to me;
For I was born on the open sea!

The waves were white, and red the morn,
In the noisy hour when I was born;

And the whale it whistled, the porpoise rolled,
And the dolphins bared their backs of gold;
And never was heard such an outcry wild
As welcomed to life the ocean-child!

I've lived since then, in calm and strife,

Full fifty summers, a sailor's life,

With wealth to spend and a power to range,

But never have sought nor sighed for change;
And Death, whenever he comes to me,

Shall come on the wild, unbounded sea!

1547

Bryan Waller Procter [1787-1874]

SAILOR'S SONG

From "Death's Jest-Book"

To sea, to sea! The calm is o'er;

The wanton water leaps in sport,

And rattles down the pebbly shore;
The dolphin wheels, the sea-cows snort,