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Arrived at last on shallow ground, he saw

The stooping light, as if in haste, withdraw;

Again it issued just above the door

With a white hand, and vanished as before.

Then rising, with a sudden-ceasing sound

Of wateriness, he stood on the firm ground,

And treading up a little slippery bank,

With jutting myrtles mixed, and verdure dank,

Came to a door ajar, — all hushed, all blind

With darkness; yet he guessed who stood behind;

And entering with a turn, the breathless boy

A breathless welcome finds, and words that die for joy.

Leioh Hunt.


Is my lover on the sea?

Sailing east, or sailing west?
Mighty Ocean, gentle be,

Kock him into rest!

Let no angry wind arise,

Nor a wave with whitened crest;
All be gentle as his eyes,

When he is caressed!

Barry Cornwall.


Come, hoist the sail, the fast let go!

They're seated side by side; Wave chases wave in pleasant flow:

The bay is fair and wide.

The ripples lightly tap the boat.

Loose ! — Give her to the wind! She shoots ahead : — they're all afloat:

The strand is far behind.

No danger reach so fair a crew;

Thou goddess of the foam, I'll ever pay thee worship due,

If thou wilt bring them home.

Fair ladies, fairer than the spray

The prow is dashing wide,
Soft breezes take you on your way,

Soft flow the blessed tide!



O, might I like those breezes be,

And touch that arching brow, I'd toil for ever on the sea

Where ye are floating now.

The boat goes tilting on the waves;

The waves go tilting by;
There dips the duck : — her back she laves;

O'erhead the sea-gulls fly.

Now, like the gulls that dart for prey,

The little vessel stoops;
Now rising, shoots along her way,

Like them, in easy swoops.

The sun-light falling on her sheet,

It glitters like the drift
Sparkling in scorn of summer's heat,

High up some mountain rift.

The winds are fresh; she's driving fast

Upon the bending tide,
The crinkling sail, and crinkling mast,

Go with her side by side.

Why dies the breeze away so soon?

Why hangs the pennant down? The sea is glass; the sun at noon.

— Nay, lady, do not frown;

For, see, the winged fisher's plume

Is painted on the sea:
Below, a cheek of lovely bloom.

— Whose eyes look up at thee?

She smiles; thou need'st must smile on her

And, see, beside her face
A rich, white cloud that doth not stir.

What beauty, and what grace!

And pictured beach of yellow sand,

And peaked rock, and hill, Change the smooth sea to fairy land.

How lovely and how still!

From that far isle the thresher's flail

Strikes close upon the ear;
The leaping fish, the swinging sail

Of yonder sloop sound near.

The parting sun sends out a glow

Across the placid bay,
Touching with glory all the show. —

A breeze ! — Up helm! — Away!

Careening to the wind, they reach,
With laugh and call, the shore.

They've left their foot-prints on the beach;
But them I hear no more.


Goddess of Beauty, must I now
Vowed worship to thee pay?

Dear goddess, I grow old, I trow:
My head is growing grey.

R. H. Dana.


Merrily, merrily bounds the bark,

She bounds before the gale;
The mountain breeze from Ben-na-darch

Is joyous in her sail.

With fluttering sound, like laughter hoarse,

The cords and canvas strain;
The waves, divided by her force,
In rippling eddies chase her course,

As if they laugh'd again.

Merrily, merrily bounds the bark,

O'er the broad ocean driven;
Her path by Ronin's mountain dark,

The steersman's hand has given.

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