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The sad rhyme of the men who proudly clung
OVER the sea our galleys went, With cleaving prows in order brave, To a speeding wind and a bounding waveA gallant armament:
Each bark built out of a forest-tree,
Left leafy and rough as first it grew, And nail'd all over the gaping sides, Within and without, with black-bull hides, Seeth'd in fat and suppled in flame, To bear the playful billows' game; So each good ship was rude to see, Rude and bare to the outward view,
But each upbore a stately tent;
When the sun dawn'd, oh, gay and glad
Lay stretch'd along, each weary crew In a circle round its wondrous tent, Whence gleam'd soft light and curl'd rich scent, And with light and perfume, music too: So the stars wheel'd round, and the darkness past, And at morn we started beside the mast, And still each ship was sailing fast!
One morn, the land appear'd! a speck
The shout, restrain the longing eye!
And a statue bright was on every deck!
And steered right into the harbor thus,
An hundred shapes of lucid stone!
All day we built a shrine for each
A shrine of rock for every one
'Our isles are just at hand,' they cried;
'Like cloudlets faint at even sleeping, Our temple-gates are open'd wide,
Our olive-groves thick shade are keeping For the lucid shapes you bring,' they cried. Oh then we awoke with sudden start
From our deep dream; we knew, too late,
To which we had flung our precious freight :
Our gifts, once given, must here abide :
TO MY COMPANIONS.
YE heavy-hearted mariners.
Ye patient, ye who labor
Sitting at the sweeping oar,
And see afar the flashing sea-gulls play
On the free waters, and the glad bright day
Twine with his hand the spray;
From out your dreariness,
Nay, nay, I know not, Mariners,
That high uplift their smooth dark fronts,
I do imagine, that the free clouds play
Above those eminent heights, that somewhere Day
Rides his triumphant way,
And hath secure dominion
W. E. CHANNING.
In a season of calm weather,
Though inland far we be,
Our souls have sight of that immortal sea
That brought us hither,
Can in a moment travel thither,
And see the children sport upon the shore,
TELL me, brother, what are we ?
Half afloat and half on land,
Such are we.
Wanting love and holiness
Yet impatient in our dwelling,