The sad rhyme of the men who proudly clung To their first fault, and wither'd in their pride. OVER the sea our galleys went, With cleaving prows in order brave, To a speeding wind and a bounding wave A gallant armament: Each bark built out of a forest-tree, Left leafy and rough as first it grew, But each upbore a stately tent; When the sun dawn'd, oh, gay and glad Lay stretch'd along, each weary crew Whence gleam'd soft light and curl'd rich scent, And still each ship was sailing fast! One morn, the land appear'd! a speck Dim trembling betwixt sea and sky The shout, restrain the longing eye! Let the purple awning flap in the wind, And a statue bright was on every deck! We shouted, every man of us, And steered right into the harbor thus, An hundred shapes of lucid stone! Nor paused till in the westering sun We sate together on the beach To sing, because our task was done ; 'Our isles are just at hand,' they cried; Our olive-groves thick shade are keeping To which we had flung our precious freight : Yet we called out - Depart! 6 Our gifts, once given, must here abide : Our work is done; we have no heart To mar our work,' we cried. ROBERT BROWNING. TO MY COMPANIONS. YE heavy-hearted mariners. Who sail this shore, 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 From out your dreariness, Nay, nay, I know not, Mariners, What cliffs these are, That high uplift their smooth dark fronts, And sadly round us bar; I do imagine, that the free clouds play Above those eminent heights, that somewhere Day Rides his triumphant way, And hath secure dominion Over our stern oblivion, To free from doubt. W. E. CHANNING. THE OCEAN. 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, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.' WORDSWORTH. TELL me, brother, what are we ? Of Deity! Half afloat and half on land, Wishing much to leave the strand, – Standing, gazing with devotion, Such are we. Wanting love and holiness To enjoy the wave's caress; Yet impatient in our dwelling, When we hear the ocean swelling, |