 | Poems |  |
16
NORTHERN STUDENT.
I'm weary of the thing, if this be life—To dose and prose, companion of the clock,
Bound to my room as seaweed to the rock,
And maddened by a garrulous old wife!
O for the noise, the bustle, and the strife,
And the glad smell of brine down at the dock;
The launch, and the brave timbers that will mock
A winter's voyage with storm and whirlwind rife!
This, this were life, to mount the swelling wave,
And steer the stout ship through the opposing blast,
And, even in dreams, to hear the tempest rave
And the great league-long tides go groaning past,
Till soft winds waft, and smoother waters lave
The good ship, and she gains the port at last!
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