The poetical works of Robert Stephen Hawker Edited from the original manuscripts and annotated copies together with a prefatory notice and bibliography by Alfred Wallis |
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THE SEA.
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 | The poetical works of Robert Stephen Hawker |  |
THE SEA.
A FRAGMENT.
I love the ocean! from a very child
It has been to me as a nursing breast,
Cherishing wild fancies.—
It has been to me as a nursing breast,
Cherishing wild fancies.—
I was wont to rest
Gazing upon it, when the breeze was wild,
And think that every wave reared its white arms
To grasp and chide the wind that rolled along
In fitful buffetings, chanting its hoarse song
As in stern mockery! Such a scene had charms
For my young heart.
Gazing upon it, when the breeze was wild,
And think that every wave reared its white arms
To grasp and chide the wind that rolled along
In fitful buffetings, chanting its hoarse song
As in stern mockery! Such a scene had charms
For my young heart.
And when the autumn moon
Laughed o'er the waters, it was mine to trace
Her imaged form; as if her tiring-place
Were the wave's bosom, or seeking there some boon
Of sea-god in his coral bower, she stayed,
Wronging Endymion—then the wind would cease,
And every murmur melt away in peace,
And all be gentle as a softening maid
Breathing love's tell-tale sigh.
Laughed o'er the waters, it was mine to trace
Her imaged form; as if her tiring-place
Were the wave's bosom, or seeking there some boon
Of sea-god in his coral bower, she stayed,
Wronging Endymion—then the wind would cease,
And every murmur melt away in peace,
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Breathing love's tell-tale sigh.
'Tis said,
In such a night the daughters of the sea
Wake their wild harps in siren minstrelsy;
And on their crystal-pillow'd couches spread
Their clustering tresses, wooing the young breeze
To wanton with their ringlets, or whispering tales
Of passionate homage to some chosen star,
Beautifully journeying in its azure car
Through paths of loveliness.
In such a night the daughters of the sea
Wake their wild harps in siren minstrelsy;
And on their crystal-pillow'd couches spread
Their clustering tresses, wooing the young breeze
To wanton with their ringlets, or whispering tales
Of passionate homage to some chosen star,
Beautifully journeying in its azure car
Through paths of loveliness.
Joys such as these,
Visions of wayless fancy, were the fire
That burnt within me, and they strung the lyre My feeble hands have swept.
Visions of wayless fancy, were the fire
That burnt within me, and they strung the lyre My feeble hands have swept.
| The poetical works of Robert Stephen Hawker | |