 | Poems and prose writings |  |
115
THE PLEASURE BOAT.
I.
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.
II.
The ripples lightly tap the boat.
Loose! — Give her to the wind!
She shoots ahead: — They 're all afloat:
The strand is far behind.
III.
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.
IV.
Fair ladies, fairer than the spray
The prow is dashing wide,
Soft breezes take you on your way,
Soft flow the blessed tide!
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.
II.
The ripples lightly tap the boat.
Loose! — Give her to the wind!
She shoots ahead: — They 're all afloat:
The strand is far behind.
III.
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.
IV.
Fair ladies, fairer than the spray
The prow is dashing wide,
Soft breezes take you on your way,
Soft flow the blessed tide!
116
V.
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.
VI.
The boat goes tilting on the waves;
The waves go tilting by;
There dips the duck; — her back she laves;
O'er head the sea-gulls fly.
VII.
Now, like the gulls that dart for prey,
The little vessel stoops;
Now rising, shoots along her way,
Like them, in easy swoops.
VIII.
The sun-light falling on her sheet,
It glitters like the drift
Sparkling in scorn of summer's heat,
High up some mountain rift.
IX.
The winds are fresh; she's driving fast
Upon the bending tide,
The crinkling sail, and crinkling mast,
Go with her side by side.
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.
VI.
The boat goes tilting on the waves;
The waves go tilting by;
There dips the duck; — her back she laves;
O'er head the sea-gulls fly.
VII.
Now, like the gulls that dart for prey,
The little vessel stoops;
Now rising, shoots along her way,
Like them, in easy swoops.
VIII.
The sun-light falling on her sheet,
It glitters like the drift
Sparkling in scorn of summer's heat,
High up some mountain rift.
IX.
The winds are fresh; she's driving fast
Upon the bending tide,
The crinkling sail, and crinkling mast,
Go with her side by side.
117
X.
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;
XI.
For, see, the winged fisher's plume
Is painted on the sea:
Below, a cheek of lovely bloom.
— Whose eyes look up at thee?
XII.
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!
XIII.
And pictured beach of yellow sand,
And peaked rock, and hill,
Change the smooth sea to fairy land. —
How lovely and how still!
XIV.
From that far isle the thresher's flail
Strikes close upon the ear;
The leaping fish, the swinging sail
Of yonder sloop sound near.
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;
XI.
For, see, the winged fisher's plume
Is painted on the sea:
Below, a cheek of lovely bloom.
— Whose eyes look up at thee?
XII.
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!
XIII.
And pictured beach of yellow sand,
And peaked rock, and hill,
Change the smooth sea to fairy land. —
How lovely and how still!
XIV.
From that far isle the thresher's flail
Strikes close upon the ear;
The leaping fish, the swinging sail
Of yonder sloop sound near.
118
XV.
The parting sun sends out a glow
Across the placid bay,
Touching with glory all the show. —
— A breeze! — Up helm! — Away!
XVI.
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.
XVII.
Goddess of Beauty, must I now
Vowed worship to thee pay?
Dear goddess, I grow old, I trow: —
My head is growing gray.
The parting sun sends out a glow
Across the placid bay,
Touching with glory all the show. —
— A breeze! — Up helm! — Away!
XVI.
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.
XVII.
Goddess of Beauty, must I now
Vowed worship to thee pay?
Dear goddess, I grow old, I trow: —
My head is growing gray.
| Poems and prose writings | |