 | Poems by Julia C. R. Dorr |  |
392
THE LADY OF THE PROW
BERMUDA, MAY, 1883
The salt tides ebb, the salt tides flow,
From the near isles the soft airs blow;
From leagues remote, with roar and din,
Over the reefs the waves rush in;
The wild white breakers foam and fret,
Day follows day, stars rise and set;
Yet, grandly poised, as calm and fair
As some proud spirit of the air,
Unmoved she lifts her radiant brow—
She, the White Lady of the Prow!
From the near isles the soft airs blow;
From leagues remote, with roar and din,
Over the reefs the waves rush in;
The wild white breakers foam and fret,
Day follows day, stars rise and set;
Yet, grandly poised, as calm and fair
As some proud spirit of the air,
Unmoved she lifts her radiant brow—
She, the White Lady of the Prow!
The winds blow east, the winds blow west,
From woodlands low to the eagle's nest;
The winds blow north, the winds blow south.
To steal the sweets from the lily's mouth!
We come and go; we spread our sails
Like sea-gulls to the favoring gales;
Or, soft and slow, our oars we dip
Under the lee of the stranded ship.
Yet little recks she when or how,
The grand White Lady of the Prow.
From woodlands low to the eagle's nest;
The winds blow north, the winds blow south.
To steal the sweets from the lily's mouth!
We come and go; we spread our sails
Like sea-gulls to the favoring gales;
Or, soft and slow, our oars we dip
Under the lee of the stranded ship.
Yet little recks she when or how,
The grand White Lady of the Prow.
We laugh, we love, we smile, we sigh,
But never she heeds as we glide by—
Never she cares for our idle ways
Nor turns from the brink of the world her gaze!
What does she see when her steadfast eyes
Peer into the sunset mysteries,
And all the secrets of time and space
Seem unfolded before her face?
What does she hear when, pale and calm,
She lists for the great sea's evening psalm?
But never she heeds as we glide by—
Never she cares for our idle ways
Nor turns from the brink of the world her gaze!
393
Peer into the sunset mysteries,
And all the secrets of time and space
Seem unfolded before her face?
What does she hear when, pale and calm,
She lists for the great sea's evening psalm?
Speak, Lady, speak! Thy sealèd lip,
Thou fair white spirit of the ship,
Could tell such tales of high emprise,
Of valorous deeds and counsels wise!
What prince shall rouse thee from thy trance,
And meet thy first revealing glance,
Or what Pygmalion from her sleep
Bid Galatea wake and weep?
The wave's wild passion stirs thee not—
Oh, is thy life's long love forgot?
Thou fair white spirit of the ship,
Could tell such tales of high emprise,
Of valorous deeds and counsels wise!
What prince shall rouse thee from thy trance,
And meet thy first revealing glance,
Or what Pygmalion from her sleep
Bid Galatea wake and weep?
The wave's wild passion stirs thee not—
Oh, is thy life's long love forgot?
How canst thou bear this trancéd calm
By sunlit isles of bloom and balm—
Thou who hast sailed the utmost seas,
Empress alike of wave and breeze;
Thou who hast swept from pole to pole,
Where the great surges swell and roll;
Breasted the billows white with wrath,
Rode in the tempest's fiery path,
And proudly borne to waiting hands
The glorious spoil of farthest lands?
By sunlit isles of bloom and balm—
Thou who hast sailed the utmost seas,
Empress alike of wave and breeze;
Thou who hast swept from pole to pole,
Where the great surges swell and roll;
Breasted the billows white with wrath,
Rode in the tempest's fiery path,
And proudly borne to waiting hands
The glorious spoil of farthest lands?
How canst thou bear this silence, deep
And tranquil as an infant's sleep—
Thou who hast heard above thy head
The white sails sing with wings outspread;
Thou whose strong soul has thrilled to feel
The swift rush of the ploughing keel,
The dash of waves, and the wild uproar
Of ocean lashed from shore to shore?
How canst thou bear this changeless rest,
Thou who hast made the world thy quest?
And tranquil as an infant's sleep—
Thou who hast heard above thy head
The white sails sing with wings outspread;
Thou whose strong soul has thrilled to feel
The swift rush of the ploughing keel,
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Of ocean lashed from shore to shore?
How canst thou bear this changeless rest,
Thou who hast made the world thy quest?
O Lady of the stranded ship,
Once more our lingering oars we dip
In the clear blue that round thee lies,
Fanned by the airs of Paradise!
Farewell! farewell! But oft when day
On our far hill-tops dies away,
And night's cool winds the pine-trees bow,
Our eyes will see thee, even as now,
Waiting—a spirit pale and calm—
To hear the great sea's evening psalm!
Once more our lingering oars we dip
In the clear blue that round thee lies,
Fanned by the airs of Paradise!
Farewell! farewell! But oft when day
On our far hill-tops dies away,
And night's cool winds the pine-trees bow,
Our eyes will see thee, even as now,
Waiting—a spirit pale and calm—
To hear the great sea's evening psalm!
| Poems by Julia C. R. Dorr | |