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To the Fishermen
Be mending still your nets, and cast not inWhile yet they are not strong to hold them all;
For you yourselves will lose some joint or fin,
When one shall draw than you a larger haul;
'Tis not for you as yet to venture far,
Thus young upon the shifting shoreless deep;
But guide thee by the highest risen star,
And still thy boat within its cove thou'lt keep;
Behold the wrecks that line the rocky shore,
Of hulks more stout than thine to meet the wave;
And hear afar the storm's low-muttered roar,
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Who will not tempt in pride time's wind-tost sea,
Till manned with choicest men my ship shall be.
Poem No. 60; fall 1838–summer 1839
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