 | [Poems by Cary in] The poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
SAILOR'S SONG.
Ha! the bird has fled my arrow—
Though the sunshine of its plumes,
Like the summer dew, is dropping
On its native valley blooms:
In the shadow of its parting wing
Shall I sit down and pine,
That it pours its song of beauty
On another heart than mine?
Though the sunshine of its plumes,
Like the summer dew, is dropping
On its native valley blooms:
In the shadow of its parting wing
Shall I sit down and pine,
That it pours its song of beauty
On another heart than mine?
From thy neck, my trusty charger,
I will strip away the rein,
But to crop the flowery prairie
May it never bend again!
With thy hoof of flinty silver,
And thy blue eye shining bright,
Through the red mists of the morning
Speed like a beam of light.
I will strip away the rein,
But to crop the flowery prairie
May it never bend again!
47
And thy blue eye shining bright,
Through the red mists of the morning
Speed like a beam of light.
I'm sick of the dull landsmen—
'T is time, my lads, that we
Were crowding on the canvas,
And standing out to sea!
Ever making from the headlands
Where the wrecker's beacons ride
Red and deadly, like the shadow
Of the lion's brinded hide;
'T is time, my lads, that we
Were crowding on the canvas,
And standing out to sea!
Ever making from the headlands
Where the wrecker's beacons ride
Red and deadly, like the shadow
Of the lion's brinded hide;
And hugging close the islands,
That are belted with the blue,
Where a thousand birds are singing
In the dells of light and dew;
Time unto our songs the billows
With their dimpled hands shall keep,
As we 're ploughing the white furrows
In the bosom of the deep!
That are belted with the blue,
Where a thousand birds are singing
In the dells of light and dew;
Time unto our songs the billows
With their dimpled hands shall keep,
As we 're ploughing the white furrows
In the bosom of the deep!
In watching the light flashing
Like live sparks from our prow,
With but the bitter kisses
Of the cold surf on my brow,
May my voyage at last be ended,
And my sleep be in the tide,
With the sea-waves clasped around me.
Like the white arms of a bride.
Like live sparks from our prow,
With but the bitter kisses
Of the cold surf on my brow,
May my voyage at last be ended,
And my sleep be in the tide,
With the sea-waves clasped around me.
Like the white arms of a bride.
| [Poems by Cary in] The poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |